Sean grunted. “You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself. The Livingston sisters were all over you.”
“Yeah.”
They sat down on plush leather sofas that faced the bank of windows. Outside, the city glowed on the opposite side of the dense black square of the park.
“Too bad you spent so much time with them,” Sean muttered.
“Huh?”
“There were other women at the damn party, you know.”
Spike frowned and was about to ask what was doing, when he heard something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. There was someone coming down the hall from the other end of the penthouse. A straggler?
Madeline came into the room as if he’d conjured her up from his fantasies. Her hair was all over her shoulders, rich and glossy, as if she’d just brushed it. And she’d changed out of that lovely dress and was wearing a pair of men’s boxers and a tank top.
The two didn’t quite meet in the middle so her belly button showed.
Spike shifted in his seat as Sean smiled and said, “Hey, Mad. Coffee’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” She strolled into the other room.
Spike watched her go, his eyes latching on to the sway of her hips. And the muscles of her thighs and calves. And all the smooth, tanned skin of her legs.
Then it hit him.
“Sean? Is she staying here?”
“Yup.”
Spike put his cup down and pegged his hands into his knees. As he stood up, he was aware of a stinging suffocation.
“Where you going, my man?” Sean murmured, Boston accent coming out thickly.
“I better take off.” No way in hell he could be in the same apartment while Sean and Mad were in bed. Together. Doing unspeakable, fabulous things to each others’ bodies.
God, just the thought of them together made him nauseous.
“Sit down, Spike.”
“Nah, you need some privacy. I’ll see you later.”
“Spike, sitcha-ass down. It’s not like that with her, okay? You can relax.”
Spike narrowed his eyes and wondered if he’d given anything away about his attraction to the woman. It wouldn’t have been much if he had, but when it came to his friend, it wouldn’t have to be a lot. The trouble with O’Banyon was the guy was flipping brilliant. Never missed a thing, especially when people were trying to hide their inner goodies.
Usually it was a point in the man’s favor. Not tonight.
Sean’s voice stayed level as he nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”
Spike sank back down. And then another thought shot through his head. He tried to remember how many bedrooms the place had. Not enough.
He eyed the couch. Pushed at it with his hand.
Good to go, he thought, imagining himself stretched out with his head on one of the cushions.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sean said.
“What?”
“Sleeping out here. There are two perfectly good beds in that guest room and you guys are going in them. She’s already said she has no problem with it.”
Him and Madeline Maguire in the same room? Alone? For like, six, seven hours? He’d be lucky if he wasn’t limping by the time it was morning. All the pent-up desire in his blood would probably turn him into a pretzel.
Abruptly, Sean snorted and stared over the brim of his cup. “Why’d you have to spend so much time with Paige and Whitney?”
“They’re easy.” Spike picked up his coffee again. “I mean, they’re simple. You know, just two women. And why do you care?”
“You should have spent more time with Mad.”
Spike narrowed his eyes on his friend once again. “Are you trying to set us up?”
“Yes, I am. So the least you can do is be a gentleman about it and try and kiss her after the lights go out.”
Spike nearly spit out what was in his mouth. “What the hell—”
“It’s obvious you’re into her.”
He coughed, trying to clear his windpipe. “How do you figure I like her? I didn’t talk to her all night long.”
“Precisely. She was the only woman you were not comfortable around. And that spells attraction, buddy. At least the way I see it.”
“You are deranged.”
“True. And I’m right, aren’t I? You like her. And like her, like her. Not just like her.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Holy hell, I feel like I’m in elementary school with this conversation. Where’s my lunch box?”
“Same place your head is at.” Sean’s voice dropped down low. “I have it on good authority she’s into you.”
“And this is because she didn’t talk to me, either? Sean, buddy, stick to finance. You’re a rotten social worker.”
“No, she—”
At that moment, Mad came back into the room, sipping from a mug.
Sean put his coffee aside and clapped his hands on his thighs. “I’m turning into a pumpkin.’ Night, all.”
As the man left, he shot Spike a don’t-you-dare-screw-this-up look.
And then Spike was alone with Mad. She didn’t look at him, just walked over to the windows and stared out at the city. Silence elongated until he wasn’t sure whether they’d been in the room fifteen minutes or ten days.
Well, if this wasn’t awkward.
Spike said quietly, “I don’t want to crowd you tonight. I can crash on the couch.”
She shrugged. “If you want to. But bear in mind, I sleep on a boat with twelve men on a regular basis. No amount of snoring is going to get my attention. I can sleep through anything.”
God, the small of her back was beautiful. He wanted to press his lips to the indentation of her spine. Run his hands around to her flat stomach. Reach down and ever so gently stroke her thighs—
“Spike?”
“What?” He looked up, meeting her calm stare as she glanced over her shoulder.
“You just made a funny noise.”
“Did I?”
“Sounded like a groan.”
Well, at least that was better than a squeak of desperation. Much more manly.
Although when it came down to it, he was surprised she couldn’t hear the roar of his blood as the stuff slammed into all kinds of extremities.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“Go ahead.”
“Your eyes. Are they real? I mean, they’re contacts, right?”
Spike looked away. He knew his irises were a peculiar color, but they’d been that way since birth. And most women liked them…thought the yellow was unusual and attractive. She was the first to suggest they were a cosmo-vanity statement.
Which told him a lot about what she thought of him.
And as he abruptly wished his peepers were normal, like a brown or a green or a blue, he got frustrated with himself.
He