Jessica Bird - A Man in a Million

Good Lord . He had an…

Well, it was clear what he was dreaming about, at any rate. And wow, she really needed to leave the room.

Spike’s hips stopped moving, but his legs scissored restlessly and his calves turned into knots. He threw his head back and bared his teeth, inhaling with a hiss. As his chest and thighs went through a wave of contractions, the muscles tightened and relaxed under his smooth skin.

He murmured something that sounded like, “More.”

Oh, man, he was beautiful. All male. Sexually aroused. In the throes of passion.

For a moment, she imagined she had the guts it would take to wake him up with the kind of sensuous caresses he was clearly getting in his dream. Would he turn to her? Probably. At least until he realized she wasn’t the woman he was fantasizing about.

She wondered who was in his mind right now, who he imagined was pleasuring him so acutely.

Without any warning, his eyes flipped open and he looked right at her. The yellow of his irises was so bright against his long, black lashes, it was as if his stare glowed. And the heat in it was like being hit with a blowtorch.

Mad jerked back. Then blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Because watching him seemed voyeuristic.

The sound of her voice seemed to confuse him. His black brows dipped low and his head went back and forth a couple of times. He mumbled something, closed his eyes and rolled away.

Mad left in a hurry. She used the bath down the hall and then went to the kitchen, relieved to find that Sean wasn’t up yet; she was not feeling particularly coherent.

Sean’s kitchen was all stainless steel and wrought iron, halfway between a professional setup and a neo-classical café. After sitting for a while at the table in the alcove, she went hunting for a bag of coffee. She was about to get some brewing when she heard a yawn.

“Hey, woman.” Sean walked in wearing a pair of plaid boxers low on his hips and a New England Patriots T-shirt. His dark hair was a tousled mess and his beard had grown in a little. He looked like a frat boy in his early twenties, not the thirty-five-year old Wall Street powerhouse he was. “So how’d you sleep?”

Mad looked away, just in case her blush was noticeable. “Fine.”

“Spike keep you up?” As if Sean hoped that was the case.

“No, and don’t start, okay?”

Her friend nodded, clearly sensing she was in no mood to play. “You know, this is heaven. You and my coffeepot, sharing a meaningful moment. Just beautiful.”

“What have you got for breakfast around here?” She always kept her meals light and was hoping he had some fruit she could slice up.

“I don’t know. I never eat at home. But the caterers cooked out of this kitchen all afternoon yesterday so there’s got to be something.”

The two of them cracked open the refrigerator and stared into it. There were all sorts of things crammed in there, a dizzying array of gourmet leftovers. Too many to choose from.

“I know exactly what this calls for,” Sean said. “Wait right here.”

He disappeared and returned a little later. “Help is on the way.”

“You ordered takeout breakfast?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee.

“Better.”

“You ordered breakfast delivered.”

“I ordered us a classically-trained French chef.”

“And this paragon is where?”

“Right behind you,” Spike said.

She wheeled around.

Her eyes did a quick head-to-toe on him, she couldn’t help it. He’d shaved and had all his clothes back on, but she still saw him on that bed in those sheets. His chest. His ribbed belly. His strong arms—

She realized was staring. And figured she better say something.

“You…are a chef?”

A bland look crossed his face and he went to the fridge. “I’m more the hash-slinger type, is that it?”

“No, I—”

“So what do you feel like chewing on, SOB?” he asked Sean sharply.

Shoot, she’d offended him. But she’d just been surprised that he would do something so traditional and rule-based. It wasn’t that she thought he didn’t have the intelligence and discipline it took to become a chef.

But Sean answered his question before she could explain herself. “Surprise me, buddy. Work your magic. In the meantime, Mad, you and I need to talk. And I’m leaving to go to Japan for two months this morning so it’s here and now.”

“Sean—”

“Come on, we’re going into the other room. And let’s hurry up so we’re not late for breakfast.”

Mad looked across the kitchen. Spike was gathering eggs, some leafy stuff and a couple of cheeses from the fridge.

He shot her a level stare. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to burn the place down without your supervision.”

“I didn’t mean that comment as you took it.”

“Okay. My bad.” He sounded bored. And as though even if she had wanted to insult him, he wouldn’t have cared.

She gave up and followed Sean into the living room. Her friend didn’t waste time with any preamble.

“You need to go see your brother, Mad, and you need to do it before you head back out to sea.”

Oh, not this again, she thought.

“Mad?”

“Half brother,” she muttered. “He’s my half brother.”

“Don’t get huffy with me.” Sean sat on a leather sofa and pulled her down with him. “Look, I’m not just telling you this as your buddy. I’m giving you some free professional advice. Go see him. Now.”

“Why? My shares in the company are the only thing that interest Richard. And he’s got control of them as executor of my trust.” Together she and her half siblings owned the biggest portion of Value Shop Supermarkets, one of the largest grocery store chains in the nation. The holdings were valued at an absurd figure that Mad didn’t like to think about. It was just too much to comprehend.

“Mad, in another week and a half he doesn’t have to be. You’re going to be twenty-five. Your father’s will stated that when you reached that age, you could assume control of your holdings provided you took certain affirmative steps to do so. Otherwise, the current arrangement with Richard in charge prevails. He would continue to vote your proxies at board meetings for the next five years.”

She frowned as it dawned on her that she hadn’t thought about her trust or the company in years. Shirking responsibility wasn’t in her nature and it was damn unappealing that she had assets she was taking care of. But her racing had always been the most important thing.

Abruptly, she focused on Sean. “Why are you looking so tense?”

“Frankly, I’m walking a whole lot of ethical and legal lines right now.”

“But you’re our investment banker. You’re supposed to advise us.”

“I’m the corporation’s investment banker. And the CEO of that corporation, namely your half brother, could argue that I’m undermining him by advocating that you establish some independent control over your block of shares.”

She winced at the implications, not wanting to cause Sean problems. “Well, I’m glad you brought it up. But Richard… Richard is going to hate not being executor. He’s going to—”

“You can stand up to him. I know you can.”

She wasn’t so sure about that, but Sean had a point and she was glad he had told her about the trust’s provisions. Except what did she do now?

“Mad, I have a lawyer friend of mine I want you to go see. His name’s Mick Rhodes. I’ve briefed him on the situation, and as soon as you pull the trigger on him, he’ll have the necessary documents drafted. Then you go see Richard. I know he’s going to be in Greenwich next weekend for Memorial Day. Go to him there rather than to his office and don’t bring Mick with you. Richard will view it as an act of aggression if you show up with your attorney. You want to approach him as his sweet, younger sister and then at 9:00 a.m. on your birthday, Mick will go and file the papers and it will all be over.”