A Man in a Million. Jessica Bird

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      He thought about the one time he’d tried to have a relationship with a woman. About two years after he’d rejoined real life, he’d found someone he liked enough to want to get to know better. Things had gone well until he’d sat her down and told her about what had happened. She’d said all the right things at the time and he’d hoped they might go on from there. But then she’d stopped returning his phone calls.

      He’d understood and let her go.

      Ever since then he’d kept himself apart, although he hadn’t been celibate. He’d just done the one-night stand thing when he’d wanted a little company.

      Madeline Maguire was not a one-nighter. She was the real deal. A smart, beautiful woman from a high-class family that had a Brinks truck worth of money in the bank. So even if she’d been attracted to him, and she wasn’t, there was no way someone like her would want to be…well, with an ex-con like him.

      Spike went over to the bed on the right and got in it. After arranging the pillows the way he liked them, he tried to convince his skin of two things. One, the fact that he was wearing boxers and a shirt to bed was no big deal even though he usually slept in the nude. And two, Madeline Maguire’s hands would in fact not feel like heaven if they were applied liberally over every inch of his body.

      He failed. Particularly at the latter.

      And goodnight-in-hell, everything was an irritant. He shifted this way and that on the bed. Couldn’t find any comfortable way to lay.

      Ten minutes later, he sat up, unbuttoned the shirt and tossed it on the floor. As he slid back down, he heard a soft chuckle from the other bed.

      “Was that the shirt or the boxers? Or both?” she asked.

      He froze, wondering just how long he’d stood at the foot of her bed and stared at her. Did she know he’d done that? “I thought you said you could sleep through anything.”

      There was a pause. “I guess I was wrong.”

      Her sigh as she burrowed back into her pillow burned through him.

      Spike closed his eyes, hoping that the “fake it till you make it” theory worked with sleep.

      It didn’t. He was wide awake. Just staring at the insides of his eyelids.

      Happy place. He needed to go to his happy place. Okay…right. Happy place.

      Didn’t have one.

      God, how much BS was that? Everyone had one. He just needed to picture somewhere he wanted to be.

      So how about the bed next door? the gorilla inside him suggested.

      “Spike?”

      His lids flipped open. “Yeah?”

      “I don’t think your eyes are weird. I think they’re the color of sunshine on the waves in the early morning. They have that same hypnotic, shimmering quality, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, just wanted you to know.”

      His breath left him in a silent stream.

      Shimmering. Color of sunshine.

      He wanted to tell her that he was glad she thought of his eyes like that. And point out that anytime she wanted to get hypnotized, he’d kill to be her swami of choice.

      “Thanks,” he said, turning his head so he could see her. “My dad’s were the same. Or so my mom told me.”

      Mad rolled over toward him, tucking her hands under her chin. God, she looked adorable like that.

      “What nationality was your father?”

      “Don’t know. I never met him and I never asked her. Probably some European flavor.”

      “Why didn’t you…”

      “Know him?”

      “I’m sorry if I’m getting too personal.”

      “Nah, it’s fine. Mom said he didn’t stay long, but she loved him like no other. And everything worked out eventually. Right after I was born, she met a guy who she ended up marrying. He was good to her, good to me. Plus I got a half sister, Jaynie, out of the deal.”

      “Have you ever wanted to find your father?”

      “Wouldn’t know where to start and my life’s okay the way it is. So, no. Besides, Mom’s lived in the same town all her life. If the guy wanted to find her or me, he could.”

      Spike frowned, wondering how long it had been since he’d spoken about his family to anyone.

      He shifted so he was laying on his stomach and couldn’t see her. She didn’t say anything further. Neither did he.

      But it was a long, long while before he could fall asleep.

      Chapter Three

      When Mad woke up around six-thirty, the first thing she did was turn her head and look at the man in the bed next to hers.

      Her breath caught.

      Spike was on his stomach, facing away from her, and he’d kicked the blankets off of himself. All that covered him was a thin sheet that was threaded through his legs.

      So she finally got to see his tattoos.

      He had two of them on his strong back—well, one really, with two halves. It looked like medieval scrollwork; the design running up his spine until it split to go over his shoulder blades and around to the front of him. The tail ends of it must be what showed on his neck, she thought.

      The artwork was beautiful. The effect…erotic. The dark lines flowing over his smooth skin made her want to touch him. With her hands. Her mouth.

      And not just on his back. She wanted to know his whole body.

      It was obvious he lifted weights regularly. Those broad shoulders were thick with muscle and so was the heavy arm he had curled up next to his head. His biceps were so well-defined she could see the vein that ran down the front of them.

      Unexpectedly, he let out a groan and shifted on the bed. She tensed, ready to turn over and pretend she was asleep, but then he took a deep breath and seemed to settle. His rib cage contracted as he exhaled and he moved his head up and down a little on the pillow.

      There was nothing she wanted to do more than cross the short aisle between their beds and lie down against him. She could wake him up slowly by nuzzling his neck, maybe. Or kissing the top of his shoulder.

      Yeah, and then what?

      She was a virgin, not a vamp. And a man like Spike was going to want someone who knew what they were doing.

      He made the sound again, deep in his throat.

      That wasn’t a groan, she thought. More like a purr.

      His legs moved, the sheet pulling at them, constraining him. He rolled СКАЧАТЬ