A Man in a Million

Madeline Maguire had a preoccupation.

Spike was coming to the party tonight.

“Looking for someone?”

Mad glanced over her shoulder at her friend Sean. She smiled, and lied to one of her nearest and dearest. “I’m not looking for anyone. Not at all.”

Unfortunately, Madeline was interested in Spike. But like most men, Spike didn’t say much while he was around her and he didn’t make a lot of eye contact. Yet when the door to the penthouse opened, Mad still flushed from her ear lobes to her toes.

His big body filled the doorway. The hall. The whole apartment, as far as she was concerned.

Mad swallowed. It was not possible for a man to be sexier.

JESSICA BIRD

graduated from college with a double major in history and art history, concentrating on the medieval period. This meant she was great at discussing anything that happened before the sixteenth century, but she wasn’t all that employable in the real world. In order to support herself, she went to law school and worked in Boston in health care administration for many years.

She now lives in the South with her husband and her beloved golden retriever. As a writer, her commute is a heck of a lot better than it was as a lawyer, and she’s thrilled that her professional wardrobe includes slippers and joggers. She likes to write love stories that feature strong, independent heroines and complex, alpha male heroes. Visit her website at www.JessicaBird.com and e-mail her at [email protected].

Dear Reader,

I have to say I loved writing about Spike Moriarty and Madeline Maguire! Spike took my heart the minute he walked into earlier books but I thought, who could possibly be a match for him? He’s so outrageous and then…well, there’s his very difficult past. But, lo and behold, in came Madeline…strong, athletic, independent Madeline. I adored her from the get-go and knew without a doubt that she and Spike would have something special together. What a distance they had to travel, though, so many ups and downs…but that is often the course of love!

I hope you enjoy reading their book as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, I would love to hear from you. E-mail me at jessica@jessicabird. com.

Happy reading!

Jessica Bird

JESSICA BIRD

With love to the better half of Writer Dog.

Chapter One

Spike Moriarty raced down Park Avenue, legs pumping, arms swinging, black leather jacket flapping behind him in the night air. Big, in great shape and properly motivated, he was like an SUV tooling down the sidewalk. Oncoming pedestrians got out of the way.

Damn, he was late.

And this was no fifteen minute, margin-of-error kind of thing. This was a two-hour black hole of social impropriety.

Usually the rules and regulations of polite behavior weren’t high on his priority list. He never went out of his way to offend people, but he wasn’t in bed with Emily Post, either. But tonight was different. Two of his favorite people were getting married and this was their engagement party. He was supposed to be helping the host and giving a little speech.

Sean O’Banyon, master of ceremonies, was going to kill him. Good thing they were buddies. It might buy him a quick and easy end.

Although it wasn’t as if he’d been dogging it on his couch. The drive from upstate New York to Manhattan had taken twice as long as it should have on account of a fiesta of automotive trouble.

The kickoff had been an eighteen wheeler jackknifing on the Northway right in front of him. Fortunately, no one had been injured, but the semi fell over onto its side and shut down the southbound lanes entirely. Like everyone else, he’d been diverted to Route 9 and had become tangled in rural traffic.

Tangled, that was, until he got nailed by an eighty-five-year-old man driving an ancient Pontiac. Then he’d been stopped dead in the road. Thank God only the Honda had been hurt, but then the real fun and games had begun.

Local cops showed up. The pair of them took one look at Spike’s hair and his tattoos and ran everything but his jockey shorts through every criminal check they could find. They probably even called Interpol overseas. The two had seemed bitterly disappointed when they’d found no outstanding warrants or parole violations. And to work off the frustration at not getting to use the cuffs, they’d detained him at the side of the road for about two hours.

By the time Spike finally made it back onto a highway, he knew he could kiss off any hope of making it to the party before the speeches started. Hell, he’d be lucky if he made it before folks left. After dropping a voice mail message at Sean’s, he’d had to resist the urge to red line the Honda’s speedometer. What stopped him was knowing that the last thing he needed was another run in with some badges.

Once he’d made it to the city, he’d dumped the car in a lot and started hightailing it. For the middle of May, the night was blessedly cool and clear so at least he wasn’t going to look like a total mess when he arrived.

Spike glanced at a street sign. Thank God. Only a couple more blocks to go. If he made good time, he figured he’d get to Sean’s before Alex and Cass—