Scenes of Passion (8 page)

He slid off his seat and, standing behind her, he slipped his hands under her hair and began massaging the muscles in her neck and shoulders.

God, it felt good. Too good. Maggie felt herself get even more tense.

“Man, you have to loosen up. Is this what being a high-powered attorney does to you?”

No, it was what
he
did to her. She closed her eyes, letting his fingers work their magic, letting herself pretend that they were in an alternate time line—one where Matt was more than just a friend.

Matt could see Maggie's face in the bar mirror. Under his hands, her shoulders were starting to relax. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly.

Oh, brother. That was just too inviting. He was dying to kiss her the way he'd kissed her that morning at the audition. She'd actually commended him on his fine acting job, unaware that he hadn't been acting at all.

He was praying that they'd both get the leads so that he'd be able to kiss her that way again and again. And again.

It was an odd blend of torment and delight. Delight that she could kiss him and make his heart pound and his blood rush. Torment that she could seem so unaffected by it herself.

And, oh my God, she'd never slept with Brock.

“We should talk about work. What time do you want to start tomorrow?” Maggie murmured, her eyes still closed.

“What time is your dinner with Brock?” he countered.

“We made plans to meet at six,” she said.

“Then let's start early,” he leaned close to her ear to say. “Eight o'clock. Let's have breakfast together, okay?”

It was an innocent enough suggestion, but somehow with his hands on her shoulders, his fingers caressing the bare skin of her neck, it seemed like a different sort of invitation. Maggie's heart nearly stopped when she felt him lean forward and kiss her just below her ear.

He spun her bar stool so that she faced him.

He was going to kiss her. Wasn't he? As Maggie looked up into his eyes, she only saw uncertainty. Oh, boy, she was probably looking at him as if she wanted to gobble him up, which would freak him out if he'd only intended that kiss on the neck—as sensual as it had felt—to be friendly.

“As your lawyer,” she said, half to fill in the sudden odd silence, “I recommend that we gain access to any other papers that might be in the court's files.”

Matt backed off. “Other papers?” He was puzzled.

“Your father's will states only that you must, and I quote, ‘improve the business,' within a three-month time period. It's much too vague. What exactly did your father mean by ‘improve the business'?”

“Make more money,” Matt said. “That was always the bottom line for him.”

Maggie frowned. “I'm going to need to look at the company's yearly financial statement, as well as the last few years' quarterly reports. As far as we both know, Yankee Potato Chip is thriving despite the recession. I'd bet that gross profits aren't going to vary from quarter to quarter.”

And it wouldn't be easy to improve a healthy business in only three months. Any action made by an increased, aggressive advertising campaign wouldn't bring about increased sales within three months. Maggie put her chin in her hand and stared into space.

“What are you thinking?” Matt asked.

She looked at him. “I was just wondering what could possibly be in that codicil.”

“What's a codicil?”

“It's an addendum to a document. There was a note at the bottom of your father's will, with your father's signature, saying that his will has a codicil. It was dated only a few weeks before he died, but it wasn't included in the other pages you gave me. The court has a copy. We'll need to see it,” Maggie told him.

“You think it's going to be any help?” Matt asked.

“I don't know. There's probably a copy of it somewhere in your office. We should go back and start looking for it.” She slid off the stool and nearly landed on the floor.

“I'll look for it later,” Matt told her as he caught her. “I think you're ready for a game of pool. You want to break or should I?”

M
aggie unlocked the kitchen door and went into the house without turning on the light. She was feeling wobbly from all that beer she'd had. She normally didn't have a single beer, let alone
four
. Or was it five?

It was after midnight, and her parents had gone to bed. The house was dark, so she locked the door behind her and crept into the living room and…

And there, on the stairs, in the glow from the streetlight, was Vanessa.

Kissing Brock.

She was in her nightgown.

His jacket was off and his shirt was unbuttoned.

And it was pretty damn obvious that he'd been with her, up in her bedroom.

“Wow,” Maggie said. “
That
was fast.”

Her sister and the man who'd asked her to marry him just a few weeks ago—never mind the fact that she was intending to tell him no tomorrow—leapt apart.

“God,” Vanessa said. “Maggie, you scared me to death.”

Maggie turned on the light. Brock, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed.

Vanessa, from the looks of things, was even more drunk than she was.

Maggie sat down on the couch. “Your car's not out front,” she said to Brock.

“I, uh, parked it down the street,” he admitted. “Look, Maggie, I'm sorry—”

“I thought you were Mitch's friend,” she said.

“I am.”

“Some friend.”

Vanessa took offense at her tone. “Mitch is a son of a bitch who should rot in hell,” she said, sitting down on the step between the entryway and the living room.

“Who filed for divorce because
you
were cheating on
him
,” Maggie said. She looked at Brock. “Did you know that?”

“Because
he
was cheating on me!” Vanessa started to cry. “You're so self-righteous.”

“Hey,” Maggie said. “I think I'm allowed a little self-righteousness when I come home to find out that you slept with my boyfriend.”

“I didn't think you'd be coming home,” Vanessa countered. “Out with Matthew Stone? No woman in her right mind would make him drive her home. Except you. You're so perfect, Margaret. So perfect and proper and
cold
.”

“This probably isn't a good time to be having this conversation,” Brock said.

“Shut up,” Vanessa said, just as Maggie said, “Zip it, Brockster.”

“Maybe I should go…”

“How could you sleep with her?” Maggie asked him. The answer was right there on his face. All along, he'd wanted Vanessa. Even drunk, with her makeup faded and her hair a mess, Maggie's sister was hot. All along, Brock had just
wanted to get close to Maggie's hotter sister. She looked up at him in amazement. “Maybe the question I should ask is how could you ask me to marry you, when you're in love with
her?”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought…” He shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

This was why he didn't push when she'd said she wanted to wait before they spent the night together. She'd thought he was just nice. But oh, my God…“Have you been sleeping with her all this time?”

“No,” Brock said. “Absolutely not.”

“No,” Maggie echoed. “You just
wanted
to sleep with her.” God, she'd almost spent her life married to a man who really wanted her sister. She stood up and looked at Vanessa. “And you knew it. You
bitch.
”

“Fine,” Vanessa said. “I'm a bitch. I'd rather be a bitch than little miss no-no-no we've only been going out for four months, we can't possible have sex yet.”

“Oh, my God,” Maggie looked at Brock. “You discussed our sex life with my
sister?
”

“What sex life?” Vanessa laughed. “You don't
have
a sex life.”

“Not like yours,” Maggie said hotly. “No. I don't have sex with strangers in the parking lot of a bar.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa shot back. “Miss Goody-Goody. You just don't have sex, period. I can't imagine why Matthew Stone even bothers to look at you. Sure, he'll sleep with anything female, but the way you dress it's hard to tell you're actually a woman. If you
did
sleep with him, I'd give it one week. Although I'd bet big money that Matt would be bored to tears after only one
hour
in bed with
you
.”

Maggie gasped. “That's an awful thing to say!”

“Van,” Brock said.

“It's true.” Van started to cry. “You're so perfect. I
hate
you.”

“And I won't live in this house with you,” Maggie told
her sister. “I know you say things like that because
you're
the one who's messed up, and because you can't deal with Mitch's leaving you, but I am
so
out of here. Tell Mom and Dad I've moved out. For good,” she added, the words making her feel remarkably light, despite her anger and hurt, despite the growing nausea from her churning stomach.

“Maybe this conversation should wait for the morning,” Brock said again.

“Maybe you should go to hell,” Maggie told him, and, grabbing her briefcase, she went into the kitchen and out the door.

She got into her car, but her head was spinning and her stomach definitely felt sick.

She was going to throw up.

She stared down at her car keys. How many mugs of beer did she drink?

Too many to drive.

Savagely, she opened the car door and got out.

As if on cue, the skies opened and it started to rain.

Maggie squared her shoulders, and still carrying her briefcase, started the long walk into town.

 

Stevie cranked up the volume of the radio and switched on the windshield wipers as the rain came down harder. He flipped his bright lights lower as he saw someone walking along Route One.

Poor wet son of a bitch. Didn't need to be blinded, too.

But then Stevie hit the brakes and did a one-eighty, tires squealing. That was no ordinary son of a bitch. That was his
sister!
He pulled up alongside her and rolled down the window.

She didn't stop walking.

“Yo, Mags.” He slipped the car into first to keep up with her.

She didn't look at him.

She was soaked to the skin and dripping wet, hair plastered
to her head. And she was carrying her briefcase, like some deranged zombie commuter.

“So where you going?” Steve dared to ask.

“Into town,” she said, as if it were a perfectly normal answer.

“You, uh, want a ride?”

“No, thank you.”

Stevie pulled his car to the side of the road and got out, trotting to catch up to his sister. “Maggie, are you okay?” He stood in front of her.

She stopped. “Stevie, if you don't move, I'm going to throw up on you.”

He moved, fast, and Maggie kept walking.

“Maggie, come on,” he called, but she didn't look back.

 

Maggie was walking to the Sachem's Inn Motel, one step at a time. She didn't feel good, but she felt a whole lot better since she'd stopped at the corner of Lily Pond Road to throw up behind the O'Connor's shrubs.

It was another few miles into town, another mile after that past the harbor to where the motel overlooked the water…. She couldn't handle the thought of walking three more miles. But she could walk one step. One step and one step and one step. Eventually, they'd all add up to three miles.

She stopped short.

Matthew.

Steam rose from the cooling hood of his car, creating a wall of mist behind him. He was wearing only a very small khaki-colored pair of running shorts. Light from a street lamp glinted off the moisture on his bare skin. It was cold enough so that his breath hung in the air, but he stood still, just watching her.

“Hey jungle man,” Maggie said. “I've run away from home.”

“So I've heard,” Matt said. “Steve called me. It's about time you moved out of there. Can I give you a lift?”

Maggie looked at him, at his bare feet and athletic legs. Bare skin started again on the other side of his shorts. His stomach was a six-pack and his chest was…Fantasy material, indeed.

Vanessa was right. This was not a man who would ever want to be anything more than friends with Maggie. “Will you take me where I want to go?” she finally asked.

“Depends.”

“Then forget it,” she said. “I'll walk.”

She stepped around him, but he caught her arm. “If you're walking, Mags, I'm walking with you.” It was not an idle threat.

It was freezing. “You're not exactly dressed for a stroll in the rain.”

“Neither are you. Come on, get into the car.”

Maggie looked at him for several long moments.

“Please,” he said.

“I look like I've really lost it, don't I?” she asked.

He smiled. “Kind of. But I figure you must have a good explanation. Why don't we get into the car and you can give it to me.”

“Will you take me where I want to go?” she asked again.

“Yes,” he said this time.

Maggie got into the car.

Matt turned the key and cranked up the heat.

“I'm ruining your leather seats,” she realized with dismay, reaching for the door handle.

He hit the lock button and slipped the car into gear. “That's okay. In a few months I'm going to be a millionaire. I'll buy new ones.”

“I want to go to the Sachem's Inn Motel,” she said.

“Really?” He gave her a sidelong glance. “With me?”

“Very funny. Just take me there.”

Matt sighed. “I'm not going to take you there and simply drop you off.”

“You
promised.”

“Did not.”

“You
said
you'd take me where I wanted to go.”

“Yeah, but I didn't
promise
. I'm taking you home with me.”

“You
jerk
.” Maggie started to cry. She'd finally left home, and damn it, she'd left it under her own power, despite the fact that she'd had too much to drink to drive safely.

But now she'd gone and gotten rescued. Well, she didn't want to be rescued, not even by Matthew Stone, jungle man.

Matt stopped at a red light and turned to look at her.

“I want to do it my way, Matt.” Her blue eyes were swimming in tears. “Let me. Please?”

The traffic light turned green, but he ignored it. He took a deep breath, hardening himself against her tears. “I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone tonight,” he told her. “If you insist on going to the motel, I am coming with you.”

“I insist,” Maggie said, wiping her eyes and sticking out her chin. “And I don't need a baby-sitter.”

“Too bad, because I've made up my mind.”

“Well,
I've
made up my mind, too, and I'm staying there alone.”

Their eyes locked and held. And the traffic light turned red again.

“Let's compromise,” Matt told her. “First come home with me. We can get warmed up, maybe get something to eat, and talk—”

“I don't want to talk.” She crossed her arms, staring straight ahead.

“Fine,” he said. “We can sit in silence in the hot tub. After that, I'll take you over to the motel. If you still want to go there.”

Maggie looked at him. “Hot tub?” she said.

 

“You already turned it on,” Maggie said, wonder in her voice. “It's already hot.”

She stood shivering in the bathroom in Matt's house, staring at the steam rising from the hot tub.

“I was sitting in it when Steve called.” Matt tugged impatiently at the zipper on her jacket. It stuck slightly, but he finally got it down, and peeled the wet sleeves off her arms. Her skin was icy.

He reached for the button on her jeans, but she pushed his hands away. “I can do that.”

Yeah, but it had always been one of his fantasies. Not a good time to tell her that. “Then do it,” he countered. “Come on, let's get you in there before you die of hypothermia.”

She hesitated. “I don't have a bathing suit.”