Scenes of Passion (9 page)

Matt laughed. “You don't need a bathing suit for a hot tub. For God's sake, Maggie, I'll turn around. Just get in, will you?”

He pointedly did just that and she peeled off her clothes. Yeah, she was definitely tanked—otherwise she surely would have noticed that the room was filled with mirrors and his turning his back was useless. He could see her from all angles, and, oh, mighty God…A more chivalrous man might've closed his eyes but life was just too short.

Matt watched as she slipped into the water, and…Wasn't that just perfect? Now it was his turn to get naked. But maybe that was good. Let her see what she did to him.

But, “Eek,” she said, as he started to pull off his shorts right in front of her. She closed her eyes until he was sitting across the tub from her. “Doesn't this strike you as weird?”

Matt stretched out his legs to get more comfortable, and brushed against her. All right. Don't do that. He was purposely sitting over here so there'd be no contact. “What's weird about it?”

Her eyes were so blue and her face was pale and she was still shivering slightly. The last thing he should do was go
over there and put his arm around her. He drew an imaginary line around her. Whatever happened, he was
not
going to cross that line. Not tonight, anyway.

“Well, to start with, we don't have any clothes on,” she told him.

He shrugged as the water bubbled around them. “Personally, I'd find it much weirder if we did.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It's weird and you know it.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, it's weird. That doesn't mean it's not nice, though.”

“I have this fantasy,” she told him, “where this perfect stranger just kind of holds out his hand to me, and takes me away from my life.”

Oh, man. “That's, uh…That's probably one a lot of people have.”

“It's pretty wimpy,” she said. “Like, I just want to lie back and be rescued.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Matt said.

“No,” she said. “Because who's to say that his choices would be any better for me? My fantasy should be that I go up to the jungle man and say come with me—let's escape, but let's do it
my
way.”

Jungle man. That wasn't the first time she'd mentioned this jungle man. “That's a good fantasy, too.” He laughed. “Mags, I get the feeling that you're telling me something, but I'm not sure if I understand exactly what it is. Can we stop talking in code? I really want to talk about what happened tonight after I dropped you off.”

She sank down so that the water covered her mouth. Okay.

“Steve said he thought you and Vanessa got into a fight or something?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Talk to me,” he said.

She lifted her mouth above the water line. “If we made love, would you be bored with me after only an hour?”

Matt choked on the air he was breathing.
“What?”

Great, now he'd embarrassed her. She closed her eyes. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“No,” he said, moving across the tub to her. Mistake, mistake,
mistake.
He moved back, just not as far as he had been, but still safely on the other side of his line. “
Not
never mind. You just asked me if I thought you'd be boring in bed, didn't you?”
Damn.
“Did Vanessa say that to you? Mags, she already had too much wine at dinner. And she's nuts on top of that…”

But Maggie was just sitting there, eyes closed, looking like she actually thought…

“To answer your question,” he told her, “no. No, I certainly don't.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, looked away. “It was stupid to ask. I mean, what are you really going to say? ‘Yes, sorry, I think making love to you would be dull?'”

Okay. Game over. Matt crossed his line, moving so that he was sitting right next to her. “For the record,” he said, pulling her chin up so that she was forced to meet his gaze, “I don't think making love to you would be even remotely dull. I would not be bored after even a hundred hours. And this is something that would
not
be difficult to prove.”

“What would you do if I said, okay, prove it?” She was looking into his eyes, no longer needing his hand under her chin to meet his gaze, but he didn't move. Her skin was so soft, and she was finally warm. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks charmingly flushed, her eyes bright.

Too bright.

No, no, no. No. He wanted to cry. Instead, he shook his head. “I can't,” he said. “Not tonight, anyway. You're drunk. It wouldn't be fair.”

“I'm
not
drunk,” she said with the kind of indignation that only someone who'd had too much to drink could pull off.

“I think you are,” Matt countered. “But okay. Let's take
that off the table. Even if you're not drunk, you're upset. I don't want to sleep with you because you're mad at your sister.”

“There.” Maggie pulled away from him. “You don't want to sleep with me. You just said it.”

“No way! Misquote! Sound bite attack! Take it back, or you're going to get dunked!”

She'd moved all the way to the other side of the hot tub, but as he advanced on her, she actually came toward him.

“Matt, kiss me.”

That
he could do.

He leaned forward, moving slowly now, until his mouth met hers in the sweetest of caresses. Her lips were soft and warm, and oh, Lord, so willing.

Matt carefully kept himself from touching her, aware once again that they were both naked, knowing that if he felt the softness of her body against his, he'd be lost.

And oh, although it was careful and gentle, it was the kiss he'd been waiting for, for a lifetime.

Maggie
was kissing him. She wasn't pretending to be someone else who was kissing the person he was pretending to be.

It took his breath away.

It was hard as hell to pull back, to stop kissing her, and he had to turn away to keep her from seeing the tears that had jumped into his eyes.

He forced a smile.

Maggie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Matt was treating her the way everyone always treated her—as if she might break. And if she were going to feel embarrassed about this in the morning—and she knew she was—then, damn it, she wanted the kind of kiss Matt had been legendary for in high school, the kind of kiss that would knock her socks off.

Provided she had socks on.

“I think we should try that again,” she said.

“I think I need to get out of this tub,” he countered.

“I think there's suddenly some doubt as to who would bore whom in bed,” she told him, amazed at the words coming out of her mouth.

“Oh really?” he said. There was an odd light in his eyes as he looked at her. He didn't move, he just sat there, very, very still.

She shifted slightly, so that the water barely covered her breasts. Matt's gaze flickered down and then back to her face.

“I'm not going to take advantage of you,” he said, but he still didn't move.

“It's not taking advantage if it's what I want,” she countered. She stood up, water sheeting off her.

Matt stood, too, and scrambled out of the tub, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “You're too angry and drunk to know what you want.”

“I am not!”

“Please, just—”

“For the first time in ages, I'm actually making my own decisions—”

“This is no decision. It's a knee-jerk reaction.” He raised his voice to interrupt her. “If we make love tonight, everything changes between us. Maybe it would be great. Maybe you'd wake up in the morning and still want me. Maybe we'd be lovers until the day I die. But maybe not.”

He handed her a towel. “Maybe it wouldn't be anything more than a one-night stand,” he continued, the lateness of the hour suddenly evident in his voice. “I really don't mind if you use me, Mags, but I'm not going to let you use me up. I value your friendship too much to throw it away for just one night.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

He headed for the door. “Dry off. I'll go find you some clothes. Then we can duke it out over whether or not I'm going to drive you to the motel.”

 

Matt came back into the bathroom with his smallest pair of shorts, a T-shirt and a sweatshirt.

Maggie was gone.

He'd walked right past her—she was curled up in the middle of the bed. It wasn't his bed, but she probably didn't know that.

He sighed, moving closer, but then realized she was fast asleep.

She clutched the sheet to her chest, and her dark hair fanned out against the white pillow. He stood looking down at her, at her long, dark eyelashes that lay against her fair skin, at the smattering of freckles that ran across her cheeks and nose. She looked like the teenage girl he'd first met so many years ago.

As a seventeen-year-old boy, he wouldn't have been able to resist shedding his own clothes and climbing into that big bed with her.

As a thirty-year-old man, he swore softly, then picked up the towel she'd dropped on the floor. He carried it into the bathroom and hung it up to dry, tossing the clothes he'd brought with him on the back of a chair. He covered the tub and turned off the light.

Okay. Leave. Walk away. Go upstairs.

Instead, he came back to look at her in the light from the hallway.

Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed. He'd leave in a minute.

God, he was a fool. He could have had her, made love to her. He could have been lying next to her right now, basking in the afterglow.

But tomorrow was coming with a vengeance. And tomorrow they both would've had to live with the consequences.

Maybe he could make her fall in love with him. Maybe. And wouldn't that be nice. Then she'd be in love with someone who could make her no promises. Maggie wanted a fam
ily—babies and a husband who was going to stick around. Matt could give her no guarantees.

But he knew what he wanted. For the first time in years, he was certain. He wanted
her.
After all this time, he still wanted her.

He remembered the day more than a decade ago that he'd realized he was in love with Maggie Stanton. He'd been shocked, horrified, disbelieving. The great Matt Stone, slayer of hearts, did not fall in love. Then, as time passed and he realized that he had, indeed, succumbed, he'd had to face the fact that she didn't see him as anything more than a friend.

When he'd left for college, he'd partied hard, sure that now that he was away, he'd forget about Maggie. It was only a high school crush, right?

He'd dated a long line of long-legged blondes, he'd drunk hard and had been horribly unhappy.

Somewhere down the line, he'd stopped missing her.

At least he thought he had.

Matt reached out to touch her. Her skin was so smooth, so soft. He wanted to kiss her, taste her, inhale her….

He'd leave in a minute. Really.

But he swung his legs up onto the bed, leaning back, resting his head on his hand, propped up by his elbow. He leaned forward to kiss her shoulder, and she smiled in her sleep and snuggled against him.

He knew then that he wasn't going anywhere, and he put his arms around her.

Tomorrow Maggie would wake up and find him there. And if she still wanted him in the light of morning, there'd be no holding him back, regardless of the consequences.

M
aggie awoke to the sound of the window shade rubbing against the sill in the gentle ocean breeze.

The room was dim, but bright sunlight seeped in around the edges of the shade. She could tell from the brightness that it was late morning, possibly even past noon.

She stretched and her leg bumped something very solid and memories from the night before came roaring back to her.

It was indeed Matt, lying beside her, fast asleep. His long hair was tangled around his face. He was on his side, one arm tucked under his head, his legs kicked free from the sheet. He was wearing a pair of shorts—what a relief. Maggie was hyperaware of her own lack of clothing.

She'd tried to seduce him last night, but he'd refused.

Her face heated. She'd thrown herself at him, but he'd made it clear he didn't want to be anything more than friends.

So what was he doing in bed with her?

The phone rang, suddenly, shrilly, and Matt stirred. His
eyes opened and focused on her for one brief moment before he turned and picked it up from the bedside table. “Hello?” His voice was husky from sleep. He sat up, pushing his hair out of his face, swearing softly. He listened for a moment longer, than handed the phone to Maggie. “It's your brother.”

“Stevie?” she said, clutching the sheet to her. Her own voice was rusty sounding, and God, her head was throbbing.

“Yo, Mags,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Are you guys still in
bed?
”

“Well, sort of,” she told him. “But it's not what—”

“I'm very impressed. I'm also very glad I called. Mom and Dad are on their way over.”

“Oh, God!” Her eyes met Matt's and from the look on his face, she knew he'd heard what Stevie had said.

“I'm going to shower,” Matt told her. “I left some clothes for you in the bathroom.”

“They're coming out to have a little chat, if you know what I mean,” her brother said. “Hang tough. And don't let 'em get close enough to throw the straitjacket around you.”

“Very funny,” Maggie said. “Stevie, thanks for calling.”

“Anytime. Good luck. And don't forget to practice safe sex.”

She and Matt had had the safest kind of sex there was—none. But if he wanted to keep their relationship limited to friendship as he'd claimed last night, why was he sleeping in her bed?

Maggie hung up the phone and went into the bathroom. She drank directly from the sink faucet, trying to rehydrate and make her head feel a little less like it was about to explode.

She dressed quickly—her underwear was mostly dry, but everything else was still damp. She put on Matt's clothes—which made her look like a kid playing dress-up. And her hair…

Nothing like falling asleep with a wet head to create a
noteworthy style. Her only chance at looking seminormal was to put it into a ponytail.

She went in search of Matt who surely had a vast collection of ponytail holders.

Following the sound of running water, she went up a huge curved staircase to the third and then the fourth floor.

The fourth story of this old house wasn't a full floor. There was a very small landing at the top of the stairs and a single door. Maggie knocked, but there was no answer. She tried the knob and the door swung open.

Another door was off to the immediate right. The bathroom—she could hear the sound of the shower. More stairs led up, and she climbed them.

This
was Matt's room—Maggie knew it without a doubt.

It was the tower room, large and airy. Its octagonal walls were all windows. There were no curtains, only miniblinds and they'd all been pulled up.

Sunlight streamed in from all angles, and the hardwood floor gleamed. The woodwork around the windows was white, as was the ceiling and all the furniture and the spread on Matt's double bed. There wasn't much color in the entire room. There didn't need to be. Nature provided all the color anyone could possibly want.

The view was breathtaking. The sky—and there was so much of it—was a brilliant blue. She could see the deep blue-green water if she looked in one direction. When she turned she could see the gentle hills that led into town, covered with the new green leaves of early summer. The white steeple of the Congregational Church peeked up over the treetops.

A wind chime of fragile white shells hung in front of an open window, and it moved in the breeze, creating a delicate and soothing cascade of music.

The bathroom door opened, and Matt came into the room. Maggie blushed—he was wearing only a white pair of briefs.

“Nice room, huh?” he said, unfazed at the sight of her, as he rubbed his hair with a towel. He made no attempt to
cover himself, as if it were entirely normal for her to be there in his room while he was in his underwear.

“It's beautiful,” she said. “I'm actually looking for a ponytail holder.”

“In the bathroom drawer,” he told her.

She went down the stairs. The bathroom air was still heavy with moisture, the mirror steamed up despite the fresh air from an open window. It was a modest little room, nothing like the bathroom with the hot tub, downstairs.

She fished through a drawer jammed with combs and razors.

“I think you should tell your parents that you're going to live here for a while,” Matt told her, coming to stand in the doorway.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” She used his brush to attempt to tame her hair. “And I don't think my parents will, either.”

“I've got eight empty bedrooms,” he pointed out. “They don't have to fear for your virtue.”

And neither did she, obviously. Maggie put his brush back on the edge of the sink.

“Mags, we have to talk about what happened last night,” he said as if he could read her mind.

“What's to say?” She pushed past him and headed down the stairs to the main part of the house. “Except I guess I should probably apologize. And thank you. I would have been
really
embarrassed this morning if we'd actually, you know…”

She would have been
beyond
embarrassed and well into mortified. If he'd made love to her, it would've been as a favor.

Matt followed her down the stairs.

She turned to face him. “You
are
a good friend,” she said. “And you were right. Our friendship is too valuable to risk losing.”

His expression was unreadable.

The doorbell rang.

“We should talk more about this later,” he said. “Right now it's showtime.”

He brushed past her as he went down the stairs, and Maggie had to cling to the thick oak banister, shocked at the way her body responded to even such casual contact. It was a symptom of Matthew Fever.

Could she really live in a house with him? Without embarrassing herself further? On the other hand, could she pass up the opportunity to be near him?

And she wanted to be near him—desperately. Maybe it would pass. Maybe this illness would leave as quickly as it had struck.

Her parents were dressed in their church clothes. They peered at Matt and Maggie through the screen.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stanton,” Matt said graciously. “Please come in.”

“Maggie, are you all right?” her father asked.

Her mother came and hugged her. “My poor baby. Get your things. We'll take you home.”

“I don't want to go home,” Maggie told her.

Her father glanced at Matt. “Honey, we want to talk to you, and it'll be much easier at home.”

“Anyone thirsty?” Matt asked. “I'll go get some lemonade.”

“No,” Maggie said sharply. “I'm not thirsty and neither are my parents.”

“Mags, I was trying to be polite—give you some privacy.”

“We don't need privacy.” She turned back to her parents. “I'm going to stay here for a while.”

Her parents both started talking at once.

“Margaret, I understand how unhappy you must feel about Brock and Vanessa—”

“Vanessa's gone to Brock's,” her father told her. “What's
she's done is inexcusable. It's not fair that you should be the one to leave. And moving here seems rather sudden and—”

“Wait a minute,” Maggie said. “Don't get the wrong idea. Matt has lots of room here, and he offered me a place to stay. We're friends, Dad. It's like me moving in with Angie.”

Her father glanced at Matt again, this time sizing him up. “You don't really expect us to believe that, do you?” He turned to Matt. “Maybe you should get that lemonade, son.”

But Matt, thank God, knew that she desperately didn't want to be alone with her parents. “Sure,” he said easily, but then turned to Maggie. “Want to give me a hand?”

She nearly bolted toward the kitchen.

“Go on into the living room,” she heard Matt say, before he followed her and shut the kitchen door behind him.

“What's this with Vanessa and Brock?” he asked, as he crossed to the cabinets and took out four tall glasses.

“I got home last night just in time to see Brock kissing Vanessa good night,” she told him, sitting at the kitchen table and putting her head in her hands. “She actually slept with him.”

Matt swore. And then he put a couple of aspirin on the table in front of her, along with a glass of water.

“Thank you. Apparently Brock's been interested in Van all along,” Maggie told him. “She and I had a little confrontation.”

“What a jackass,” he said. “So that's what last night was about, huh?”

Maggie nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I can't believe I was too stupid to notice that I wasn't the one he really wanted.”

Matt took a pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator and stirred it with a long spoon. “Maggie, the man wanted to marry you.”

“Until Vanessa became available. Then it was no contest.”

“But you didn't want to marry him—”

“That's not the point,” she nearly shouted at him. “God, how many times back in high school did boys ask me out because they wanted to get closer to Van?”

“Too often,” Matt said quietly. “It sucked. I remember how hurt you used to be.”

“I thought that was over with,” she admitted. “I thought people were finally interested in me, for who I am, not for whose sister I am. But I was wrong. I feel…insignificant and…worthless and
stupid.”

And when she'd come to him, he'd rejected her, too. Matt's heart sank. Damn, he'd thought he was doing the right thing last night, and it had been exactly, perfectly wrong.

“Maggie—” he started, but she cut him off.

“I'll get over it,” she said. “I always did before. But I've got to confess, I'm seriously considering moving someplace where no one's ever heard of Vanessa Stanton.”

“Maybe that's not a bad idea,” Matt said. “I'll make a deal with you. In three months, if I don't win my inheritance, we'll get one of those big camper things and cruise the United States.”

Maggie looked up at him with the most peculiar expression. “You mean a…recreational vehicle?”

“Yeah.” He grinned at her. “It'll be a blast. What do you say?” It was always good to have a plan B. Especially since he really didn't expect plan A to work.

She put her face in her hands. It was hard to tell whether she was laughing or groaning.

“As for right now, I know what to tell your parents.” He handed her the pitcher of lemonade. “Carry this out, will you?”

“What?” asked Maggie. “What are you going to tell them?”

Matt picked up the tray with the glasses. “They're not going to believe that there's nothing going on between us.
We can deny it until the end of time, but they're going to think you're living here with me. You know,
with
me.”

“But it's not true.”

“I know that and you know that, but I'm telling you that denying it will only make them crazy. Just follow my lead,” he said with a smile. “Think of this as an improvisational skit.”

“I
hate
improv,” Maggie muttered, following him out of the kitchen.

The Stantons looked up as Maggie and Matt came into the living room. They were sitting stiffly on those chairs his father had bought—the uncomfortable ones with wooden legs that were curved into bird's claws. Matt put the tray down on top of the coffee table.

“Just set the lemonade over here, then come sit next to me, babe,” he said to Maggie.

Babe? She didn't say it, but the look she was giving him nearly made him laugh out loud.

He poured the lemonade, handed glasses to Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, and then patted the couch next to him.