Читать книгу Irresistible Attraction: Scenes of Passion / Midnight Seduction / Beyond Control - Justine Davis, Bronwyn Jameson - Страница 10

Six

Maggie 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.”

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 family—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.