Irresistible Attraction: Scenes of Passion / Midnight Seduction / Beyond Control

“I was thinking on my feet,” he said as she pushed past him into the house. “Give me a break!”

She turned back to him. “Give me the keys to your car.”

He went into the kitchen and came back with the keys to the Maserati. “Where are you going?” he asked as he handed them over. “Can I come along? After all, it is our honeymoon.”

“Shopping,” she said. “No. And stuff it.”

Eight

The sun was sinking in the sky by the time Maggie returned from the mall.

Matt was out on the front-porch swing. He watched as she unloaded one huge shopping bag after another from the car.

“Honey, I’m home,” she singsonged.

“Well, if it isn’t the little wife,” he said, coming to help her. “Thank God you’ve got your sense of humor back.”

“Nothing like a little shopping to ease the soul.”

“A little?” His arms were piled high with packages. “You’re going to be paying off your credit cards until you’re eighty years old.”

“Your credit cards,” she said smoothly. “We’re married now, remember?”

“Oh, good, I’ll keep that in mind, later, when it’s time to go to bed,” Matt said in his best Groucho Marx imitation.

“I was kidding,” Maggie said darkly.

Matt wasn’t.

“I paid cash for this stuff,” Maggie told him. “I worked at A&B for three years. Remember me? I used to live at home. I saved all my money all that time. I can afford to splurge. I wanted to splurge. So I bought myself clothes that I like.” She hadn’t bought one single corporate clone suit.

Matt pulled a sundress out of one of the bags. “Put this on,” he said, draping it over her shoulder. “I’m taking you out to dinner. We’re celebrating.”

She shot him a look. “Celebrating what? And if you say ‘Our recent marriage,’ I’m going to smack you.”

“How about celebrating our getting the leads in the summer musical?”

“No kidding?” Maggie’s face completely lit up.

“Nope.” He smiled back at her. “Dan Fowler called while you were out. You got Lucy. And I’m ‘Cody Brown, at your service.’ First rehearsal’s tomorrow night.”

“This is great!” Maggie did a victory dance around the entry hall. “I’m so jazzed—I really, really wanted this part.”

Matt grinned, watching her. But then she stopped and stared at him accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me right when I got home?” she asked.

“I did. I mean, I am. I mean, this is right when you got home. So you want to go out and celebrate?” Dinner—and then maybe another, less public celebration…

“Definitely.” She beamed at him.

“Get dressed,” he ordered her. “I’ll meet you on the porch in twenty minutes.”

Maggie pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The last traces of the sunset were facing from the sky. Matt had lit a citronella candle and was sitting back in one of the rocking chairs, his cowboy boots up on the rail.

“You look great,” he said simply, getting to his feet.

“You do, too.” Maggie laughed. “I thought you only wore T-shirts and jeans.”

He had on a pair of brown pants and a soft, white poet’s shirt with full, billowy sleeves. With his hair down, he looked like a time traveler from the past.

“This is about as dressed up as I get,” he said. “I mean, aside from a tux.”

It was plenty. Matthew Stone in a tux would create riots. Women would faint in the street.

In fact, more than one female head turned as they walked into the little harborside restaurant that was only a few miles from Matt’s house.

Maggie was much too aware of his fingers on her back as the hostess brought them to a table overlooking the water. He’s just a friend. He’s just a friend. He’s just a friend. Maybe if she chanted it silently, she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

Dinner was lovely, and Matt carefully kept the conversation on safe topics—movies they’d seen, books they’d read, and since they had ten years of catching up to do, they never ran out of things to say.

As they were finishing dessert, the waitress brought over a florist’s box and handed it to Maggie with a smile—and an appreciative glance at Matt.

Maggie gave him a quizzical look, but he just smiled.

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

A dozen roses—deep red and gorgeous. “They’re beautiful.”

“Only eleven,” he said quietly. “You make it a dozen.”

There was a card among the flowers, and she opened the tiny envelope.

Make Love To Me Tonight was printed in plain block letters on the card.

She looked up at Matt. His face looked mysterious in the candlelight. Shadows accentuated his cheekbones, giving him an exotic look. His eyes glittered slightly, looking more golden than usual in the dim light.

Maggie felt like crying, because she knew exactly why he was doing this.

But she must have hidden what she was feeling, because he reached across the table and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her softly on the palm.

It was the perfect thing for him to do. He was perfect. Everything was perfect. Except none of this was real. He was only doing this out of pity.

“Matt,” she started, but he shook his head.

“Don’t say anything now,” he said. “Let’s take a walk.”

He tossed a small wad of bills onto the table, and held out his hand for her. She let him lead her out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk that led to the marina.

The sky was clear and the moon was up.

Maggie shivered in the cool air, and Matt moved to put his arm around her shoulders, but she sidestepped him.

He caught her arm. “I made a mistake last night,” he said, breaking their silence.

“Matt, I know—”

“Wait. Just hear me out, okay?”

She nodded, moving over to the railed fence that lined the edge of the seawall. She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead looking at the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water.

“I was trying to be noble,” he told her. “I thought I was protecting you. But I was wrong, and I want to rewind and take it from the hot tub, okay?”

She closed her eyes.

“Come on, Maggie, look at me.”

Slowly, she turned.

“I want to make love to you.” He pulled her toward him. She didn’t know how he did it, but he actually managed to make his eyes hot with desire.

“Matt—”

“I’ve wanted to make love to you since we were in high school,” he said as he pulled her close, as he kissed her neck, her throat, her jaw.

“Please stop,” she said weakly. If he kissed her on the lips, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop.

And then he did. His lips found hers, and he kissed her slowly, languidly, his tongue exploring her mouth and…

Maggie smacked him on the butt with the cardboard flower box. He let go of her, staring as if she were insane.

Maybe she was. Anyone who would willingly stop a man from kissing her like that had to be more than touch crazy.

“I know what you’re doing.” She backed away so that there was distance between them. “I thought you’d try something like this. When you found out today about Vanessa and Brock… You feel sorry for me and you’re trying to make me feel better.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think so—”

“It’s not working,” she told him. “You can turn off the act.”

“This isn’t an act.” He reached for her, but she brandished the flower box again. He laughed. “Maggie, I swear—”

“And I’ve kissed you often enough on stage to know that you can play the part of the passionate lover with your eyes closed and both hands tied behind your back.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Please, Matt,” Maggie begged. “I’m exhausted. I don’t want to fight with you right now. Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

He shook his head and started to speak but stopped himself. Without another word, he led her back to his car.

They drove home in silence, but as he pulled into the garage, he looked at her. “It’s not an act.”

“Good night,” she told him, and nearly ran into the house, into the room she’d claimed as her bedroom.

She locked the door behind her. But she wasn’t sure if she was locking him out—or herself in.

Nine

Matt’s eyes opened as the sun streamed into his tower bedroom.

He glanced at his clock: 6:18. Four hours of sleep. Not bad. Not great, but not bad, considering…

Maggie was only one floor beneath him, but after last night, she might as well be a million miles away.

He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to ignore how much he wanted her, trying to figure out how he’d be able to return to his status of friend after tasting her lips. But he’d done it before. He’d fallen desperately in love with her more than ten years ago, and he’d survived.

Or had he?

Matt had spent the night alternately praying that it would simply be a matter of time before she came to him, and praying that he would have the strength to keep his distance from her.

It was probably a good thing that she’d told him no last night.

It was ten days and counting until he was scheduled to go back to the hospital for a checkup. He’d all but decided not to go, thinking it was little more than a visit to a high-tech fortune teller. Whether he was going to live for one year, ten years, or a hundred years certainly mattered to him, but knowing wouldn’t change the way he lived his life.

Except now everything had turned upside down, and now he desperately wanted to know.

He pulled himself out of bed.

He had work to do.

Maggie grabbed an apple from the refrigerator, still humming the melody from the summer musical’s closing number.

The first rehearsal—a read through of the script—had gone well, except for the fact that she’d counted seven different times she was going to have to kiss Matt on stage. Each kiss would have to be set up, blocked and rehearsed. Over and over again. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

As she took a bite of the apple, she opened up the connecting door to the office and turned on the lights.

“Whoa,” Matt said. “What are you doing?”

“I want to look over those numbers some more,” she said.

She held her apple in her teeth as she used both hands to clear a stack of file folders from one of the chairs. The conference table itself was stacked high with files and bound reports and computer printouts. They had worked hard all day, right up to the rehearsal.

“It’s nearly midnight.” Matt cleared off another chair so he could sit, too. “This will still be here tomorrow.”

“These numbers are bad,” Maggie said. “I’ve looked at the quarterly reports for the past four years, and the gross profits have remained pretty darn constant, even after your dad died. There’s not a lot of room for increased profits here, Matt.”

“So what do we do?”

She stretched her arms over her head. “I guess we have to start thinking creatively.”

“Oh, good.”

“Good?” She looked at him in disbelief.

He grinned. “Quarterly reports and gross profits make my head spin. But creative thinking is something I can handle.”

It was true. Even back in school, Matt had never had the patience for math. He hadn’t been very good at following rules. But in terms of creativity, he was a pro. Put him in an empty room with a canvas and paints, and you’d get a masterpiece. Most likely the canvas would remain blank and the masterpiece would be painted on the wall, but it would be truly magnificent.

“Tomorrow we should go down and take a look at the plant,” she said. “Maybe that will trigger your creative process.”

“Okay,” he said easily, idly picking up a thick file folder and leafing through it. “God, can you believe a temporary secretary costs more than forty dollars an hour from some of these agencies? That’s not within our budget, is it?”

Maggie searched through the piles of reports for the current year’s annual budget. “Actually, it is. But we can cut costs. I mean, jeez, we could hire Stevie to be our slave for fifteen dollars an hour.”

Matt smiled. “That’s a great idea. Let’s hire Steve.”

She looked at him in exasperation. “I was kidding.”

“Can he type?”

“Probably. He’s always online.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Matt, sometimes I think you’re totally nuts.” She rubbed the back of her neck, twisting her head to stretch the muscles. She’d have to make time tomorrow to get in a workout at the club.

With a start, she felt Matt’s hands touching her shoulders. She stood up quickly, breaking free. “Don’t,” she told him.

“Mags, lighten up. I was trying to help you relax.”

“Well, just don’t, okay?”

He didn’t say anything then. He stood there, looking at her, his eyes guarded, his face nearly expressionless.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know it must have confused you when I… did what I did the other night. I was upset and angry and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Sometimes I wonder if I’m still not thinking clearly. But I do know that you were right. Our friendship is far too valuable to throw away for a little sex.”

She risked a glance at him, and found he’d turned to stare out the window. Part of the lawn was lit by spotlights aimed at the house, and the semicircles of bright green grass stood out as islands in the surrounding sea of darkness.

“I’m still feeling really vulnerable,” she said softly. “Every time you touch me, I question your motivation. And damn it, I don’t want your pity, Matt.”

He just shook his head. “You know, if I’m feeling sorry for anyone here, it’s myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “I need you to give me some space so we can get things back to normal.” Sooner or later she’d start feeling human again. Sooner or later, she’d be able to accept a back rub from him without wanting his hands to caress her entire body.

“All right.” He glanced at her and forced a smile. “I’m going up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He made a wide circuit around Maggie, careful not to get too close, and went out of the office without looking back.

Wait, she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth tightly shut.

“You did what?” Angie’s voice sounded remarkably clear over the international connection.

Maggie smiled, imagining the look on her friend’s face. “I moved out. It was right after I had a fight with Van, who moved back home because she and Mitch are getting a divorce, and now she wants to go out with Brock, so he dumped me, but that’s okay because he was a jerk, and this all happened on the same day I quit my job because I’m working full-time for Matthew now.”

Angie’s stunned silence was extremely impressive because she was Angie and rarely stunned or silent.

“So what else is new?” she finally asked.

“I got the lead in the summer musical,” Maggie said.

“I was kidding,” Angie exploded. “Damn, Mags is that all?”

“That about covers it.”

She sat in her nightgown, with her feet up on the late Mr. Stone’s big desk, talking on his private line. She’d gotten up very early to give Angie a call. It was already lunchtime in London, and she knew her friend was rarely home in the afternoon.

“Let me get this straight. You’re working for Matthew?”

“Yep.”

“He’s paying you?”

“What, do you think I’d do it for free?”

“You? Yes.”

Maggie laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“How is he?” Angie asked.

“He’s fine,” Maggie told her friend. “He’s great, actually. He’s changed an awful lot, Ange.”

She snorted. “Don’t count on it. With Matt, you never know what’s reality and what’s just an elaborate song and dance. My guess is right now he’s taken on the role of the prodigal son. He’s probably imitating his dear departed father, dressing like a businessman and saying things like, ‘Let’s do lunch.”’

“No,” Maggie said. “He’s not. I don’t know exactly what happened, but he went through some very tough times over the past few years. He’s different now. You’d probably have trouble recognizing him.”

“Now that I refuse to believe,” Angie said. “Hey, tell me what happened with that jungle guy from the club. You meet him yet?”

“Um,” Maggie said cautiously. “Yes, I did.”

“And…?”

“And… I don’t know.” She couldn’t tell Angie that her fantasy man and Matt were one and the same. She just couldn’t.

“Is he human?”

“Extremely human,” Maggie said. “Totally, absolutely human. Incredibly human.”

“Uh-oh.” Angie laughed. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

“It’s terrible,” Maggie admitted, pulling her feet off the desk. “I may never recover.”

“That’s the way I felt when I first met Fred. Obviously you don’t have a choice. You’ve got to marry the guy.”

Maggie closed her eyes. “I don’t think so. Angie, look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go down to the courthouse this morning, and there’s a ton and a half of paper sitting in the office waiting to be read. I’ll call you again soon, okay?”

“Mags, where are you staying?” Angie said. “You told me you moved out, but you didn’t say where you’re living now.”

“I’m staying with a friend,” Maggie told her, feeling doubly dishonest. “I’ve got to run. See you, okay? Bye!”

She hung up the phone and put her head down on the desk.

She should have told Angie the whole truth, but she couldn’t deal with the thirty-minute lecture on the evil of Matthew Stone that would have been sure to follow.

Maybe she wouldn’t ever have to tell Angie. Maybe her feelings for Matt would conveniently vanish. But her own words came back to her. I may never recover.

She had to smile, thinking of Angie’s solution. Marry the guy. Ange would be horrified to know that she’d even inadvertently advised her best friend to aim for marriage with Matthew Stone.

Angie would be even more horrified to find out that Mrs. Stanton thought Maggie and Matt were already married.

Married. To Matt.

She’d have a better chance of winning the lottery. Matt simply wasn’t the marrying kind.

He was however, the hot sex in the hot tub kind.

She had to stop thinking about that.

The clock on the wall said six forty-five. She was too wired to go back to sleep. She might as well get to work.

On her way through the kitchen, she put on the tea kettle and searched the cabinets for the tin of tea bags. Hoping against hope, she opened the refrigerator, looking for a lemon.

There were five in the lower drawer.

That was odd. Fresh fruit and vegetables filled the refrigerator. She’d been here for two days now, and she hadn’t noticed anyone delivering groceries. And Lord knows she hadn’t had time to pick anything up. Yet the refrigerator was packed with food—

“Hey, you’re up early.” Matt came into the kitchen. His skin was slick with perspiration and his shorts and T-shirt were soaked through. He was still breathing hard, as if he’d just finished some strenuous exercise.

“So are you,” she managed to say.

Matt wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down his face as he looked at her. She was backlit by the light from the refrigerator, and her nightgown had become diaphanous. Her hair was still messy from sleep, and without makeup, her face looked fresh and young. But her body was all woman.

She had no idea of the show she was putting on for him. And wasn’t that a shame. At first glance, he’d dared to hope that she was purposely trying to drive him crazy, that maybe she wanted him to pick her up and carry her into the nearest bedroom and make love to her.

God knows that was what he wanted to do.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” she said, clutching a lemon to her chest.

Yeah, no kidding. She didn’t move, so he reached past her into the open fridge for the orange juice. He drank directly from the plastic container. “I was out running,” he told her. “I try to do five miles a day, but sometimes I miss.”

“You’ve already run five miles this morning?” The tea kettle began to howl, and she closed the refrigerator door—too bad—and carried her lemon to the stove. She took the kettle off the burner, then turned to look at Matt skeptically. “Sometimes I think aliens have invaded your body. The Matt I know had to be dragged out of bed every morning to make it to school on time. I remember when noon on a Saturday was unbearably early for you.”

“It’s not a Saturday,” Matt pointed out, finishing off the juice.

Maggie shook her head as she filled her mug with steaming water. “What time did you get up?”

“Four-thirty,” Matt told her. “Usually I don’t wake up till six o’clock, but for some reason I’ve been having more trouble than usual sleeping.”

And guess what—or rather who—that reason is?

She didn’t meet his eyes, because she knew.

“So far this morning,” he told her, “I’ve memorized the first ten pages of my dialogue for the show, and I’ve gone grocery shopping.”

“Grocery shopping this early?”

“The Stop and Shop is open twenty-four hours.” He shrugged. “Sometimes if I can’t sleep, I’ll go over at three a. m.” He smiled. “No crowds, you know.”

“If you write out a list, I’ll get the groceries next time we need them,” Maggie volunteered.

But Matt shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I like to do it.”

She took her mug of tea and headed for the door. “Aliens have definitely invaded your body.”

* * *

The Yankee Potato Chip factory was a huge brick building on the other side of town, surrounded by a parking area that was almost entirely filled with the employees’ cars.

Maggie flipped through her file as Matt pulled up in front of a parking spot marked President near the main door.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said.

“Of course you can.” She glanced up from the papers. “You own this company. You’re perfectly within your rights to inspect—”

“No, I mean, I don’t know if I can park here.”

Maggie looked at the parking spot, then at Matt.

“I mean, that word president,” he said. “It implies a certain dignity, a certain knowledge. Maybe I should have them paint over it with Ignorant Son.”

Maggie laughed. “I can think of better ways to use the money.”

“So can I.”

Inside the plant, the manager gave them a complete tour, explaining as they went what he saw as the strengths and weaknesses of the operation. Matt grasped each issue quickly, asking probing and intelligent questions. He stopped frequently as they walked, speaking to the employees, listening intently as they talked. By the time they were through, five hours later, Maggie was exhausted.

And Matt was silent in the car on the way home. It wasn’t until an hour later that he turned from staring out the office window to say, “Have you come across blueprints and specs for the construction of the plant?”

“I just saw them.” Maggie dug through the piles of papers and files, and found the thick three-ringed binder. She hefted the blueprints onto the table. “What do we need these for?”

“Hmm,” Matt said. He punched the speaker phone and dialed. “Hey, Steve, it’s Matthew Stone.”

Steve? As in Stevie? As in her brother? She hadn’t thought Matt was serious about…

“Yo, Matthew Stone.” It was indeed Stevie. “’Sup, my man?”

“How are you at Internet research?”

“I think I once surfed around looking for historical information on the Ramones,” Stevie said. “Why?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “He got 1520 on his SATs.”

“Hush there, Mags,” Stevie said. “If you say that too loudly, you’ll ruin my rep. Chicks don’t dig the brainiacs.”

“You want to bet?” Maggie countered.

“Steve, you want to earn twenty bucks an hour?” Matt asked.

“Tell me who to kill,” her brother said. “I’ll ask no questions.”

“Consider yourself hired,” Matt said.