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