Acclaimed authors Suzanne Brockmann and Jill Sorenson bring you two tales of sizzling attraction…where danger is never far behind

Scenes of Passion

Safe and steady pretty much sums up Maggie Stanton’s life. But a chance encounter stirs long-buried desires and urges her to do the unimaginable—take a risk. Shockingly, the man who convinces her to forsake predictability for passion is the full-grown version of her childhood best friend. Only, this Matthew Stone wants more and Maggie almost believes that their whirlwind romance is meant to be. Then she learns that Matthew is keeping a secret…and the consequences could change everything….

Scenes of Peril

The snowstorm forecast says it’s a big one, but wildlife photographer Paige Dawson is prepared. Until a terrible car accident brings a sexy stranger to her remote mountain cabin and the bad weather strands them together…for days. The heat between them is like nothing she’s ever known—incendiary, undeniable. And just as she begins to hope for something real with Colin Reid, after the snow melts, he remembers what caused his accident…and it may be too late for them both.

Praise for the novels of Suzanne Brockmann

“Zingy dialogue, a great sense of drama,

and a pair of lovers who generate enough steam heat to power a whole city.”

—RT Book Reviews on Hero Under Cover

“Readers will be on the edge of their seats.”

—Library Journal on Breaking Point

“Another excellently paced, action-filled read.

Brockmann delivers yet again!”

—RT Book Reviews on Into the Storm

“Funny, sexy, suspenseful, and superb.”

—Booklist on Hot Target

Praise for the novels of Jill Sorenson

“Sorenson fuels this fast-paced romantic thriller

with nonstop adrenaline….This twisty roller-coaster ride keeps the pages turning.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Aftershock

“This goes down as one of the best I’ve ever read.

Bar none.”

—New York Times bestselling author Maya Banks

on Dangerous to Touch

“One of the best books of the year…

nonstop, heart-pounding excitement.”

—RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex,

Top Pick! 4.5 stars

Passion and Peril

Scenes of Passion

Suzanne Brockmann

Scenes of Peril

Jill Sorenson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Scenes of Passion

Scenes of Peril

Scenes of Passion

Suzanne Brockmann

For Melanie and Jason.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

TRAFFIC ON ROUTE 95 was in a snarl again.

Maggie Stanton sat in her car, too tired even to flip through radio stations to find a song that annoyed her less than the one that was playing. She was too tired to do much of anything besides breathe.

Or maybe tired wasn’t the right word. Maybe discouraged was more accurate. Or downtrodden.

No, downtrodden implied a certain resistance to being trod upon.

Maggie was just plain pathetic. She was a doormat. A wimp without a life of her own.

She was twenty-nine years old and she was living at home. Yes, she’d moved back in with her parents because of the fire in her apartment.

But that was three years ago.

First her mother had asked her to stay to help with Vanessa’s wedding.

When 9/11 happened, her father had asked her to keep living at home a little longer, and somehow another year had passed.

Then right after Maggie had found a terrific new place in the city, her grandmother had died, and she couldn’t leave while her mother was feeling so blue.

It was now way past time to leave—a quarter past ridiculous—and her mother was making noise about how silly it would be for Maggie to get a place of her own when she was on the verge of getting married.

Uh, Mom? Don’t get the invitations engraved just yet. The bride kind of needs to be in love with the groom before that happens, doesn’t she?

Although, like most of the major decisions in Maggie’s life, it was possible that this one would be made by her parents, too. And she would just stand there, the way she always did, and nod and smile.

God, she was such a loser.

Maggie’s cell phone rang, saving her from the additional tedium of self-loathing. “Hello?”

“Hey, pumpkin.”

Someone kill her now. She was dating a man who called her pumpkin. No, she wasn’t just dating him; she was—as her mother called it—preengaged.

Yes, Brock “Hey, Pumpkin” Donovan had actually asked her to marry him. Maggie had managed to stall for the past few weeks—which turned out to be an enormous mistake. She should have said no immediately, right before she ran screaming from the room. Instead, because she was a wimp and rarely screamed about anything, she’d put it off. Her wimp thinking was that she’d find the right time and place to let him down without hurting his feelings. Instead, he’d gone and told Maggie’s older sister Vanessa, who was married to Brock’s former college roommate, that he’d popped the question. And Van had told their parents, and...

Segue to Mom buying Bride magazine and starting negotiations with the Hammonassett Inn.

Maggie’s parents had been so excited, they’d wanted to throw a preengagement party, for crying out loud. Fortunately, the only date Mom had had available was this Saturday—the day that Eastfield Community Theater was holding auditions for their summer show.

And they knew not to schedule something on that day.

Maggie’s involvement in theater was the only thing she had ever put her foot down about. Her parents had wanted her to go to Yale, so she’d gone to Yale instead of Emerson’s performing-arts school. Yale had a terrific drama department, but her parents had made so much noise about starving artists needing a career to fall back on, she’d majored instead in business. After college, the noise had continued, so she’d gone to law school instead of moving to New York City and auditioning for a part on a soap opera. Her father had wanted her to work for his lawyer buddies at Andersen and Brenden here in New Haven, and here she was.

Stuck in traffic after putting in a twenty-seven-hour day at A&B. Preengaged, heaven help her, to a man who called her pumpkin.

Living her life vicariously through the roles she played onstage at ECT.

Because God forbid she ever say no and disappoint anyone.

Wimp.

“I’m still at work,” Brock told her now, over the phone. “It’s crazy here. I’m going to have to cancel, sweetheart. You don’t mind, do you?”

Maggie had actually taken her gym bag with her to work despite the fact that she and Brock were supposed to have dinner. More often than not, Brock canceled or arrived at the restaurant very late.

Of course, tonight was the night she’d planned to let him down. Gently, with no screaming and relatively little pain.

And yes, that was relief flooding through her, chicken that she was. There was also annoyance, she realized. This man allegedly loved her. He said he wanted to marry her, for crying out loud.

And yet his idea of wooing her was to repeatedly break dinner dates at the last minute.

She could imagine their wedding day—Brock calling her as she sat dressed in her wedding gown in a sleek white limo being driven to the church.

“Pumpkin!” he’d boom over the cell phone’s little speaker. “Something’s come up. Compu-dime’s systems have gone haywire! They need me in Dallas, pronto. We’re going to have to reschedule—you don’t mind, do you?”

And there it was—one of the reasons Brock wanted to marry her. She was so completely, idiotically compliant.

Of course she didn’t mind. She never minded. She always did what was asked or expected of her, with a smile on her idiotic face.

She was such a loser.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Brock said now. “I’ve got to run.”

And he was gone before she could say anything at all.

With his curly hair and Hollywood-star cleft in his chin, Brock was a good-looking man. And, as Maggie’s mother kept pointing out, he got six weeks of vacation each year.

Yeah, there was a reason to get married—for a man’s extensive vacation time.

Be careful, Angie had said the last time they’d talked on the phone. Maggie’s best friend from high school was convinced that if Mags didn’t stay alert, she’d wake up one morning married to the Brockster. Kind of the same way she’d woken up one morning with a law degree, a job at A&B and living at home again at age twenty-nine.

But Angie was Angie. Her goal in life was to make waves. She’d just gotten married herself to a man from England and was living now in London, working as a stage manager in the theater district. She had a dream job and a dream husband. Freddy Chambers, a seemingly straitlaced Brit, was the perfect match for Angie Caratelli’s rather violently passionate nature.

Kind of for the same reasons quiet Maggie had gotten along so well with Angie.

It had been more than ten years, but Maggie still missed high school. She and Angie and Angie’s boyfriend, Matt Stone—all part of the theater crowd—had been inseparable and life had been one endless, laughter-filled party. Well, except when Angie and Matt were fighting. Which was every other day, because Matt had been as volatile as Angie.

Life had been jammed with anticipation and excitement and possibilities. There was always a new show to put on, a new dance to learn, a new song to sing. The future hung before them, glowing and bright.

Matt would have been as horrified as Angie if he knew Maggie was a corporate lawyer now, and that her office didn’t even have a window. But he’d disappeared over ten years ago, after graduation. His and Angie’s friendship hadn’t survived that one last devastating breakup, and when he’d left town, he hadn’t come back.

Not even a few years ago, when his father had died.

No, Maggie was the only one of them still living here in town. Wimp that she was, she liked living in the town she’d lived in most of her life. She just wished she weren’t living at home.

“Help,” she said to the woman in the car in the next lane over who looked nearly as tired as Maggie felt. But with the windows up and the air-conditioning running, they might as well have been in different rockets in outer space.

Angie repeatedly suggested that Maggie quit her job, dump Brock and run off to live in a recreational vehicle with that really gorgeous, long-haired, muscular Tarzan lookalike Maggie had caught glimpses of while at the health club. The jungle man, she and Angie had taken to calling him since he first appeared a week or so ago. She’d first noticed him hanging from his knees from the chin-up bar, doing midair sit-ups.

He had long, straight, honey-brown hair, and as he effortlessly pulled himself up again and again, it came free from the rubber band and whipped in a shimmering curtain around him.

Maggie had never gotten a clear look at his face, but the glimpses she’d seen were filled with angles and cheekbones and a clean-shaven and very strong chin.

She could picture him now, walking toward her, across the tops of the cars that were practically parked on Route 95.

He would move in slow motion—men who looked like that always did, at least in the movies. Muscles rippling, T-shirt hugging his chest, blue jeans tight across his thighs, hair down around his shoulders, a small smile playing about his sensuous mouth, a dangerous light in his golden-green eyes.

Well, Maggie hadn’t gotten close enough to him to see the color of his eyes, but she’d always had a special weakness for eyes that were that exotic, jungle cat color.

Oh, yeah.

He’d effortlessly swing himself down from the hood of her car and open the driver’s-side door.

“I’ll drive,” he’d say in a smoky, husky, sexy half whisper.

Maggie would scramble over the parking brake. No. No scrambling allowed in this fantasy. She’d gracefully and somewhat magically find her way into the passenger’s side as she surrendered the steering wheel to the jungle man.

“Where are we going?”

He’d shoot her another of those smiles. “Does it matter?”

She wouldn’t hesitate. “No.”

Heat and satisfaction would flare in his beautiful eyes, and she’d know he was going to take her someplace she’d never been before. “Good.”

The car behind her hit its horn.

Whoopsie. The traffic was finally moving.

Maggie stepped on the gas, signaling to move right, heading for the exit that would take her to the health club.

Maybe, if she were really lucky, she’d get another glimpse of the jungle man and her evening wouldn’t be a total waste.

God, she was such a loser.

Chapter Two

MATT STONE NEEDED help.

He’d been back in Eastfield—he wasn’t quite ready to call it “home”—for less than two weeks, and he could no longer pretend that he was capable of pulling this off on his own.

His father had been determined to continue messing with Matt’s head even after he was dead. He’d left Matt a fortune—and the fate of two hundred and twenty employees of the Yankee Potato Chip Company—provided he was willing to jump through all the right hoops.

As far as Matt was concerned, his father could take his money straight to hell with him.

But for two hundred and twenty good people to lose their jobs in this economy...?

For that, Matt would learn to jump.

Still, he needed a lawyer who was on his side. He needed someone with a head for business. And he needed that person to be someone he trusted.

He needed Maggie Stanton.

He’d seen her a time or two at the health club. But she was always in a hurry, rushing into the locker room. Rushing to an aerobic dance class. Rushing back home.

He’d seen her last night—checking him out. She was very subtle. Maggie would never leer or ogle, but she was definitely watching him in the mirrors as he did curls.

She didn’t recognize him. Matt didn’t know whether to be insulted or glad. God knows he had changed quite a bit.

She, however, looked exactly the same. Blue eyes, brown hair, sweet girl-next-door face with that slightly elfin pointy chin, freckles across her adorable nose...

It was a crime to humanity that she’d gotten a law degree instead of going to New York and working toward a career on Broadway. She had a voice that always blew him away, and an ability to act. And, oh, yeah, she could dance like a dream.

She’d won all the leads in the high school musicals starting when she was a freshman. She was Eliza Doolittle to his Henry Higgins when he was a junior and she was a sophomore.

The following year, they were Tony and Maria in West Side Story. It was the spring of Matt’s senior year, and the beginning of the end of his friendship with both Angie and Maggie.

Because Angie knew.

As Tony and Maria, he and Maggie had had to kiss onstage. It was different from the polite buss they’d shared as Eliza and Henry the year before. These were soul-sucking, heart-stopping, full-power, no-holds-barred passionate kisses. The first time they went over the first of them, Matt had followed the director’s blocking with his usual easy confidence, pulling Maggie into his arms and kissing her with all of his character’s pent-up frustration and desire.

Maggie had become Maria, kissing him back so hotly, pressing herself against him and...

And Matt had to stop pretending to himself that he hadn’t fallen for his girlfriend’s best friend.

And of course, Angie knew. The only person who didn’t know was Maggie.

It was entirely possible she never knew.

Or maybe she did know, and she had been as angry with him as Angie.

In which case she probably wouldn’t return his phone call.

Which meant that he’d just have to keep calling.

Because he needed Maggie Stanton, and this time he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

* * *

LADEN WITH FILES, Maggie staggered back into her office at five o’clock the next afternoon after a six-hour meeting with a client.

She pulled the wad of phone messages off her spiked message holder with a sigh, taking them with her into the former closet that was her office. She closed the door, dumped the files in the only other chair in the room, and, sitting at her desk, spread the message slips on the desk in front of her.

Brock had already called twice. Seven of the messages were from clients she knew, three were names she didn’t recognize.

There was a brand-new pile of files on her desk, with a casually scrawled note atop saying, “Deal with these before tomorrow, will you?”

Oh, yeah, sure. No problem—if she stayed here at the office until midnight.

Maggie let her head fall forward onto the desk. “I hate this job,” she whispered, wishing she were brave enough to say it loudly enough for either Andersen or Brenden to hear.

There was a knock on her office door.

Maggie lifted her head. This was where he’d make the scene. Her jungle man. She’d say, “Come in,” and the door would open and he’d be standing there, just looking at her with those golden-green eyes.

He’d step inside and close the door behind him and say, “Ready to go?”

And she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d say, “Yes.”

And he’d smile and hold out his hand and she’d stand up and slip her fingers into his and...

The door opened a crack and Janice Greene, the firm’s receptionist, peeked in. “You are still here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Maggie said. “I’m still here.”

“You missed one,” Janice told her, handing her the phone-message slip.

“Thanks,” Maggie said as Janice went back out the door. She glanced down at the slip and... “Whoa, wait a minute, please— Didn’t he leave a number?”

Matthew Stone, read the slip in Janice’s neat handwriting.

“He said you would know it,” Janice said. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“No,” Maggie said. “It’s all right.” The only number she knew for Matt was the one for the big old house he’d once shared with his father, down by the water.

As Janice shut her door, she picked up her phone and started to dial.

But then hung it back up.

She’d always felt a little funny about the fact that she’d taken Angie’s side during her and Matt’s last big fight—the one that had broken them up for good and even managed to disrupt Maggie’s own friendship with him.

Angie had never gone into detail about what it was that Matt had supposedly done.

All Maggie knew was that Matt and Angie had had the mother of all fights shortly after rehearsals for West Side Story had started. And that was saying something because theirs was a very stormy relationship, filled with conflict.

Angie had come running to Maggie’s house for comfort. And soon after, Matt had shown up, too.

Maggie could tell he’d been drinking from the aroma of alcohol that surrounded him. It had been whiskey she could smell, which alarmed her. Usually he only drank beer.

“Are you okay?” she’d asked him, coming out onto the front stoop.

He sat down heavily on the steps, and she knew as she sat next to him that something was really wrong. In addition to having too much to drink, he looked anxious and ill at ease.

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Mags, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said.

“Get the hell out of here, you creep!”

Maggie turned to see Angie inside the front door. Her eyes were blazing and her arms were crossed as she glared down at Matt.

He swore softly. “I should have figured you’d be here.”

Maggie had looked from Angie to Matt, feeling hopelessly caught in the middle. She stood up. “Look, you guys, why don’t I go inside? This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Matt started to laugh, and Angie kicked him, hard, in the back. He fell off the steps, landed in the shrubbery and came up mad.

“Damn it!”

“Stay away from me,” Angie shouted back at him. “And stay away from Maggie. I’m warning you, Matt!”

Maggie had never seen such venom in her friend’s eyes.

Matt turned deliberately away from her and looked at Maggie. “I would like to talk to you. Alone. Will you come for a ride with me? Please?”

“I wouldn’t let her go for a ride with you even if you were sober,” Angie shouted. “Get lost, you son of a bitch!”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Matt shouted back. “Just shut the hell up!” He turned back to Maggie. “Come on, Mags. If you don’t want me to drive, we could take a walk.”

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said as Angie pulled her back into the house.

After that, she’d only seen Matt at rehearsals.

She’d urged him to patch things up with Angie, but he’d simply smiled. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he’d asked.

Finally, she did get it. Matt and Angie were through, and their three-way friendship was over.

The next year, Matt went off to college. Angie found a new boyfriend and life went on. Maggie had kept track of Matt for a while.

The last address Maggie had had for him was from nearly seven years ago, when he was living in Los Angeles. Since then, she’d heard nothing of him, as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth.

But now he was back.

Maggie picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang four times before a breathless voice answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Matt.”

“Mags!” he said, genuine pleasure ringing in his voice. “Thanks for calling back so quickly. How are you?”

Awful. “I’m fine. Welcome back to the East Coast.”

“Yeah, well.” His voice sounded subdued for a moment. “I, uh, actually, I’m back in Eastfield on business and, um, that’s partly why I called. I mean, aside from just wanting to see you. God, it’s been forever.”

“You sound exactly the same,” she said.

“Yikes,” he said. “Really? That’s kind of scary.”

Maggie laughed. “So what kind of business are you in these days?”

“The inheritance business,” he told her. “Can you meet me tonight for dinner? I’m going to ask you to do me a giant favor and I’d rather not do it over the phone. I need the opportunity to use visuals—you know, so I can properly grovel.”

He did sound exactly the same. “How giant is this favor?”

“It’s about twenty-five million dollars giant.”

Maggie choked. “What?”

“I really want to wait and talk to you about this in person,” Matt said. “How about if I pick you up at six-thirty?”

Maggie looked at that new stack of files on her desk. “Let’s make it later. I’m going to be here for a while, and I was hoping to hit the health club tonight. I want to go to a class that ends at eight. Is that too late?”

“That’s right. Tonight’s that dance class you like to take. I’ve seen you over there, you know.”

“You’re kidding. You saw me at the club and you didn’t bother to say hello?” Maggie couldn’t believe it. “Thanks a million.”

“You didn’t see me?” he asked.

“If I had, I would’ve said hi. Jeez, Matt.”

He laughed. “It makes sense that you wouldn’t recognize me. I’ve put on some weight.”

“Really?” Maggie tried to picture Matt carrying an extra fifty pounds around his waist. Oh, dear. He was probably balding, too. No doubt it was his cosmic punishment for being too gleamingly handsome as a seventeen-year-old.

“Look, why don’t we meet at the club?” he asked. “We can get something healthy to eat in the café.”

Maggie snorted. “Yeah—since when do you eat anything healthy, Mr. Cheese Fries?”

Matt laughed. “I’ll see you a little after eight.”

* * *

THANKS TO THE files on her desk, Maggie missed the dance class. It was eight-fifteen before she pulled into the health club parking lot.

And there he was. Her jungle man. Hanging out right by the door, leaning against the wall. Dressed in jeans and that white T-shirt, just like in her fantasy.

Only this was real.

He was just standing there, as if he were waiting for her. And she was going to have to rush right past him, because she’d already kept Matt waiting.

Boy, she hated being late.

But as she moved toward him, the jungle man pushed himself up and off the wall. His hair was down around his shoulders, shiny and clean. His shoulders and chest were unbelievably broad, and the muscles in his arms actually strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt.

His face was twice as handsome as she’d imagined—although the twilight still made it hard to see him clearly.

He smiled as she drew closer, and she realized that his cheekbones were indeed a work of art. And his chin and his smile with those gracefully shaped lips, and those golden-brown eyes that were—oh, my God!—Matthew’s eyes...

Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been completely speechless. But she sure as hell was speechless now.

Matthew.

Her fantasy jungle man was actually her old buddy Matthew.

He’d put on some weight, all right, but it was all solid muscle.

“Hey, Mags,” he said—Matt’s voice coming out of this stranger’s mouth. He was laughing at her. He knew damn well that she’d noticed him in the club but hadn’t recognized him.

Come on, Maggie. You’re an actor. Act.

“Hey, Matt,” she said, her voice coming out perfectly matter-of-fact. “I’m sorry I’m running late.”

“That’s all right,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here. You look great, by the way.”

“I still look fourteen,” she told him. “You look great. God, Matt, I’ve seen you around here for days, but I didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed a lot,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious.

Maggie had to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with this new man-size Matthew Stone. Somehow, she’d been expecting the kid she’d known in high school. This man was not only taller and broader, but he’d also lost the nervous energy that had ruled the teen. Young Matt had never sat still for longer than a few minutes, hopping from chair to chair around the room, smoking one cigarette after another.

This man exuded a quiet strength, a steadfast calmness. And that was really why she hadn’t recognized him—never mind the long hair and muscular body.

Matt smiled at her, not one of his old devil-may-care grins, but a gentle smile of genuine pleasure.

“I really missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too,” she told him. “But right now I have to visit the ladies’ room. It’s a long drive from New Haven at this time of night.”

“No problem. I’ll go up to the café. Want me to order you something?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said as he held the door open for her. That was a new one, too. Matt—holding a door? “Will you get me a salad?”

“Italian dressing on the side,” they both said at the same time.

Matt grinned. “Some things never change.”

Chapter Three

WHEN MAGGIE WALKED into the café, Matthew was standing at the juice bar, talking to three healthy, young college girls. What was it that he’d said? Some things never change.

He turned as if he’d felt her eyes on him and quickly excused himself. Coming toward her, a smile lit his handsome face. “Hey.”

Their food had already come out, and he pulled her by the hand to a table. And held her chair for her.

She looked up at him as she sat, half expecting him to pull it out from underneath her, so he could laugh as she hit the floor.

But he just smiled at her, and sat down. Behind a huge salad and a plate of steamed vegetables. The hamburger kid was eating vegetables.

“Before we get down to talking about twenty-five-million-dollar favors,” Maggie said, “I’m dying to hear what you’ve been up to this past decade.”

And where was the beer? Even at seventeen, Matthew Stone never sat down to eat dinner without a cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“It would take a full ten years to tell you the whole story,” he said with a smile, digging into his salad.

Maggie looked around the open, airy café. The ceiling was high; the colors were muted grays and maroons. A sign on the wall proclaimed that there was absolutely No Smoking.

“Do you still smoke?” she asked.

“Nope. I quit three years ago,” he told her. “I also stopped drinking and started eating vegan. See, I, um... Well, I got sick, and I needed to take some kind of action—feel like I was doing something to help myself get better. I don’t know if it really helped, but it certainly helped my head, you know?”

“How long were you sick?”

He shook his head. “A long time. Do you mind if we don’t talk about that? It’s not... I have these superstitions about... Well, I’d rather not—”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Of course, you don’t have to... I had an address for you in California.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I was, uh, all over the southwest for a while. Right after dear old dad gave me the boot. He kicked me out—did you know about that?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yeah, there was trouble at one of the colleges and he wouldn’t even hear my side of it. I mean, sure, it was the fourth college I was...” he cleared his throat “...politely asked to leave, but... That time it really wasn’t my fault. Still, I got the ‘never darken my door again’ speech.”

“That’s terrible,” she said.

“It was good, actually. I finally learned to take care of myself. I kind of floated for a while. I actually did some acting—and got paid for it. My most legit job was at this dinner theater in Phoenix. I did two shows with them—Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Guys and Dolls.”

“That’s great—getting paid for acting?” Maggie smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“I guess. It was... It really wasn’t that great. They didn’t pay very much. I had to wash dishes, and...” he shrugged “...their leading lady had nothing on you.”

Yeah, right. “Thanks.”

When he looked at her, something sparked. Maggie felt it deep in the pit of her stomach, and she had to look away. She’d trained herself for so long to feel nothing more than friendship for Matt that this kind of physical attraction seemed odd and unnatural.

His eyes gleamed with humor. “Oh, here’s a story you’ll really like. When I was in L.A., I managed to get this agent. What a sleazeball. He told me he could get me some work in the movies. Nothing big, you know—bit parts. But still, it was the movies.... Anyway, he sent me on an audition, right?”

Maggie nodded, watching Matt’s face as he talked, the corners of his mouth quivering with restrained laughter. It was hard to believe that it had been ten years since she’d seen him. It just seemed so natural, sitting here together.

“So I go into this place,” he said, “and I realize that it’s not a cattle call. You know, there’re not four hundred other guys that look sort of like me lining up to audition for the part of the store owner who says ‘A dollar fifty,’ to Keifer Sutherland when he comes into the convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes. The director actually comes out and shakes my hand—if you can believe that—and he takes me into the studio. I was so jazzed. They had cameras set up on a soundstage, along with this living room set. It looked like a stock American-home set—something out of a sitcom, you know?”

He paused, taking a sip of water. “Well, imagine my surprise when the director told me to go ahead and take off my clothes.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Matt grinned. “It didn’t take me long to figure it out. I asked to see the script and it was called—I’ll never forget this—Sleazy Does It. It was a porno flick, Mags. It wasn’t an audition—they were just going to shoot the film that same day. Is that too scary or what?”

Maggie had to laugh. Poor Matt. Thinking he was going to get a part in a major motion picture... “Did you do it?”

He choked on his water and glared at her, mock outrage on his face. “Thanks a lot. No, I did not do it.”

She was still laughing. “Your past ten years have been much more exciting than mine.”

“You graduated from Yale, went to law school and managed to get an M.B.A. at the same time. You had a fire, moved back in with your folks. You dated someone named Tom for four years, and now you’re seeing a guy named Brock Donovan. You’ve had the lead in Oklahoma!, Carousel, Paint Your Wagon, Showboat, The Boyfriend, Superman, Anything Goes, Guys and Dolls, Li’l Abner and one more.... What was it?”

“Annie, Get Your Gun.” Maggie couldn’t believe it. “How do you know all that?”

He closed his eyes, placing his fingertips on his forehead. “Matthieu senses all,” he said with a heavy Eastern European accent. “I also know that Angie’s married now,” he added in his regular voice.

There was something in his face, in his tone, that Maggie couldn’t read.

“Yeah,” she said. “Freddy’s great. You’d like him. But it’s kind of a drag—they live in London.”

“That must be tough,” he sympathized. “You and Angie stayed close, didn’t you?”

Maggie nodded. “I miss her.”

“Did she ever tell you...”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Why we broke up. I don’t know. It all seems so silly now.”

He was looking at her, and she felt herself blush under his scrutiny.

“Why did you break up?” she asked.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he said. His eyes were warm. Hot, almost....

Where are we going?

Does it matter?

No.

Maggie cleared her throat. “Are you going to audition for the summer musical? I mean, are you going to be in town for a while?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here at least three months,” he said. “I don’t know about the show, though. I saw the audition notice in the paper. It’s tomorrow, right? But the show was one I didn’t recognize.”

“It’s called Day Dreamer. It was written by this local team of writers. It’s not... It’s really funny. And the music’s good, too....” Maggie felt herself babbling in an effort to keep the conversation pointed securely away from the physical attraction that seemed to simmer between them.

But she lapsed into silence as he sat back in his chair, his eyes still glued to her face. As he moved, the muscles in his arms and chest moved, too. It was hypnotizing. With a motion that was clearly well practiced, he tossed his hair out of his face, back behind his shoulders.

“I guess I’ll audition,” he said. “If you’re going to...”

“Matt, why do you wear your hair like that?” she asked. “I mean, it’s beautiful, but you always had short hair. In school, you used to make fun of the boys who wore their hair long....”

“It’s a complicated story,” he said evasively. He sat forward, pointing at her salad. “Are you going to eat that?”

She wasn’t very hungry. “Do you want it?”

“No, I want to get out of here,” he told her. “I want to take you to see something.”

He stood up, tugging down on the thighs of his jeans in a movement that was all Matthew. How many thousands of times had she seem him do that?

But going vegan and quitting drinking and smoking, and the new superhealthy body...

As they left the café and walked down the stairs to the lobby, he caught her puzzled look and said, “What?”

It was remarkable, really. With his dazzling white T-shirt tucked into the top of his blue jeans, his long hair cascading halfway down his broad back, he was an odd mixture of her friend Matt and her fantasy jungle man. He looked sort of like Matt and he moved and talked sort of like Matt, but there was so much more that was different about him now. She could see so many changes in him, the most startling being his confidence—his solid, quiet strength.

Again, she found herself attracted to him, and that felt strange.

“I’m trying to figure out exactly who you are,” she said bluntly, “just who it is you’ve become.”

He looked startled for a moment, and then he laughed. “You know, Mags,” he said, “I really did miss you. You and your honesty.”

He opened the door leading out of the club. With a grand gesture, he motioned for her to go through.

Outside, the night air was cool, and Maggie shivered slightly. Matt casually draped an arm around her shoulders.

His touch was warm, and Maggie felt the urge to lean against him, to rest her head on his shoulder, wrap her own arm around his waist.

But he was just being friendly old Matt. Wasn’t he?

She pulled away. “Your car or mine?”

Matt turned around and gave her such a look that she had to laugh. “I assume that means you still have to be the driver, right?” she said.

He grinned. “I’ve got the old man’s Maserati. He never drove it anywhere. What’s the point in having a car like that if you never use it?”

“Do you remember when you stole it and used it to drive Angie to the junior prom?” That was one of the best times they’d had together and one of the worst.

He unlocked the front passenger-side door of the gleaming black sports car and opened it for Maggie. “How could I ever forget? I spent four days in jail for that one. God, my father was such a bastard.”

Matt got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He looked over at Maggie, real sadness in his eyes. “I was such a disappointment to him. Right up to the end.”

She didn’t know what to say, and then there was no reason to say anything because he put the key into the ignition and started the engine with a roar. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flashing her a smile. “This is a very nice car.”

Maggie wanted to ask about his father, but she held her tongue. Mr. Stone had died over a year ago, and even though he and Matt had never gotten along, she’d been surprised when Matt hadn’t shown up for the funeral.

She shook free of the thought, fastened her seat belt and got ready to hang on for dear life as he pulled out of the parking lot. But he drove almost slowly.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Does it matter?

She loosened her fingers from her grip on the hand strap as she realized he was going to stay under the speed limit.

“Out to my father’s office,” Matt told her. “My office,” he corrected himself with a laugh. He shot her a look. “Can you believe I have an office?”

Maggie was confused. “You mean, over at the factory?”

“No,” he said. “The main office was in our house.”

Matt glanced at her.

Maggie’s face was lit in regular intervals by the streetlights. The pale yellow glow made her seem unearthly.

She was prettier than ever. She still had the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her complexion was fair—a fascinating contrast to the dark brown of her soft, wavy hair. Her nose was small and almost impossibly perfect, her lips soft and full and always quick to curve into a smile.

For the first time since he’d hit town, he was honestly glad to be back.

Very glad.

“I want to offer you a job,” he told her as they neared the house. “I’d like to hire you as my corporate attorney and business advisor—for three hundred thousand dollars a year.”

She stared at him.

She didn’t say a word as he pulled into the driveway of his father’s huge white Victorian house. All the outside lights were on, spotlighting it against the darkness of the night.

He’d grown up in this house, playing on the vast lawns that overlooked the Long Island Sound, scrambling on the rocks at the edge of the shore. It was a wonderful old place, full of nooks and crannies. It had rooms that weren’t perfectly square, windows that opened oddly and closets that turned out to be secret staircases.

“What’s the catch?” Maggie finally found her voice.

After Matt’s mother died, his father had had the house renovated and restored. And although he knew his father hadn’t intended for it to happen, the renovations had removed every last trace of her, every homey, motherly touch, leaving the house as impersonal and empty as a museum.

Matt pulled around to the back, where the office was, and parked the Maserati under another bright spotlight.

“The catch,” he said, turning toward her in the sudden silence after the car’s powerful engine had been shut off. “Yeah, there’s definitely a catch. You know my father had money. Big money.”

Maggie nodded. The Yankee Potato Chip Company, the mansion, the twelve-car garage with the twelve cars to go in it.

“Dear old dad decided to leave it all to me, all twenty-five million, if—” Matt took a deep breath “—I can show that I can run the business within a three-month time period, which started last week. If I can’t—adios to everything. The executor of the estate will shut down the business, auction off the factory and all the money will go to charity. If that happens, I’ll get nothing. And if I get nothing, your job—and everyone else who works for YPCC—will be terminated.” He looked at her. “How’s that for a catch?”

Maggie nodded again, her eyes serious. “That’s some catch. What exactly does the will stipulate?”

Matt opened the car door. “I’ve got a copy inside. I’ll let you take a look at it.”

She got out of the car, too, staring up at the house. “You know, Matt, all those years we were friends, I never went inside your house.”

“That’s because my father hated Angie,” Matt told her. Angie had taken Mr. Stone’s crap and handed it straight back to him. “He would’ve really liked you, though.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” she asked with a laugh.

“Oh, it’s a compliment,” he told her. And wasn’t that strange? He and the old man would’ve finally agreed on something.

Maggie followed him up the path to the office door and into the house.

The outer office was large and spacious, with rows of file cabinets along one wall. There was a huge oak conference table in front of enormous bay windows that looked out over the water. The hardwood floors glistened, as did the intricate wood molding that surrounded the windows and door. It was a modern office with computers, copy machine and fax, but the feel of the room was Victorian. It was gorgeous. And in the daytime, with the view of the sun sparkling on the water, it would be even more beautiful.

Matt led the way to a dark wooden door and, pushing it open, he turned on the light.

Maggie had to laugh, looking around at the late Mr. Stone’s private office—Matt’s office now. “Oh, Matt,” she said. “It’s you.”

He grinned.

Thick red carpeting was underfoot. The walls were paneled with the same dark wood as the built-in bookcases. Row upon row of books lined the wall, and Maggie glanced at the varying titles and subjects. Mr. Stone had a few books on astronomy, several on geology, an entire shelf of medical books on cancer, many titles on the Second World War, but the vast majority of the books in the room were fiction—mysteries.

Matt’s father had been into whodunits. He had always seemed so practical and down-to-earth, with no time for nonsense of any kind. She just couldn’t picture him biting his fingernails in suspense as he read faster and faster to find out who was the killer.

The inner office had big windows, but they were shuttered with elaborately carved wood. The centerpiece of the room was a massive cherry desk with what looked like a black leather Barcalounger behind it.

Maggie slowly circled the desk. It was quite possibly as large as a queen-size bed, its rich, dark wood buffed to a lustrous shine. She picked up the single item that rested on its clean surface—a photo of Matt at about age six, clinging possessively to his smiling young mother’s neck.

“Why didn’t you come to his funeral?” she wondered.

He turned away.

“I’m sorry,” she said swiftly, putting the picture down. “I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I saw him about two weeks before he died. I was in the hospital—it was back when I was sick. Somehow he’d managed to track me down, and he came to see me.”

He was leaning against the door frame now, arms crossed. His pose was relaxed, but Maggie could see tension in his jaw. And she could hear it in his voice.

He laughed, but it didn’t have anything to do with humor. “I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to pick a fight. I mean, I’m lying there, dying for all he knows, and he’s telling me I never did anything worthwhile with my life.”

Maggie didn’t hesitate. She crossed toward him and put her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I told him to go to hell.” Matt rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I told him to stay out of my life, because no matter how short it was going to be, it was my life. So he got up to leave, and I thought he was just going to walk out, but he turned and he told me that he loved me, and that he didn’t want me to die. I told him—”

His voice broke, and Maggie held him even more tightly. She felt him take a deep breath, then exhale loud and hard. “I told him that I hated him,” Matt said, “and that I couldn’t wait for him to die.” He made another noise that wasn’t quite laughter. “God. Why did I say that? Of course, two weeks later the son of a bitch went and had a massive coronary. It was his ultimate revenge—he couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.”

She looked up at him. “Matt, he loved you. He knew you didn’t mean what you said.”

He sighed. “I hope so.”

In this light, from this angle, flecks of color made his eyes look more green than gold. Green, and very warm. As he looked down at her, his face held something—a sadness, a sweetness and also a tenderness—that she hadn’t ever seen there in all the years she’d known him. At least not when he wasn’t acting.

It was entirely possible that back then, he simply hadn’t let it show.

His arms were still around her, and she was still holding him. They’d stood like this, leaning against each other, so many times—Matt had always been very casual with affectionate embraces. But everything felt different now, and as she looked into his eyes, she knew he felt it, too.

Attraction. Desire.

It seemed inappropriate. It had been years, but it was still hard not to think of Matt as Angie’s boyfriend.

Except Angie was married now to someone else. And this new, fantasy-jungle-man version of Matt was here, looking at Maggie as if he were thinking about kissing her. Not just a Matt kiss—he’d always been generous with friendly kisses on the cheek, too—but a real, on-the-mouth, tongues-in-action kind of kiss.

Like the way Tony had kissed Maria. Maggie’s stomach did a flip as she remembered kissing Matt onstage. Except that hadn’t been them—it was the characters they were playing who had kissed so passionately.

Still...

She pulled away from him and went to stare once again at the books on the shelf. This was just too weird.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have laid all that on you.”

Maggie shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m glad you told me,” she said as she turned to face him. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Their eyes met. And Maggie felt it again, that spark of sexual energy that seemed to flow between them. Friends.

“You were going to give me a copy of that will,” she reminded him breathlessly, reminded herself, as well.

He took a step toward her, and another, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

But the kiss he gave her was only a Matt kiss, on the cheek. He stepped past her, going into the outer office. She followed, feeling oddly disappointed—was she insane?—as she watched him switch on the copy machine.

“You can take this home and look it over,” he told her as he opened one of the file cabinets and took out a manila folder. “Let me know what you think by Monday. I know it’s short notice, but I need you to decide by then because if you aren’t interested in the job, I’ll have to start looking for someone else to help me right away.”

Maggie watched as he copied the document.

A three-hundred-thousand-dollars-per-year job, guaranteed to blow up in three months if she didn’t help Matt become a businessman.

Was it exciting? Absolutely. Was it crazy? More than absolutely. What would her mother, her father, God, even Brock think?

They’d think she was irresponsible, silly, reckless, wild.

But what did she think? How about answering that question for once?

Sure, there was a chance this decision would backfire, leaving her without a job and laughed at by her friends and family. But there was a chance that something special was going on here—that she finally had an opportunity to take control of her life, to get out of her cell and make a difference in some way, even if only in her life and Matt’s and the people who supported their families from the Yankee Potato Chip Company.

To do something she wanted to do, something she would be proud of...

But the risk...

There were butterflies in her stomach—just like when she was little and in line for the Ferris wheel at the firemen’s carnival. As the line got shorter and the moment of truth approached, she would nearly sweat with anxiety. Would she do it or would she chicken out?

She would look up at the seemingly shaky structure that would take her on a ride fraught with danger, up to terrifying heights. Then she’d remember the exhilaration of the wind in her hair as she looked way, way down at the little people below and out at the horizon that seemed to stretch on forever.

It had been worth it. It always had been worth it.

She looked at Matt as he shut off the copy machine, as he stapled together the copies he’d made, as he put the original back in the folder, back in the file cabinet.

Where are we going?

Does it matter?

No.

“I’ll take the job,” she told him.

He turned and stared at her. “But you haven’t even read the—”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You offered, I’m taking it.”

Matt laughed. “Since when do you make a decision without forty-eight hours of soul searching?”

“Since right now,” she said.

“Are you sure?” He looked worried.

She felt a twinge of uncertainty. “Are you sure you want me?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then I’m sure.”

Matt just looked at her. With that same disconcerting heat in his eyes. She had to turn away, look out the window at the night.

“I’ve been thinking for some time now about making some changes,” she confessed. “It occurred to me that if I took your offer I wouldn’t have to go back to that horrible office without a window.”

“You don’t have a window?”

She glanced at him. “You’ve got to earn a window at Andersen and Brenden.”

“God.”

“I wouldn’t have to make that awful commute, I wouldn’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes— Would I?”

“No way.” He was grinning at her. “If you work for me, you don’t have to wear shoes at all. Of course, if in three months you won’t be able to afford to buy shoes...”

“Not if I can help it,” she said. “This is a beautiful office. It’s ten minutes from home, inches from the ocean...” She made a face. “Although, telling my dad that I’m leaving A&B isn’t going to be fun....”

His smile had faded. “Maggie,” he said seriously. “I don’t want to pressure you.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you to say yes. I really want you to say yes. But this isn’t going to be easy. Your job will be to help me figure out how to run this business. At this point, I can barely remember how to add or subtract. It’ll mean really long hours. I’ve only got three months, and right now, quite frankly, I couldn’t run a business if my life depended on it. So if you aren’t absolutely sure or if you’re doing this just to help me out of a tough spot or if you’re going to regret this tomorrow...” He looked searchingly into her eyes. “I want you to be really sure.”

She looked back at this man who was half Matt, half her fantasy man and didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”

A flood of emotions crossed his face. “Well, all right,” he said and handed her the copy of the will. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow after the auditions. We can start work then.”

Maggie glanced through the will—it was fourteen pages long. “We should forget about the auditions. If we only have three months—”

“No,” Matt said. “I’m not giving up a chance to be in another show with you. And rehearsals are only, what? A couple evenings a week?”

“Except for the last week before it opens,” she chided him. “Then it’s every day. We really can’t—”

“Yes, we can,” he said. “The show won’t open until the end of my fiscal quarter. If we haven’t succeeded by then...” He shrugged. “It’ll be too late.”

“I just don’t think we should take on too much at once,” Maggie told him.

The smile he gave her was beautiful. “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” she countered.

“This is going to work out just perfectly.”

Chapter Four

THE AIR IN the community-theater auditorium was cool compared to the outside warmth of the sunny spring morning. It smelled like sawdust and paint, musty curtains, a little bit of sweat and a whole lot of excitement.

It smelled like a show.

Maggie smiled and waved to friends from past productions as she put her gym bag down on one of the seats in the first row.

There was an audition sign-up sheet posted on the apron of the stage, and she signed in.

“Sign me in, too.”

She looked up to see Matt leaning over her shoulder to look at the list. His hands were on the stage, on either side of her, effectively pinning her in.

His teeth flashed white and perfect as he grinned at her. He was standing so close, Maggie caught a whiff of the spearmint toothpaste he’d used, probably right before leaving his house. He was wearing all black—a snugly fitting T-shirt, sweats and a pair of jazz shoes that had clearly seen a lot of use. Howard Osford, the slightly balding, slightly overweight tenor who usually won the romantic leads out of lack of competition didn’t stand a chance today.

“What are you singing?” she asked as he watched her add his name to the list.

Matt shrugged, straightening up and freeing her. He followed her back to her gym bag, throwing himself casually into the seat next to it. “Want to do a duet?” He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and looked up at her, a glint in his eyes.

Maggie stopped taking off her street shoes to glare at him. “That always really pissed me off.”

“What?” He grinned, knowing darn well what she was talking about.

“The way you could come into an audition totally unprepared and walk away with the lead.”

Matt tried not to be obvious about watching her as she pulled off her T-shirt and adjusted her sports bra. She was wearing tight black pants that flared and a colorful dance top that left her midriff bare.

“You should get a belly-button ring,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Ouch. No thanks.”

“You know, it’s been more than three years since I’ve gone on an audition,” he said. The room was filled with dozens of hopeful singers and dancers. It didn’t matter the town or the state—the hope that hung in the air at an audition was always the same.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

Matt tried to look frightened. “I won’t be if you sing a duet with me.”

She just laughed. “Not a chance. I, for one, worked hard to prepare a song.”

“Then let me use you as a prop.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “Come again?”

Ooh, he loved it when she put on a little attitude. Sweet Maggie had a backbone beneath that soft outer layer. “A prop,” he repeated, working hard not to smile. “You know, a warm body to sing to. I always do much better when I’m not up onstage all alone.”

She laughed in his face. “Tough luck. That’s what an audition is all about—being onstage all by your little old self. You can sing to me all you want, but I’m going to be right down here.” She shook her head in disgust. “Prop.”

“Okay,” Matt said.

“That’s it? No fussing? No begging? No whining? Just, okay?”

He tipped his head back and smiled up at her. “It’s only an audition.”

“I hate you,” she said, and walked away.

Ten minutes later, the first trembling victim stepped onto the stage, and Matt joined Maggie at the back of the room.

“I’m up twentieth,” she whispered. “You’re twenty-first. Have you decided what to sing?”

He nodded yes. “I’m doing something from my favorite show.”

“What is your favorite show?”

“West Side Story. It was the most fun I’ve had onstage in my entire life.”

Maggie looked at him, perplexed. “You mean, back in high school?”

“Yup.”

He looked up at the stage, watching as the director cut the singer off midsong. Maggie studied his profile, remembering the turmoil of his senior year.

Another singer mounted the stage and made it through about sixteen bars before being stopped and thanked for coming.

“Sheesh.” Matt glanced at her. “This director is brutal. They’re dropping like flies. He doesn’t give anyone time to warm up. At this rate, you’re going to be up there in less than a minute.”

“He is pretty harsh,” Maggie agreed, then asked, “How could West Side Story be your favorite show? You were miserable the entire time. You had that big fight with Angie....”

“As Matthew I was miserable,” he told her. “But I sure loved being Tony.”

He had a funny little half smile on his face and a look in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

He looked back at the stage, and Maggie watched him watch the auditions.

“Maria was a great part,” she told him softly. “But it was very hard each night to watch you die.”

He glanced at her, and the look on his face was one she absolutely couldn’t read.

“Maggie Stanton,” a stout woman with cat-eyed glasses and a clipboard finally called. “You’re next.”

Yikes.

Matt caught her arm as she started for the stage, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “Break a leg, Mags.”

She looked up at him and the realization hit her hard, leaving her feeling weak. She wanted him to kiss her.

He was handsome and vibrant and so very alive and she wanted him to kiss her.

He wasn’t Angie’s boyfriend anymore and she wanted him to kiss her.

And he did.

On the cheek.

She swallowed her disappointment as she walked down the theater aisle toward the stage. Those sparks she’d thought were flying all over the place must’ve been only in her mind.

Or else he would have really kissed her, wouldn’t he?

He saw her as a friend, a buddy to hang with.

Which was a good thing. Matt had never been cut out for anything but short-term, intensely passionate flings. True, they wouldn’t leave his bedroom for a week, but after that week, it would probably be over. Any kind of romance with him would definitely be a mistake—particularly since she was going to be working with him.

She was going to work with him.

She’d called her boss at A&B this morning and he’d accepted her resignation gracefully. In fact, he’d told her he didn’t even need the usual two-weeks’ notice. Times were tough all over, Maggie knew, and business had been off lately, even at the big law firms.

She just had to go in some time next week, clean out her desk and drop off the company cell phone.

She handed her music to the accompanist with a smile, moved center stage and nodded to the director. He was someone she’d never worked with before, someone who didn’t know her from Eve. She could see him glancing through her resume, and she turned back to the piano player and nodded.

As the first strains of music surrounded her, Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting herself become the character—a thirtysomething dancer pleading for a second chance on the stage.

As Maggie started to sing, Matt looked up from his search through the piles of sheet music that had been tossed on a table in the back of the auditorium. God, she was good. He’d forgotten how good. He’d never understood why she hadn’t studied acting, gone professional.

He had to laugh. Yeah, he’d met her parents many times. He did understand. And it was a shame.

She sang the first part of the song standing absolutely still, but with tension in every part of her body. When she reached the refrain, she exploded, both in volume and movement. She was fantastic, her voice clear and true, her body graceful.

Matt moved closer to the stage and sat on the arm of a chair. He could see the back of the director’s head, and the man hadn’t moved once since Maggie started singing. He grinned as the director let her sing the entire song, right down to the very last note.

The entire room burst into applause, and Maggie—typically—actually looked surprised. She blushed—also typical—and bowed.

“Very nice,” the director called, his usually bored voice actually showing interest. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you to read for me.”

She collected her music from the piano player and went down the stairs as Matt went up. He gave her a high five.

“Your turn to break a leg,” she said.

“You’re a hard act to follow.”

Maggie sat down in the front row, feeling the last surges of adrenaline leaving her system. Matt came center stage and looked down at her and smiled, and somehow the adrenaline was back, making her heart flip-flop.

The music started and Maggie recognized the song instantly. “Something’s Coming.” Of course. Matt had always loved that song. It was all about hope and excitement and limitless possibilities. She had to smile. It was practically his theme song.

“Hold it,” the director called, and the accompanist stopped. “Matthew Stone?”

“That’s me,” Matt said.

“From Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, I lived there for a while.” Matt squinted slightly, looking past the bright lights at the director. “Dan Fowler? Is that you?”

“Yes. Thank you. Next,” the director said in a bored voice.

Matt’s eyes flashed. “What, you’re not even going to hear me sing?”

“I don’t want you on my stage,” Fowler said.

The room was dead silent. No one so much as moved.

Maggie stared up at Matt, holding her breath, waiting for him to explode. But he merely crossed his arms.

“Mind telling me why not?” he asked, his voice almost too calm.

“Because the last time I cast you in a show, you disappeared off the face of the earth halfway through rehearsals. That screwed me up pretty badly.”

“I called,” Matt countered. “I apologized. But I had to go into the hospital.”

“A detox center, wasn’t it?” Fowler challenged.

“Detox?” Matt laughed. “Yeah, I guess it kind of was.” He looked out at the director. “That was three years ago, Dan.”

Detox. God. Maggie had always known that in the past Matt had lived recklessly, always pushing the edge. It wasn’t hard to believe that somewhere down the line he’d become addicted to either alcohol or drugs.

“It’s still fresh in my memory, Stone.”

“I’m not leaving this stage until you let me audition.” Matt said the words easily, evenly, but in such a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would not give in.

Fowler scowled. “You can audition until your face is blue. I’m not going to cast you. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

Maggie stood up, grabbing her gym bag. “Matt, let’s go. There’ll be other shows—”

“Hold it,” Fowler said. “Maggie Stanton?”

There were a few moments of whispering as Fowler leaned over and spoke with his producers and assistants.

“Come here for a sec,” he finally called.

Maggie looked uncertainly at Matt, who nodded to her, telling her to go ahead. He then sat as if unconcerned, on the apron of the stage.

She left her bag on the seat and made her way to the director. She was outraged at the way he was handling this situation. To publicly humiliate someone like this was unprofessional. It was rude, inexcusable...

Dan Fowler was about thirty-five years old, but he had streaks of gray in his full, thick beard that made him seem at least fifteen years older. His eyebrows were large and bushy, making him look as if he had a permanent scowl. He didn’t speak until Maggie stood directly in front of him.

“You with him?” he asked quietly, motioning up to the stage and Matt.

“Yes,” she said tightly. “I don’t know what happened three years ago, but right now he’s clean.”

Fowler tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, looking from Maggie to Matt and back again. “Will he agree to urine testing?”

“For drugs?” Maggie asked in amazement.

Fowler nodded.

“You can ask him,” she said, “but I doubt he’ll go for that.”

“Hey, Stone,” the director called. “I’m willing to audition you if you consent to drug testing.”

“I meant, ask him privately,” Maggie hissed, throwing up her hands in despair. She risked a look at the stage, fearful of Matt’s reaction.

But he pushed himself to his feet and looked out at them serenely.

Only Matt knew how difficult it was to appear that calm. Inside, his blood boiled. He may have played hard and fast at one time with drugs and alcohol, but that had nothing to do with his admission into the hospital. But he wasn’t about to go into those details here. Not in front of a crowd, and especially not in front of Maggie.

He looked out at her. He could tell from the tightness of her shoulders that she was mad as hell. But he knew that she really wanted this part—she deserved this part—and he didn’t want her to lose it on account of him. And if he walked out of there, she’d go with him. He knew that. On top of that was the fact that he desperately wanted to play opposite her again....

“Okay,” he said, keeping his voice light.

“Good,” Fowler said. “Sing your damn song and get your ass off my stage.”

Matt snapped out a count and the accompanist played the introduction. He started to sing, his eyes following Maggie as she moved down the aisle, back to her seat. He could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, and he knew she’d realized that he’d let Dan Fowler push him around because of her. And she would, no doubt, chalk it all up to friendship. He was just her good old pal Matt, doing something nice for his buddy Maggie.

And yet there was attraction simmering between them. Although if it scared her even a third as much as it terrified him, was it any wonder she kept trying to ignore it, to push it aside?

But, God, imagine if she could let herself love him....

She looked up at him, and he channeled everything he was feeling into the music. Like most actors, he could be supercritical of his own performance, but this time... Well, even he would have cast himself.

He stopped the song halfway through, looking out at the director. “That’s enough, don’t you think, Dan?”

“Thank you,” came the standard reply. Then, “Stick around to read.”

Victory. He was going to get a chance to read lines. Whoopee.

Matt swung himself gracefully off the stage to find Maggie waiting for him. She silently took his hand and pulled him down the aisle to the back of the auditorium, ignoring all the curious eyes that were on them. She led him out the closed double doors into the lobby and started for the door to the street.

“Whoa,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“We’re leaving.”

He planted himself. “No way.”

“Yes way. That man is a creep.” She was seriously angry.

“He’s a good director, though. Wait and see.”

Now she was angry with him. “You’re only doing this for me, aren’t you?”

Yes. And he’d do far more for her, too, if she’d only let him. “Nope,” Matt told her. “I’m doing it for myself.”

Maggie didn’t buy it. “Matthew, you’ve had enough crap dumped on you from your father—with the will and everything. You don’t need to deal with this, too.”

“Hey!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just my lurid past catching up with me. It happens. I don’t mind drug testing—”

“Liar.”

Matt laughed at the look of intense indignation on her face. God, she was wonderful.

“Well, okay,” he admitted. “It sucks. But life’s not always fair, and it’s no big deal.” She started to react, and he put one finger on her lips. “Really. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s to know the difference between big problems and little problems. And Dan Fowler is definitely a little problem.”

The woman with the clipboard and the cat glasses poked her head out of the door. “Stone and Stanton?” she said. “He’s looking for you. Onstage, to read.”

“I want to do this,” Matt said, looking into Maggie’s eyes. “Let’s do this, okay?”

Maggie nodded, letting him drag her back into the auditorium. He took the bag from her shoulder, put it onto a seat and pushed her up the stairs to the stage.

“Take a few minutes to read it over,” Fowler called out from his throne behind the bright lights, a benevolent monarch lazily granting the peasants some crumbs from his table.

Maggie quickly skimmed the scene. And oh, God. She could feel herself start to blush. Of course. It had to be this scene. She glanced up to meet Matt’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her, then looked back at his script.

Oh, God.

“Whenever you’re ready, boys and girls,” Fowler’s indolent voice commanded.

“I read the entire play last week,” Maggie quickly told Matt. “This scene is part of a fantasy that my character is having. She’s just imagining that you’re there in her bedroom, okay?”

“Got it,” Matt said. He looked out toward the director. “We’re ready, Dan.”

“Quiet,” Fowler roared, and suddenly the room was still.

Sieg heil. Maggie couldn’t believe they were still here, auditioning for this tyrant. But then Matt read his first line, and she thought of nothing but the script.

“Lucy, are you still awake?” he read.

“Go away,” Maggie read, with weariness and annoyance in her voice.

“Hey,” Matt read, throwing up his free hand. “I don’t really want to be here. I’m just part of your overactive imagination. You want me to leave, you have to imagine me gone.”

“All right. I will.” As the script directed, she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating for a moment. When she opened her eyes, he was still standing there, of course. “Oh, damn,” Maggie read.

“Cody Brown, at your service,” Matt read.

“What kind of name is Cody, anyway? It’s a ridiculous name for a man born in Manhattan. You sound like a cowboy or a rodeo rider. What were your parents thinking?”

“Aha,” Matt read. “So that’s why I’m here. You want to insult both me and my parents. Well, go for it, Luce.”

“I’m much too tired to be properly insulting,” Maggie sulked.

“Why else would you have imagined me here in your bedroom at one o’clock in the morning?”

Maggie looked up at Matt, her alarm not entirely feigned. He smiled, a smile that started very small and grew across his handsome face. “I know why I’m here,” he said as he advanced across the stage toward her.

Maggie stared at him, frozen in place. Was he really going to...? “No...”

“You’re wondering what it would be like to kiss me,” he read, moving closer to her. “Aren’t you?”

“No!”

As Maggie stared up at him, he came closer, until they were less than an inch apart. But he still wasn’t touching her.

Matt had the next line, but he waited a moment before reading it. The look in his eyes was remarkable as he gazed down at her, the perfect mix of nervousness and desire on his face. Oh, he was such a good actor. “You’re wondering what it would be like if I put my arms around you, like this,” he read, then tossed the script onto the floor as he did just that.

“And you’re wondering what it would be like to put your arms up around my neck.” Matt was going on memory now, but the lines were easy from here on in.

Maggie let her own script slide to the floor as she, as if almost in a trance, put the palms of both hands on Matt’s chest and slowly slid them upward. She felt him inhale, as if he found her touch exciting. It was a nice addition to what was already fabulous acting.

Her hands met behind Matt’s neck and she could feel his long, soft hair against her bare arms. She was Lucy. And this was make-believe. They were acting. Acting.

“And you’re wondering what it would feel like,” Matt said slowly, “if you brought your lips up, like this—” and he gently pulled her chin up, then tenderly pushed the hair back from her face “—and if I brought my lips down, like this...”

Maggie was expecting a gentle kiss, but the moment his mouth found hers, something exploded. She felt his arms tighten around her as he kissed her, and she kissed him, as she opened her mouth to him and...

Oh, God. She was lost.

But just as suddenly as that kiss began, it ended. Matt pushed her away from him and took several large steps to the other side of the stage.

“Well, forget it,” Matt said, his voice perfectly hoarse with emotion as he turned to look at her. “Because I’m not going to kiss you.”

They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

“Very nice,” Dan Fowler’s voice cut in. “Stick around for the dance audition.”

Maggie’s hands were shaking as she bent down to pick up her script. Matt took it from her.

“You okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“Sure,” she lied, looking up at the man who seemed intent on turning her world inside out. “I’m...just fine.”

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