by Neesa Hart
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I wanted to do something different. I had the idea to emulate the Newport Beach properties when I was driving through Martha’s Vineyard with Ryan one day. I don’t think people will come to Cape Hope for a traditional beach vacation. We don’t have the weather, for one thing, and the atmosphere is different for another. It’s a more sedate, traditional kind of place. I sort of think of the Vanderbilts out for a Sunday afternoon stroll on the beach.”
Scott turned to another sketch. “I especially like what you’ve done with the dining room. Guests get the atmosphere of an elegant formal dinner without the demands of a full dinner party. These six-seat tables and alcoves are brilliant.”
“Thank you.”
Scott put the sketches down on the coffee table. “I think you’ve got something really special here. Do you have any idea what else is being proposed?”
She shrugged. “There are at least three firms that I know of who are bidding on the project. I think my stiffest competition is Irene Fussman.”
“From New York?”
“Do you know her?”
Scott snorted. “We call her Fussman the Dragon Lady.”
Maggie laughed. “You obviously know her.”
“My partners and I have worked with her on a couple of hotel chains we did. Mainly Parker and Stylton lines. She’s a nightmare.”
“I think her proposals are more traditional. The typical resort-type thing. It will just depend on how the planning commission decides to proceed.” She gave him a meaningful look. “And what structural design they go with.”
Scott grinned at her and reached for the plastic tube by his knee. “This will blow your mind.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not the designs, the concept. Go ahead. Take a peek.”
Maggie pulled the plans from the tube and spread them out on the coffee table. “Oh, Scott.”
“Do you like it?”
The exquisitely detailed Victorian-Era mansion enchanted her. She flipped through the designs, stopping to admire the landscaping and the elegant layout for the spacious first-floor ballrooms and restaurants. “This is wonderful.”
“It fits kind of nicely with your sketches. Don’t you think?”
Maggie ran a finger along the outline of a garden terrace. “It will be perfect. Just perfect. The developers have to go for this. It’s so right.”
“I don’t know. There are two very competitive firms bidding against me. I think there may be a few others, but I consider Jason Challow and Fred Derring to be my biggest competition.”
Maggie frowned. She looked at another drawing. “Everything Jason Challow designs looks like a glorified bar of soap. Did you see that hotel he did in Las Vegas.”
Scott laughed. “The Billings Grand?”
“Yeah. All it needed was IVORY emblazoned on the side. He’s really into those bubble buildings. I think he’s seriously aspiring to design the first US space colony.”
“Come on, Maggie, Jason is a very respected architect.”
“If you like soap.”
“What about Fred?”
She glanced at Scott. “His designs are nice, very artistic. I really like the plaza building he did in New York, but I think they’d be out of place in Cape Hope. I just can’t see a huge steel-and-glass monstrosity looming over the skyline.” She looked back at his drawings. “This, on the other hand, this is Cape Hope.”
He slid closer to her on the sofa. “You wouldn’t be just the least bit biased, would you?”
Maggie smiled at him. “Would you mind if I were?”
Scott shook his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “No. I don’t think I’d mind at all.”
Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. She stared at Scott for several long seconds. Her stomach had that now-familiar fluttery sensation again. “Scott?”
“Yeah, Maggie?” His breath fanned across her cheek, and something inside her quivered.
She swallowed. “Do you think—do you think Mark and Annie are watching us right now?”
Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip to moisten it. Scott’s gaze followed the small movement. “Because I’d really like for you to kiss me, and I can almost guarantee that Mark wouldn’t like it if you did.”
“Hey!” Mark pulled at Annie’s hands. She’d clamped them over his eyes seconds after Maggie asked Scott to kiss her. “Cut that out. Let go.”
“No.” She hung on.
“I want to see this. Your husband is kissing my wife.”
“Your wife asked my husband to kiss her.”
Mark tugged on her wrists. Annie jumped on his back and hung on. Mark growled at her. “This is not what I had in mind.”
Annie’s laugh was smug. “It’s exactly what I had in mind. If I let go, do you promise to behave?”
“What am I going to do? Drive my fist through his body? I can’t touch him, remember?”
“I don’t want to risk it.”
Mark grunted. “Fine. I promise I won’t overreact.”
Annie lowered herself to the floor and took her hands off his eyes. “I don’t know why this is bugging you so much. He kissed her the other night.”
“Not like that, he didn’t. Look at that. He’s got his tongue—” Mark bit off a curse. “It’s not right.” Scott had levered Maggie back on the sofa just enough so her head tipped back. Her hands were twined in his hair, and he cradled her face between his palms. Mark took an angry step forward. Annie placed herself between him and the sofa, pressing her hands to his chest. “You promised.”
Mark pointed at Scott. “I didn’t know it was that kind of kiss. He’s only known her for three days, for God’s sake. What’s he doing kissing her like that?”
Annie looked over her shoulder. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Well, I mind.” He took another step.
Annie’s feet slid on the hardwood floor until they connected with the carpet. “I think we should go for a walk or something. It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
“We aren’t eavesdropping. There’s no conversation going on. I don’t hear anything. Do you hear anything?”
Annie pushed at his chest. “Stop it, Mark. Just stop it. I think we should leave them alone.”
“Leave them alone? Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to leave them alone.”
“She’s not your wife anymore, Mark.”
Mark froze and stared at Annie. His stomach twisted. He looked quickly at Maggie and Scott. “She’s not, is she?” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.
Annie shook her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “She’s not.”
Mark shuddered. “Just tell me one thing, Annie, and then I’ll go anywhere you want.”
She tipped her head back and looked at him. “OK. What do you want to know?”
“On a scale of one to ten, how good a kisser is he?”
Annie looked over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Mark. “He’s an eleven. Definitely an eleven.”
Scott slid his mouth over Maggie’s, suddenly ravenous for her and the easy way she turned into his embrace. Her lips were full and moist. When he dipped his tongue into her mouth, the lingering taste of coffee and whipped cream assaulted his senses. He groaned. It had been so long. So damned long.
Maggie sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Scott.” She felt herself sinking into a dark, wonderful cloud.
He hadn’t even realized until that moment how much he had craved the warmth, the comfort of touch. Since Annie’s death, he had hidden himself, protected himself, but Maggie, Maggie dared him to step outside and see the world again. He deepened the kiss, driving his tongue into her mouth and withdrawing, only to taste her again. He was fast losing control and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He was barely aware of her gasp when he slid his hand under the waistband of her sweater
and splayed his fingers on her back.
Maggie felt her nerve endings come alive under the scalding touch of Scott’s fingers. She clung to him, clutched at him. She pushed aside every conscious thought, and willed herself to concentrate only on the feel of his mouth, his hands on her body.
She was as soft and as warm as he had imagined, only more so. The scent of her light perfume and the feel of her body pressed into his melded with the heady taste of her to wash through him with the subtlety of a tidal wave. He nipped at her lower lip, groaning in response when she responded by twining her tongue with his.
Scott felt a rush of white-hot desire pool in his loins. He grabbed Maggie’s hands and put them on his chest. “Touch me, Maggie,” he whispered. “Please.”
Maggie drew in a quick breath. She could feel his heat through the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers fluttered. Her heartbeat accelerated. She moved her hands to the white buttons and started working them free. Scott groaned sharply, then buried his mouth on hers once more.
Maggie worked loose four buttons before she slipped her hands inside his shirt. She twined her fingers in the crisp hair on his chest. Scott murmured an encouragement against her lips before he tore his mouth free to rub it along the curve of her jaw. When his lips found the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, Maggie arched into him with a soft cry.
Something inside her exploded. Scott slid one large hand along her rib cage. He caressed her fevered skin with the callused tips of his fingers. His hand brushed the sensitive underside of her breast, and caressed her through the lace of her bra. Unleashed, free, Maggie flexed her fingers against the smooth skin of his chest, then nipped at his lower lip.
Scott let her plunder the recesses of his mouth. He drank in the feel of her hot tongue as it tripped along the edge of his teeth. When the pain in his lungs reminded him to breathe, he reluctantly lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Wow.”
She flushed, slowly withdrawing her hands from his shirt. “Wow back.”
Scott brushed one thumb over the full curve of her lower lip, while his other hand flexed against her breast. “You taste good, Maggie. Really, really good.” Maggie moved away from him. Reluctantly, he let his hand fall away. He allowed the small separation, but reached for her hand. He wasn’t about to let her retreat to the opposite end of the sofa. Her lips were still swollen and moist from his kiss. He just barely resisted the urge to push her back into the couch and pick up where they’d stopped.
Maggie’s fingers trembled in his hand. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Scott, I—I hope you don’t think I—” She broke off the sentence, visibly flustered.
Scott leveled his gaze at her. “It’s been a long time for me, too.”
“What I mean is, I hope you don’t think I’m always so, so, forward. I’ve never actually asked a man to kiss me before.”
“I’ve never been asked. Unless of course you count Mary Jean Monroe in the fourth grade, and I’d kind of like to forget that. I don’t remember it as being a very pleasurable experience. I think you’re the first.”
She groaned. “Oh God.”
Scott laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “Maggie, relax. I don’t think you’re some kind of loose woman just because of a kiss.”
“It’s just been so long since . . . since I touched anyone like that. So long since I’ve been held. Ever since the other night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I just didn’t think it would get so out of control.”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “It did, didn’t it?” He felt absurdly pleased. “It wasn’t any less powerful for me, if it makes you feel better. I’m not exactly in the habit of kissing women I’ve just met.”
“I’m glad.” Her voice was quiet, hesitant.
Scott tipped his head and studied the look in her eyes. “I’m glad, too. I don’t want you to think this is a habit for me.”
“I don’t.”
He arched his neck so he could rub his lips over the curve of her eyebrow. “However, it could become a habit.” He kissed her again. “Easily.”
Maggie smiled against his mouth, evidently reassured. She pressed her lips closer to his. It took seconds for the kiss to flare hot and urgent once more. Maggie sucked at his tongue and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he went a little bit insane.
He was almost sure of it when he heard the unmistakable first notes of “Rockin’ Robin.”
“Mark!” Annie shot Mark a censorious look as Bobby Day’s bird noises filled Ryan’s bedroom. “You’re going to get Ryan in trouble.”
Mark grinned at Ryan. “He’s not in trouble. Turn it up, son.”
Ryan laughed and reached for the volume knob on his portable stereo. “Let’s dance, Dad. Let’s dance.” Ryan bounded out of bed to stand next to his father. He flipped up the collar of his shirt.
Annie shook her head. “He’s supposed to be taking a nap.”
“I’m not tired. I’m not. Come on, Dad.”
Mark paused only briefly before he reached for a toy microphone on Ryan’s dresser. He flipped it from hand to hand before joining Bobby Day’s voice on the chorus. Ryan laughed in delight, playing his imaginary guitar with a finesse that Annie secretly thought even Axl Rose would envy. At the beginning of the second verse, Mark and Ryan started to dance.
In spite of herself, Annie couldn’t help but laugh at the rhythmic gyrations that were part Elvis Presley, part John Travolta and part Fred Astaire.
The song ended, and Ryan was still laughing hysterically when the first strains of “The Great Pretender” filled the room.
“Ryan!” Maggie’s voice came from downstairs. It held a note of warning.
Maggie stared at the ceiling as she waited for a response. Scott was nuzzling her neck. She felt her pulse flutter beneath the warm pressure of his lips on the base of her throat. She gasped. “The Great Pretender” faded, and Ryan yelled, “Yeah, Mom?”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she said. Scott nipped her earlobe.
“I am sleeping,” he yelled back. Scott lifted his head and smiled at Maggie.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Why is the music on?”
Scott chuckled. “Maybe he knows I’m down here necking with his mom.”
“Be quiet.” Maggie thumped the back of his head with her finger. “Ryan?” she called again.
“Dad wanted to hear ‘Rockin’ Robin.’”
Maggie groaned. “Well, tell Dad he can listen to it another time. Shut off the stereo.”
The music stopped, and there was a brief shuffling before the house grew quiet again. Maggie shifted away from Scott with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I guess the holidays have been harder on him than I thought they’d be.”
Scott ran his thumb over the curve of her cheek. Then he reached for his drafts of the Cape Hope project. He began rolling them into a tube. “Don’t apologize, Maggie. I know when a mood’s been broken. It’s OK.”
She held the plastic container while he slid the plans into it. “I’m sorry about that thing with Annie, too. I told him before you got here the other night about your wife. I thought it would help him understand. I had no idea he’d imagine her like he imagines Mark.”
“Maggie.” Scott put the tube down on the coffee table. He turned to study her. “Stop apologizing to me. Ryan’s a kid. He’s having a tough time. I understand that.”
“I should have prepared him better. There was no excuse for—”
“Stop. When did you get it into your head that Ryan’s imagination makes you a bad mother.”
“It’s been so hard, Scott. His teachers, his coach, even people at the church keep telling me how he thinks Mark is real.”
“What do you think?”
“I think Ryan knows Mark is dead. He seems very aware of that. He just—likes to talk to him.”
“Didn’t you have an imaginary friend when you were a kid?”
“Yes, but it was someone really imaginary. I made her up. She didn’t exist and then die.”
Scott shrugged. “So. I don’t think there’s a manual or something on which imaginary friends are OK and which ones aren’t.”
Maggie managed a slight smile. “Still, I’m worried.”
“You’re a mother. You’re supposed to be worried. That’s what mothers do.” He squeezed her knee. “Just trust your instincts, Maggie. He’s a great kid.”
She nodded. “He is. He really is.”
Scott kissed her lightly on the cheek before he stood up. “I think I’d better get going.” He shot a quick glance out the window. “This snow is getting pretty bad. Do me a favor and tell Ryan we’ll build the snowman next time?”
Maggie suppressed a sigh of regret. Things were moving very quickly with Scott, and despite her urge to ask him to stay a while longer, she thought better of it. She needed time to think things through. She stood up and handed him the plastic tube. “No problem,” she said.
“There will be a next time?”
“Of course,” she said, without hesitation. “I’m really glad you came today.”
He smiled at her. “I am, too.”
“Will I see you again before you go back to Dallas?” She could have kicked herself. She felt like she was whining.
He walked with her to the front door. “No. I’m taking an early flight out of Logan tomorrow.” He waited until Maggie retrieved his coat from the hall closet. “But I’ll be back on Tuesday.”
She held out his coat. After he shrugged into it, Maggie settled the collar into place. “Well,” she said, biting back a sigh of disappointment, “I hope you have a safe trip.”
Scott pulled her into his arms with a slight laugh. “Ah, Maggie, you’re so delightfully transparent.”
She fixed her gaze on the gold-crested button of his overcoat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Scott tipped her chin up with his finger. “It means I’m tickled to death that you’re disappointed I’ll be gone, and of course I’ll call you on Tuesday—probably before.”
She ignored the embarrassed blush she felt rising on her face. “I’ve got a meeting Tuesday morning, but I’ll be here all afternoon.”
He gave her a leisurely kiss. “I’ll see you around two?” he asked, lifting his head.