Book Read Free

Halfway to Paradise

Page 24

by Neesa Hart


  Maggie slid her arms into her coat. “Scott, we’re two perfectly healthy adults, and—”

  Scott curved his fingers on her shoulders and interrupted her. “Maggie, you could tempt the pope himself, but I told you how I feel about this. I’m just not prepared to escalate our physical relationship until we work some things out.”

  She felt the same warm feeling of security he always gave her, coupled with an odd fluttery sensation in her stomach. “You’re weird,” she said. An amused smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  Scott rubbed at it with his thumb. “Yeah, probably.” He gave her a soft kiss. “I’m also hungry.”

  “I guess we should eat, then.”

  Scott reached for his overcoat. “That kind of hungry, too,” he said.

  Maggie linked her fingers through his. “If you don’t stop saying things like that, I might not let you out of this room.”

  “If you don’t stop looking at me with that seductive smile of yours, I might agree to stay.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Scott swatted her on the behind. “You’re a wicked woman, Maggie Connell.”

  She met his gaze, feeling suddenly very serious. “Only with you, Scott. I hope you don’t think—”

  “I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known,” he said. “And I think when the time is right, we’re going to be explosive together, but I need you to understand why I feel this way.”

  Maggie nodded. “You’re right. There are too many things standing in the way of this relationship right now. I don’t want either of us to do anything we’ll regret later.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “No matter what happens, I want us to be friends.”

  “I want us to be a whole hell of a lot more than friends,” Scott said. He led her to the door.

  They walked to the parking deck in silence. She showed him where she’d parked, then handed him the keys to the Bronco. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

  He unlocked her door. “What’s the matter, Maggie? Don’t you trust me with your car?”

  “I’m just really hungry. I don’t want to ride around half the night looking for a place to eat.”

  Scott waited until she buckled her seat belt. “Oh ye of little faith.” He shut her door, then rounded the car to slide into the driver’s seat. “Okay,” he said, sliding the key into the ignition. “Which way is north?”

  “Scott—”

  “I’m kidding.” He started the engine. “I know where we’re going.”

  Maggie leaned back in her seat. She wondered if he was still talking about their dinner destination, or if he was back to discussing their relationship. “I hope so.”

  Scott’s expression was enigmatic. He backed out of the space before reaching across the console and taking her hand. “You’re going to have to learn to trust me, Maggie.”

  As he drove across town, Maggie thought about the truth in his words. It would be easy to trust Scott. He was so, well, trustworthy. A sudden image of Lassie popped into her head. She hid a smile.

  Scott was one of the most sensitive men Maggie had ever known. She remembered his ill-fated attempts at skating. It hadn’t seemed to bother him in the least that he looked a little foolish out on the ice. He had known Ryan was having a good time. That had been all the incentive he needed. She cast a sideways glance at Scott’s profile. How could she keep from loving a man who cared for her son like that?

  Scott turned into the ice-arena parking lot, found a space, then killed the engine. Maggie looked around in surprise. “This is the ice rink.”

  “Right the first time.”

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Maggie,” he said with exaggerated impatience, “I told you that it’s a surprise.” He got out of the car, then came around to open her door.

  “We can’t eat at the ice rink.”

  “Have some faith, my little chickadee,” he said, doing a very bad impersonation of W.C. Fields.

  Maggie slipped her fingers into his. With all the finesse of a nineteenth-century footman, he helped her alight from the car. He pulled her hand through the bend of his elbow, and led her toward the entrance of the rink.

  Wallie Fineman, the night security guard, waved when he saw them approaching. “Evening, Mr. Bishop. Everything’s ready.”

  Maggie looked at Scott. “Everything’s ready?”

  Scott’s only answer was a slight smile. He handed Wallie what looked like a very sizable tip. “Thanks, Wallie. I hope it was no trouble.”

  “No sir. Mr. Bullard cleared everything with the owner. Edith Sophy just left about ten minutes ago.” He tipped his hat at Maggie. “Evening, Maggie.”

  Maggie was sure he blushed. “Hello, Wallie.”

  Wallie unlocked the door. “Now don’t you worry about a thing. Just take all the time you need.”

  Maggie waited until the door clanged shut behind them. “Scott Bishop, what are you up to?”

  It was dark inside the arena. Only the dim lights from the exit signs illuminated the small hallway. Scott bent his head and gave her a brief kiss. “It’s magic, Maggie,” he said when he lifted his head. “Just you and me and no one else. I want us to put everything else aside. No worries, no memories, no sorrow. Just tonight.” He swept her hair back from her face with his hand. “Can we?”

  Maggie met his gaze. “I’d like that.”

  Scott’s smile sent a rush of flutters running through her bloodstream. “Thank you.” He took her hand, and led her down the dim corridor.

  When he pushed open the door to the rink itself, Maggie gasped in surprised delight. A single spotlight illuminated a silvery circle on the newly cleaned ice. Like a deserted island in a frozen sea, a midnight blue velvet spread lay in the center of the ice. Cushions and pillows, a lone picnic basket, and a bottle of champagne on ice awaited them.

  “Wait,” Scott said, “they forgot something.” He hurried over to the audio pit, where the master controls for the rink were housed. She heard him throw two switches. The soft sounds of Nat King Cole’s romantic voice filled the chilled air, and immediately, a pale light touched the spinning mirrored ball in the ceiling. Maggie stifled a giggle. The ball, usually so garish, so tacky, added just the right touch of drama to the stillness of the deserted ice rink. The tiny flashes of light were like stars against the darkened backdrop of the arena’s domed ceiling.

  “Very impressive,” she told Scott, when he returned to her side. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, then bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

  “You think so?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “I hope Edith remembered to put the foam under the velvet. I don’t want our butts to freeze.”

  Maggie did laugh then. “And so romantic. You really know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you?”

  Scott turned her in his arms. His expression was serious. “No more kidding around, Maggie. I really wanted this to be like running away from home for us. If I could have, I would have taken you into Boston, but I knew you wouldn’t want to leave Ryan. This was the best thing I could think of.”

  Her heart flooded with a sudden warmth that had nothing at all to do with her heavy wool coat. She laid her palm against his cheek. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be right now than alone on that island with you.”

  Scott turned his face to kiss her palm. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said, then swept her up in his arms.

  She gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to walk across the ice on high heels.”

  “You’re never going to keep your balance if you try and carry me.”

  “I think I’ll do a lot better in shoes than I do on skates.”

  Maggie held as still as she could as Scott started to work his way across the ice. “Maybe I should just sit down, and you can slide me out there on my rear end.”

  “Now who’s being romantic?”

  She laughed. “There isn’t going to be anything romant
ic about this if we both end up in the emergency room.”

  “Maybe if I fall and break my arm, I won’t have to humiliate myself tomorrow night at the game.”

  But he didn’t fall. He reached the velvet oasis with astonishing ease, and set Maggie down amidst the cushions. She reached for the buttons of her coat. “I’m quite impressed, Mr. Bishop.”

  He dropped down beside her. “You haven’t even begun to be impressed.” He helped her remove her coat. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough? I asked Chuck to turn up the heat as high as possible.”

  Maggie nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s not too bad in here.”

  Scott shrugged out of his overcoat. “Okay, but tell me if you get cold.” He reached for the picnic basket. “Edith promised me a feast.”

  Maggie leaned back against one of the cushions. “I’ll bet she did. This is right up Edith’s alley. You’ve made a friend for life in that woman.”

  Scott flipped back the lid of the picnic basket. He sniffed appreciatively. “A fellow can’t go wrong with a friend for life who cooks like this.”

  “Knowing Edith, it’s probably pheasant under glass.”

  He pulled out a glass dish. “Close.” Steam rose from the delicious-smelling casserole when he lifted the lid.

  While the music played and the mirrored “stars” twinkled overhead, they dined on Edith’s sumptuous feast, finishing off with the most decadent white-chocolate cheesecake Maggie had ever tasted. It really was like being alone in the world. Maggie had never felt more pampered in her life.

  Scott served her from the endless supply of food in the hamper, kept her champagne glass filled, entertained her with stories about his large family and his childhood. As she finished the last of her cheesecake, he found a thermal carafe of coffee in the bottom of the hamper, along with two china cups and saucers. He poured them each a cup, then hastily replaced the used dishes in the picnic basket before setting it aside.

  Maggie leaned back against the cushions and watched the mirrored ball turn in slow, hypnotizing circles. Scott put his arm around her shoulders. He pulled his overcoat over their legs, then settled back with his coffee in his hand. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

  “Um-hmm,” she said, feeling blissfully content. Her head fit very nicely in the curve of his neck.

  “Full enough?”

  “Stuffed.”

  He trailed his fingers up her arm. “Feeling romantic?”

  Maggie smiled. “Decadent is more like it.”

  For several long minutes, they lay in companionable silence. When Scott finally kissed her, it was as if they’d just melted together. She leaned into him. “I love the way you touch me,” she said.

  “I love touching you.” He slid his hand up her rib cage to cup her breast. “You make me feel so good, Maggie.”

  She rubbed her mouth against his. “I know.”

  Scott took her mouth in a long, leisurely, thorough kiss. The contrast of his heated hands and heated mouth and heated breath against her cool skin was startlingly, amazingly erotic. Maggie was sure they were going to melt a hole in the ice rink. She slid her hands inside Scott’s suit jacket to caress him through the crisp fabric of his shirt.

  He tore his mouth from hers. “Ah, Maggie. Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  “The same thing you’re doing to me, I hope.”

  “Is this a good time for me to ask—” He broke off the question with a groan when the lights in the arena suddenly flared to life.

  Seventeen

  “Oh crud,” Scott muttered.

  Maggie sat up. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked around the arena. “Who’s there?” he yelled.

  Maggie shielded her eyes against the glare of the fluorescent lighting. “I don’t see anyone. Maybe it’s a timer or something.”

  “Maggie?” Chuck Bullard’s voice came from the far end of the rink.

  “Chuck?”

  “Hell,” Scott muttered.

  Maggie punched him lightly in the ribs. Chuck was picking his way across the ice toward them. “Chuck, what are you doing here?”

  He gave Scott an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to, er, interrupt.”

  “Then why did you?” Scott asked, irritated.

  Chuck looked embarrassed. “This is really important. Just give me five minutes, then I promise I’ll get out of your way.”

  “No problem,” Maggie assured him. “What’s wrong, Chuck?”

  “I don’t know that anything’s wrong.”

  “Something better be wrong,” Scott said.

  Maggie poked him in the ribs again with her elbow, harder this time. “Scott,” she said, a warning note in her voice. “I’m sure Chuck wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”

  Chuck gave her a grateful look. “It’s about the game tomorrow.”

  Scott closed his eyes and leaned back against one of the cushions. “What about it?”

  “Maggie,” Chuck said, “do you know anything about Max Wedgins buying the Bruins?”

  Scott’s eyes popped open. “Buying the Bruins?”

  “Contracts and all,” Chuck said.

  Maggie stared at him. “Max Wedgins bought the entire team?”

  “The deal went down today.”

  Scott let out a low whistle. “That must have been the purchase Carl was talking about.”

  “What purchase?” Maggie asked him.

  Scott shrugged. “I saw Carl earlier this week. He told me he was negotiating a major purchase for Wedgins.”

  Chuck nodded. “This would definitely constitute a major purchase.”

  “Can you do that?” Maggie asked. “I mean, can you just go out and buy a team like you’d buy a new pair of shoes?”

  “Well,” Chuck stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, “normally it’s not that easy. Somebody has to want to sell first.”

  “Did anyone know Bill Harrison wanted to sell the Bruins?”

  “There have been some rumors,” Chuck said. “He’s not in the best of health, you know.”

  Maggie put her coffee cup down. “So Max Wedgins just walked in and bought the team?”

  “It’s not all that bizarre,” Chuck assured her. “I mean, Wedgins already owned the ice arena. It’s not so weird that he wanted to own the team.”

  “But this is a little sudden. Isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah, but that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Chuck pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “I got a visit from Carl Fortwell tonight. He brought me this.”

  Maggie opened the piece of paper. “Oh my God! This is a check from Max Wedgins to the Boston Literacy Council for forty-five thousand dollars.”

  “That’s not all,” Chuck said.

  Maggie looked at him in amazement. “There’s more?”

  Chuck nodded. “Fortwell said there would be announcements on television and radio, and in all the major papers tomorrow that the game was going to feature most of the Bruins.”

  Scott frowned. “But you only have confirmations from Polokov and Turson.”

  “Not anymore. I don’t know what Wedgins did, but my phone’s been ringing off the hook. I got eight players who suddenly think playing in this game is the hottest thing that ever happened to their careers.”

  “This is incredible, Chuck,” Maggie said, still looking at the check.

  “It’s incredible, all right. Thing is, I asked Fortwell what brought all this on, and he said I’d better ask Ryan. I knew you guys were here, and I figured I’d talk to you about it first.”

  “Ryan?” Maggie said. She looked at Scott.

  “Don’t look at me. I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

  “You don’t think this has anything to do with what happened the other day, do you?”

  Chuck looked baffled. “What happened the other day?”

  Scott wiped a hand over his face. “We had a little run-in with Wedgins. It seems Ryan called Carl to invite
him to the father/son game—”

  “Carl’s grandson is playing,” Chuck said. “Of course he’s coming.”

  Scott nodded. “But Ryan said something to him that made him call Wedgins.”

  Maggie laid her hand on Scott’s thigh. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think anything about it at the time.” He looked back at Chuck. “Long story short, Max showed up at Ryan’s school to talk to him.”

  “You mean you’ve actually seen this guy? I thought he lived in hiding.”

  “He does,” Scott said. “Sort of.”

  Maggie handed the check back to Chuck. “But he did show up that day to talk to Ryan. Come to think of it, I remember him saying something about the game as we left.”

  Chuck slid the check back into his pocket. “So whatever Ryan told him, Wedgins decided to buy the team and make this into some enormous event. Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

  Scott shook his head. “Not for Max Wedgins it’s not. It’s just the kind of thing he’d do.”

  “But why?” Maggie asked.

  “Think about it. He’s getting ready to plunk a three-and-a-half-billion-dollar resort down in the middle of Cape Hope. The town council’s giving him hell. The zoning board is giving him hell. The environmentalists are giving him hell. What better opportunity for him to stir up a little goodwill than by doing something like this?”

  Chuck exhaled a deep breath. “Whatever his reasons, it’s a done deal now. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was ecstatic over it. There’s no way we could have ever raised this kind of money.”

  Scott threw his arm across his eyes with an exultant whoop.

  “What’s your problem?” Maggie asked.

  Scott rolled his arm back so he could look at her. “If Chuck’s got all these Bruins coming, what kind of bastard would I be to insist on skating? They’re the real crowd pleasers.”

  Chuck shifted uncomfortably. “If you really want to skate, Scott—”

  Maggie started to laugh. “He doesn’t want to skate. He can’t skate.”

  “Did you have to tell him,” Scott asked.

 

‹ Prev