When was the last time she’d been so turned on by a man? Maybe it was the chase. Women always craved men who were off-limits. Especially if they obviously had it bad for another woman.
Right?
“Maggie? Are you okay?”
She shook off the reaction and blamed it on jet lag. “Sure. I’m going to shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him.
Maggie groaned and quickly rummaged through her suitcase for a change of clothes. All she had to do was get through seven days without making an ass of herself, and she’d be free of Michael Conte for good. She wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into him at Alexa’s home, and she’d have her family all to herself.
The bitterness of the image mocked her satisfaction and screamed she was a liar. She’d gotten used to him over the past year. Too much so. And every time she gazed into those wicked dark eyes, the thought of her humiliation flashed in her mind and made her squirm.
The bathroom was small but boasted a deep marble tub and a shower stall. She decided to keep it quick and have a long soak later. She stepped under the stinging jets and let the heat relax her knotted muscles. Accustomed to forced blind dates from many colleagues, Maggie hadn’t thought twice when Alexa swore she’d found the perfect man for her. She remembered entering the expensive, intimate Italian restaurant and expecting a certain sort of man. A little cocky. A little too smooth. A little too attractive.
She’d been wrong.
Except for the attractive part.
Maggie scrubbed her skin and tried to whisk the memory away. But the images flickered before her eyes. The instant connection when their hands touched, like lightning bottled up tight and released from the cap to scorch. She’d almost jerked back. Almost. The walls she’d built held firm, but his conversation pulled her in and wrapped her like a warm hug. Yes, he was smooth, and charming, and funny, but there was a sense of realness in his core that spoke to her.
When dessert came, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t want the evening to end. And she sensed that he didn’t, either.
She learned her one motto from experience. Control the date, control the result. For some strange reason, she opened up and gave him a peek of her inner soul. The sensual pull twisted between them, and a lightness spread through her body. Maybe she was finally ready for something more. Maybe Alexa had been right all along. Maybe she’d discover a rainbow or a waterfall on that hidden path, or something that could finally surprise her and fill the aching void inside.
“I enjoyed this,” she said softly. “Maybe we can do it again.” When the impulsive invitation stumbled out over the rich tiramisu, she almost bit her tongue in horror, but it was too late.
He studied her in silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maggie.”
Her name drifted to her ears in a caress, but his words bit like the family dog gone mean. Rejection had never been considered.
“I’m sorry, cara. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m extremely attracted to you. But I think this could end up a mess.”
The lightness shriveled and turned dim. Yes, she understood it was a sticky situation, but for the first time she had been willing to take a chance. She must have misjudged the situation. Or their connection. She almost laughed it off, but a strange fear glinted in those eyes and made her pause. He smiled, but she noted his discomfort by the way he shifted in his seat and grabbed his wineglass. Almost as if something held him back from taking her home. Almost as if . . .
The realization shook through her. The pieces of the puzzle slid and locked into place. Pain sliced deep into her core, and she barely managed to get the words out. “It’s Alexa, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You have feelings for her.”
“No! Alexa is my friend, nothing else.”
His denial screamed untruth as he looked away. Her skin flushed, and humiliation made her want to gag and run from the room. No wonder he didn’t want to date her. Her mind wandered over the conversation and found all the remarks he’d dropped along the way regarding Alexa. How wonderful she was. How caring. How smart. He’d even asked how they met, intrigued by her telling of their first encounter on the school bus when they’d gotten into a fight, then became best friends. He’d never been interested in her. This date revolved around gathering information on another woman.
He was in love with Alexa.
She choked back her shame and swore to get out with her pride. “I understand,” she said. Her words were laced with an icy distance. Her fingers didn’t shake as she pushed back her plate and slid out of her chair.
“Maggie, let’s talk about this. Please don’t go with the wrong impression.”
Her chuckle came out a bit brittle. “Don’t be ridiculous, Count. I’m a big girl—I can handle a little rejection. As long as you realize I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Especially around Alexa.”
He gasped, but Maggie saw right through him. “I told you—”
“Bullshit.” She grabbed her Coach purse and slung it over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. “See ya, Count.”
He called her name again but she ignored him and left the restaurant.
Maggie turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Even now his rejection hurt, as ridiculous as it sounded. He dragged her to the recurring nightmare of her youth.
Never good enough.
Angry with her thoughts and bad memories, she changed into a pair of jeans, green tank top, and leather sandals. No use going into the past. She controlled her relationships, her sexuality, and her own choices. And she sure as hell would never be sloppy seconds.
Especially not for Michael Conte.
She ran a brush through her damp hair and slicked on a coat of gloss. Then, pushing her disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind, she made her way downstairs to meet her new family.
Maggie stepped out in the back and found everyone gathered around the wrought-iron tables and matching bistro chairs. The alcove was surrounded by a walled garden of vivid blooms—a twist of yellows, bloodreds, and purples all screaming for attention. The sweet scent drifted on the warm breeze and tickled her nostrils. An elaborate fountain with a carved angel trickled water into a pond covered with floating moss. The sun washed over the rough terra-cotta cobblestones. Immediately, Maggie relaxed in the peaceful space. Her fingers itched for her camera in an effort to capture the almost mystical quality of quiet, even when invaded by the loud Italian family chattering at the table.