Scenes of Passion by Suzanne Brockmann

eight empty bedrooms,” he pointed out. “They don’t have to fear for your virtue.”
    And neither did she, obviously. Maggie put his brush back on the edge of the sink.
    â€œMags, we have to talk about what happened last night,” he said as if he could read her mind.
    â€œWhat’s to say?” She pushed past him and headed down the stairs to the main part of the house. “Except I guess I should probably apologize. And thank you. I would have been really embarrassed this morning if we’d actually, you know…”
    She would have been beyond embarrassed and well into mortified. If he’d made love to her, it would’ve been as a favor.
    Matt followed her down the stairs.
    She turned to face him. “You are a good friend,” she said. “And you were right. Our friendship is too valuable to risk losing.”
    His expression was unreadable.
    The doorbell rang.
    â€œWe should talk more about this later,” he said. “Right now it’s showtime.”
    He brushed past her as he went down the stairs, and Maggie had to cling to the thick oak banister, shocked at the way her body responded to even such casual contact. It was a symptom of Matthew Fever.
    Could she really live in a house with him? Without embarrassing herself further? On the other hand, could she pass up the opportunity to be near him?
    And she wanted to be near him—desperately. Maybe it would pass. Maybe this illness would leave as quickly as it had struck.
    Her parents were dressed in their church clothes. They peered at Matt and Maggie through the screen.
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Stanton,” Matt said graciously. “Please come in.”
    â€œMaggie, are you all right?” her father asked.
    Her mother came and hugged her. “My poor baby. Get your things. We’ll take you home.”
    â€œI don’t want to go home,” Maggie told her.
    Her father glanced at Matt. “Honey, we want to talk to you, and it’ll be much easier at home.”
    â€œAnyone thirsty?” Matt asked. “I’ll go get some lemonade.”
    â€œNo,” Maggie said sharply. “I’m not thirsty and neither are my parents.”
    â€œMags, I was trying to be polite—give you some privacy.”
    â€œWe don’t need privacy.” She turned back to her parents. “I’m going to stay here for a while.”
    Her parents both started talking at once.
    â€œMargaret, I understand how unhappy you must feel about Brock and Vanessa—”
    â€œVanessa’s gone to Brock’s,” her father told her. “What’sshe’s done is inexcusable. It’s not fair that you should be the one to leave. And moving here seems rather sudden and—”
    â€œWait a minute,” Maggie said. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Matt has lots of room here, and he offered me a place to stay. We’re friends, Dad. It’s like me moving in with Angie.”
    Her father glanced at Matt again, this time sizing him up. “You don’t really expect us to believe that, do you?” He turned to Matt. “Maybe you should get that lemonade, son.”
    But Matt, thank God, knew that she desperately didn’t want to be alone with her parents. “Sure,” he said easily, but then turned to Maggie. “Want to give me a hand?”
    She nearly bolted toward the kitchen.
    â€œGo on into the living room,” she heard Matt say, before he followed her and shut the kitchen door behind him.
    â€œWhat’s this with Vanessa and Brock?” he asked, as he crossed to the cabinets and took out four tall glasses.
    â€œI got home last night just in time to see Brock kissing Vanessa good night,” she told him, sitting at the kitchen table and putting her head in her hands. “She actually slept with him.”
    Matt swore. And then he put a couple of aspirin on the table in front of her, along with a glass of water.
    â€œThank