Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(31)

“It’s no fun, taking care of someone else’s sick kid.”

“I’m used to sickness. Nothing bothers me. And Holly is such a sweetheart, I would do anything for her.”

Mark reached for her hand and heard her breath catch. “Careful, the floor’s uneven here. We haven’t finished leveling it.”

Her fingers folded, and so did his, their hands tightening into a compact and intimate sphere. She let him lead her to the stairs.

“The house isn’t much to look at,” Mark said.

“It’s great. It has wonderful bones. When you’re finished restoring it, it will be the most charming house on the island.”

“We’ll never be finished,” Mark said, and she laughed.

“I saw two rooms that were beautifully finished…Holly’s room, and her bathroom. That says a lot.” Slipping her hand free of his, Maggie took hold of the banister.

“Let me go first,” Mark said.

“Why?”

“If you fall, I’ll be able to catch you.”

“I won’t fall,” she protested, but she let him precede her. As they went down the stairs, her voice descended on him like delicate petals. “I brought back your thermos. No thanks to you, I’m drinking coffee again. Although nothing tastes as good as the stuff you brought me.”

“Secret ingredient.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“If you could make it for yourself, you wouldn’t come back for more.”

A brief silence as she tried to interpret that. “I’m coming back tomorrow morning, to see Holly on my way to the shop. Does that mean I get a refill?”

“For you, unlimited refills.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Mark turned and caught Maggie just as she began to stumble.

“Oh—” She gasped and reached out for him, her body colliding softly against his. Mark steadied her, settling his hands at her hips. A few of her curls brushed the side of his face, the touch of cool silk arousing him instantly. She was poised on the step, her weight still balanced on a forward pitch, entirely his to control. He was acutely aware of her, the warm, quick-breathing tension that he longed to soothe.

“The banister ends before the last step,” he said. One of the house’s innumerable quirks that he and Sam had adjusted to, but it always caught visitors unaware.

“Why didn’t you warn me?” she whispered.

Her hands were on his shoulders. So easily, he could have urged her forward and kissed her. But he kept still, holding her in something that was almost an embrace. They were close enough that he could feel her breath stirring the air between them.

“Maybe I wanted to catch you,” he said.

Maggie made a nervous sound of amusement, betraying how thoroughly she’d been caught off guard. He felt the subtle kneading pressure of her fingers, like a cat testing a new surface. But she gave no indication of what she wanted, made no movement toward or away, just stood in helpless waiting.

He moved back and guided her off the step, and led the way into the warm glow of the kitchen.

Sam had finished his wine and was pouring another. “Maggie,” he said fondly, as if they had known each other for years. “My wingman.”

She laughed. “Can a woman be a wingman?”

“Women are the best wingmen,” Sam assured her. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to get back home. My dog needs to be let out.”

“You have a dog?” Mark asked.

“I’m fostering him, actually. I have a friend who runs an animal rescue program on the island, and she talked me into taking care of him until she can find him a forever home.”

“What breed is he?”

“A bulldog. He’s got everything that can go wrong with a bulldog—bad joints, an underbite, skin allergies, wheezing…and to top it all off, Renfield has no tail. It was an inverted corkscrew and had to be amputated.”

“Renfield? After Dracula’s bug-eating henchman?” Mark asked.

“Yes, I’m trying to make a virtue of his ugliness. In fact, I think there’s something sort of noble about it. Renfield has no idea how hideous he is…he expects to be loved anyway. But some people can’t even bring themselves to pet him.” Her eyes sparkled, and a rueful grin crossed her face. “I’m getting desperate. I may end up being stuck with him.”

Mark stared at her in fascination. She had a quality of uncalculated niceness that was as seductive as it was endearing. She wore the look of a woman who was meant to be happy, who loved generously, who would care for a dog that no one else wanted.

He remembered Maggie telling him that after what she’d gone through with her husband’s death, she had nothing left to give. But the truth was, she had too much to give.

Sam had gone forward to drape an arm around her shoulders. “You saved a life tonight,” he told her.

“Holly’s life was never in danger,” Maggie said.

“I meant mine.” Sam grinned at Mark. “You realize, of course, that one of us is going to have to marry her.”

“Neither of you is my type,” Maggie said, and a startled giggle escaped her as Sam dipped her, Valentino-style.