Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor #1)(33)

Maggie staggered back a step, and leaned against her car, so clearly aghast that Mark might have found it amusing, had he not been violently aroused. He drew in deep passion-roughened breaths, willing his tortured body to calm down. And he forced himself not to reach for her again.

Maggie was the first to speak. “I shouldn’t have…that wasn’t…” Her voice faded, and she gave a despairing shake of her head. “Oh God.”

Mark strove to sound normal. “You’re coming back tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe.”

“Maggie—”

“No. Not now. I can’t…” There was a strain in her voice, as if her throat had constricted against the threat of tears. She got into her car and started it.

As Mark stood on the graveled drive, Maggie maneuvered the car onto the main road and drove off without a backward glance.

Ten

The alarm clock awakened Maggie with indignant beeps, starting at a measured pace and then increasing in frequency and volume until it reached a series of voltaic shrieks that forced her out of bed. Groaning, stumbling, she reached the clock on the dresser and turned it off. She had deliberately set it far away from the bed, having learned in the past that when the alarm was on the nightstand, she was capable of repeatedly hitting the snooze button while still mostly asleep.

A scrabbling sound of claws on wood, and the bedroom door swung open to reveal Renfield’s massive, square face with its pronounced underbite. Ta-da! his expression seemed to say, as if the sight of a half-hairless, wheezing, dentally challenged bulldog was the best possible way to start someone’s day. The bald patches were a result of eczema, which antibiotics and a special diet had helped to calm down. But so far the fur hadn’t grown back. Bad conformation had given him an awkward appearance when he walked or ran, a kind of diagonal lurch.

“Good morning, weirdo,” Maggie said, bending down to pet him. “What a night.” Fitful sleep, tossing and turning, vivid dreams.

And then she remembered why she’d gotten no rest.

A groan escaped her, and her hand stilled on Renfield’s loose-skinned head.

The way Mark had kissed her…the way she had responded…

And there was no choice, she had to face him today. If she didn’t, he might draw the wrong conclusions. The only option was to go to Rainshadow Vineyard and act like nothing had happened. She would be breezy and nonchalant.

Trudging into the bathroom of her one-bedroom bungalow, Maggie washed her face and blotted it with a towel. And she held the towel against her eyes when she felt the unexpected sting of tears. Just for a moment she let herself relive the kiss. It had been so long since she’d been held in passion, gripped hard and sure against a man’s body. And Mark had been so strong, and so warm, that it was no wonder she’d given in to temptation. Any woman would have.

Some of the sensations had been familiar, but some had been entirely new. She could not remember ever having felt such pure hundred-proof lust, the astonishing heat shimmering all through her, and that seemed like a betrayal—and a source of danger. It was more than a little alarming to a woman who’d had enough upheaval for a lifetime. No wild, crazy, heart-wrenching affair for her…no more hurt, no more loss…what she needed was peace and quiet.

All moot points, however. Maggie had every reason to think that Mark would get back together with Shelby. Maggie had been a momentary diversion, a brief flirtation. There was no way that Mark would want to deal with the baggage Maggie carried; she herself didn’t want to sort through it. Last night had meant nothing to him.

And she had to convince herself, somehow, that it had meant nothing to her.

Setting aside the towel, Maggie looked down at Renfield, who was panting and snorting beside her. “I’m a woman of the world,” she told him. “I can handle this. We’re going over there, and I’m dropping you off for the day. And you’re going to try to be as nonweird as possible.”

After dressing in a denim skirt, low-heeled boots, and a casual fitted jacket, Maggie applied a light touch of makeup. Pink blush, mascara, tinted lip balm, and concealer all helped to soften the ravages of a sleepless night. But was that too much?…Would it appear to Mark as if she was trying to attract him? She rolled her eyes and shook her head at her own absurdity.

Renfield, who loved to go places, was overjoyed when Maggie lifted him into the Sebring. He strained to push his head out of the car window, but Maggie kept a firm hold on his leash, fearing that her top-heavy companion might accidentally fall out of the vehicle.

The day was clear and cool, the sky pale blue with a thin froth of clouds. Feeling her nervousness increase the closer she got to the vineyard, Maggie took a deep restorative breath, and another, repeating the process until she was nearly as wheezy as Renfield.

The figures of Sam and his workers were out among the harvest vines, pruning the growth of the previous year, shaping the vineyard before they put it to bed for the winter. Pulling up to the house, Maggie stopped the car and looked at Renfield. “We’re going to be casual and confident,” she told him. “No big deal.”

The bulldog pushed his head at her affectionately, demanding a petting. Maggie stroked him gently and sighed. “Here we go.”

Keeping Renfield on his leash, Maggie took him to the front door, pausing patiently as he lumbered up each step. Before she could knock on the door, it opened, and Mark stood there in jeans and a flannel shirt. He was so sexy, his shirt rumpled, his dark hair disheveled, that Maggie felt a responsive pang deep in her stomach.