Chapter Seven
Maggie wrapped up in a towel, wet hair dripping down her back, and hurried to grab her cell phone. Shamus’s number showed on the screen.
“Hi,” she said.
“I’m sorry, baby. I was at the bar until after midnight, helping Jason put up new shelves in the basement. They had cans of nacho cheese and jalapeños stored on a plastic shelving unit, and it collapsed. Now what is it you wanted to tell me?”
Butterflies were flying kites in her stomach. Would he understand what she had done?
“It’s more of a face-to-face conversation,” she said.
“I can think of something I’d like to do face-to-face, but it doesn’t involve a lot of talking.”
Her cheeks burned. “Why don’t you come over for dinner? We can talk for a little bit then see what comes up.”
“Oh, it’ll come up. Don’t worry.”
There was no longer her engagement to Logan to hinder them. The fire from her cheeks spread lower, warming another part of her anatomy.
“Six?” she asked.
“I’ll be there.”
****
Shamus had his keys in hand as he jogged down the front steps. He slowed near the bottom, catching sight of the woman lounging against his truck.
“What the hell are you doing here, Paris?”
“Well, good morning to you, too.”
He unlocked the truck, resting one arm across the top of the door. “Spit it out and go.”
“You’re in a hurry. Late to see your girlfriend?”
“No, I’m heading to a job site.”
Paris reached out with a manicured hand and stroked a red acrylic nail across his chin. “And how is your girlfriend?”
Her mouth curved in a cruel smile. It was the look of a bully about to deliver the crippling blow.
“A friend and I were having lunch at the Matlock yesterday and who did I happen to see? Your girlfriend, the one you had breakfast with on New Year’s Day.”
He stared into Paris’s cold eyes and said nothing.
“Not even a tiny bit curious?” She sighed, holding her phone up and tilting it from side-to-side. “Well, you know me, curious as a cat. I pointed her out to the waiter and asked if he knew her. I thought maybe she was a regular. Imagine my surprise when he told me she works there.”
“I know she works there. She’s an accountant.”
“Did you know she’s engaged to be married?”
If she’d stabbed him with a dagger, the pain would have been less. She held her phone up with the screen facing him. In the image, Maggie smiled up at a slender man twice her age.
“Then I saw an older gentleman come up and put his hands on her shoulders. That’s when the waiter told me the gentleman was Logan Fredericks. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he told me they were engaged.”
Icy cold spider legs skittered down his spine. He stared at her, shaking his head slowly even as a dozen tiny things he’d passed off converged. The bridal magazine—hers, not her sister’s. The reluctance to have him pick her up at work. Sentences started and suddenly dropped. Most damning of all—the announcement in the paper of her engagement.
Paris laughed. “Poor Shamus. You just don’t have any luck with women.”
No, he thought. He had luck, it was all bad.
****
Maggie lit the rose scented tapers and stepped back from the table. A candlelit dinner, complete with wine. She glanced at the CD player. The only band she knew for certain Shamus liked was Shallow Harbor, and their music wasn’t exactly soft and romantic.
The smell of stroganoff, her one specialty, filled the air.
Maggie smoothed a hand over her skirt. She’d bought sexy panties and a matching bra. If tonight ended the way she hoped, she wanted to be ready.
Maybe she should light a couple of candles in the bedroom?
Too late. The doorbell announced Shamus’s arrival.
Ordering the butterflies in her stomach to put down their kites, she opened the door.
Shamus wore jeans and a black T-shirt. He’d never looked sexier.
“It smells good, Maggie.”
“Thanks.” She walked toward the table, aware of Shamus just two steps behind.
He snagged her waist and pulled her close. His chin rubbed her hair. “Dinner’s not the only thing that smells good.”
She turned, wrapping her arms around his neck, burrowing close. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He tugged her close, nuzzling her throat. “And what would that be?”
“I love you.”
He pulled back, staring into her eyes. “You love me, Maggie?”
She peered up at him, something in his tone setting off alarms.
“And the man you’re marrying, do you love him, too?”
Her mouth turned into a desert. All the times she had tried to tell him, all the ways she had thought of to explain it to him, and now nothing came to mind.
“How did you find out?”
“Steph came across the announcement in a December paper. Then Paris showed up this morning. She was overjoyed to be the bearer of bad news.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I seem to have a gift for picking women who screw men over.”
“I tried to tell you,” she said, forcing the words through a throat narrowed with tears.
“When?”
“It just never seemed like the right time,” she stammered.
He shook his head. “You were going to have sex with me tonight.”
His words were like a slap. She had dreamed of their first night together, and with a single, angry sentence he made that dream sound cheap and dirty.
“I was going to make love to you,” she said, forcing the words past the tear-filled boulder lodged in her throat.
“What would your fiancé think of that?”
“Logan and I aren’t getting married.”
“Because he found out about us? Damn it, Maggie. I don’t like being used to screw over another man. I’ve been on the receiving end. I know firsthand how shitty it feels. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? The paper printed the announcement of your engagement. To a man old enough to be your father. A man you don’t love, if you did, you wouldn’t have been going out with me.”
“I do love him. Logan is my friend. I’ve known him since I was little. When my parents were killed, Logan was the rock I leaned on. He was the one I went to for advice. Marc was a teenager. When he needed a man to talk to, Logan was there.”
“If you’re not in love with him, then why are you marrying him?”
“I broke off the engagement.”
“Why were you going to marry him?”
“We were getting married on February 19th. On the twentieth, five million dollars would have been deposited into an account for me.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You were willing to marry for money? A big house, a fancy car, are they that important to you?”
“No, but Marc is.” Another sigh. “I told you about my brother.”
“I know he was in a bad accident, and he’s still recovering.”
“He’s lost his apartment. Who knows when he’ll be able to work again. And the medical bills. Even with insurance, they’re outrageous. I would have used that money to help my brother pay his doctor bills, pay his rent and utilities, hire someone to help him until he can take care of himself again.”
“And when the money runs out? You’ll have sold yourself to an old man.” He shook his head. “Is there any room for love in that cold, mercenary heart of yours?”
“I was doing it because of love.”
He supposed that was true, but it was for love of her brother, not the man she had planned to marry.
She reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked away. “There’s nothing more you have to say that I want to hear.” He turned, heading for the door.
“Shamus, please—”
“Try to maintain a little dignity.”
The door closed behind him, leaving her alone with her shattered heart.