“She’s also Michelle’s—my ex-girlfriend’s—first cousin. And she’s nineteen. What the hell would I do, babysit her?”

“I don’t think that’s what she has in mind.” Maggie laughed. “No one knows better at nineteen. And most of us have to learn the hard way.”

“I feel like we should get back to the part where you explain why you don’t think I’m deadly serious about my feelings for you,” he insisted. His thumb was stroking the calluses on her palm. Back and forth like a sexy metronome.

“You’re the boy who cried love.”

“I am not. I’m the reasonably good-looking man who identified an attraction to his stunningly talented, interesting, beautiful client.”

It was her turn to lean in. “Silas. Listen very carefully to your talented, interesting, beautiful client. I’m not into serious relationships. Especially not temporary ones. However, I might not be opposed to having some fun—schedule permitting—with the right guy.”

“The Wright guy,” he said smugly.

“You’re saying your last name again, aren’t you?”

His grin, lightning-quick, should come with its own DANGER signage, she decided.

He was still holding her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers itched to get into those blond curls. The moment was fun. Romantic. And for a second or two, she wondered what it would be like if it were real.

“I’ll settle for whatever you’re willing to give me, Mags.”

“You say that now, when things are nice and neat and flirty. But what’s going to happen when it’s time for me to go?”

“I’m willing to find out if you are.” His grip was warm. His eyes were the bottomless kind of gray that seemed to sparkle like sterling silver. She felt an almost hypnotic pull and found herself leaning toward him, closing the distance between them.

“Finger steaks,” Sean the server announced, reappearing to drop a plate of what apparently were finger steaks in front of them. The scent of deep-fried red meat tantalized Maggie out of her trance, and she leaned back, extricating her hand from his.

Deciding it was safer and smarter to go for the food instead of Sy’s hair or mouth, she reached for a plate.

Thank God she hadn’t gone with the matching underwear set or shaved her legs.

13

13

“What are you thinking about?” Silas asked an hour later, pushing his plate away and studying Maggie. Her brown eyes shifted from some far-off point across the lake back to his face.

“Well, if you really want to know,” she said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

He mimicked the gesture. “I do.”

She made a show of looking over both shoulders before answering. “I was wondering if this sweater was long enough that I could unbutton my jeans without anyone noticing.”

“Beats fluffernutter, doesn’t it?” he teased.