Passion and Peril: Scenes of PassionScenes of Peril

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Please,” he said again. It was little more than a breath, an exhale, but it held all the emotion of a cry of pain. “Go.”

  And there she went. Running away. Too scared to speak out, to speak up.

  Matt didn’t turn around as she left the room.

  * * *

  MAGGIE LAY IN the darkness, looking up at the shadowy canopy that was draped above her bed, calling herself names.

  Chicken. Coward. Scaredy-cat. Baby. Wimp. Only a wimp would have run away like that.

  The digital numbers of her alarm clock switched from 1:59 to 2:00.

  Maggie swore softly. Sleeplessness had never been a problem for her before. Of course, she’d never loved anyone the way she loved Matthew.

  And she did love him.

  So why was she lying up here all alone?

  Because she didn’t want to ruin their friendship? It was no longer a good excuse, because, face it, their friendship was already affected. She wasn’t going to pretend to herself that she didn’t feel anything for him, because damn it, she did. And she wasn’t going to hang back anymore, careful to stay his buddy. She wouldn’t be able to bear watching him find some other woman to spend time with.

  So where did that leave her?

  She knew that if she went to him and openly asked him to spend the night with her, he wouldn’t refuse her.

  But how would she feel in the morning?

  That was a question that only the morning light could bring the answer to. The question facing her right now was, how did she feel tonight?

  Maggie shivered, remembering the sensation of his lips on hers, of his body against hers. She wanted him, and she knew he wanted her. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her when she’d walked into the bathroom. She’d seen hunger in his eyes.

  She stood up and crossed to the door. Taking a deep breath, she put her hand on the knob and turned it, swinging the door open.

  And oh, dear Lord, Matt stood there, his hair down around his shoulders, his handsome face unsmiling. Even though the night had turned cool, he wore only his running shorts, and she could see the taut muscles in his chest rise and fall with each breath he took.

  Gazing up into his beautiful eyes, Maggie knew that the desire she saw there mirrored that in her own eyes. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding from where he stood.

  She wasn’t sure who moved first, but he reached for her as she fell into his arms.

  Matt kissed her, desperately, ferociously. And she clung to him, her mouth demanding, her arms wound tightly around his neck as he pulled her closer to him. Her tongue was in his mouth, and his hands swept the length of her body, and he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

  Their legs intertwined and she rubbed herself against him. And still he couldn’t stop himself from reaching down to lift her up so that her legs encircled him.

  He pulled back then to look into her face.

  She gazed back at him, her cheeks flushed from the heat they’d created, and he felt giddy. He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. She smelled like Maggie—clean and sweet. How many times in his life had he stood close enough to inhale her fragrance, close enough to drive himself mad with wanting her?

  She pulled his face up and kissed him.

  But again he pulled back. “It’s not too late to stop,” he said, his voice sounding breathless to his own ears. He prayed that she wouldn’t agree.

  “Says who?” she countered, tightening the grip of her legs around him, then laughing at the expression on his face.

  Another kiss propelled them across the room and they tumbled together onto Maggie’s bed, Matt kissing her again and again in an explosion of need and desire.

  “I came up here to talk,” he tried to tell her.

  “I can’t talk right now,” she said, kissing his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. “I’m busy.”

  He laughed. She kissed his neck, and he closed his eyes, his laughter turning to a sigh of pleasure as he touched her, as he filled his hands with her breasts, as he stroked the smoothness of her soft skin.

  “It’s important,” he breathed.

  “I’m listening.” She trailed kisses down his chest to his stomach.

  Matt felt her tugging at the waistband of his shorts and he grabbed her wrist. He spun her over and pinned her to the bed with his body, his hands holding her arms above her head.

  “Now I’m really listening.” She smiled up at him.

  Unable to resist, he brought his mouth down to hers and kissed her slowly, sweetly, deeply. When he pulled back, she was trembling.

  And he was, too.

  “I really tried to stay away from you,” he confessed. “I know this is selfish, but I couldn’t help myself because...” He took a deep breath and said it. “I love you, Mags.”

  “You don’t have to say that,” Maggie said quietly.

  “But I do,” he told her. “I’m crazy in love with you. I have been for years. It’s important to me that you know that.”

  She looked searchingly into his eyes, her expression dubious. “Matt, I’m not one of those women who have to think that you’re in love with them before they’ll—”

  “No. Mags, I know that,” Matt said. “This isn’t a line. I love you. You have to believe me. God, I’ve never been more sincere in my entire life.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does to me. Damn it, I love you! You’d better believe me.”

  Maggie stared up at Matt. His eyes held a glint of determination she’d only seen since he’d begun improving the business, and suddenly she realized that he was serious.

  He was serious.

  He loved her.

  It was a good thing she was lying down or she’d have fallen over. “I believe you,” she whispered.

  Relief and satisfaction flared in his eyes before he leaned forward to kiss her again. His mouth caressed hers, gently at first, then with greater need. He was on top of her, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him even closer to her.

  She was on fire. Everywhere he touched her, she burned. He stopped kissing her, and she pulled her arms free, reaching up around his neck to bring his mouth back to hers.

  But he resisted. “Maggie...” His face was so serious.

  She pressed one finger to his lips. “Matt, I love you, too,” she told him with a tremulous smile. “Make love to me.”

  But he didn’t smile back. In fact, he looked even more troubled. “There’s more I have to tell you.”

  Maggie pushed him off her. “No.”

  Well, that surprised him.

  “Not now.” She crossed to the dresser and dug through her purse. Matt sat up slightly, leaning back on one elbow, watching her. “You just told me that you love me.” She found what she was searching for and crossed back to him, picking up his free hand and slapping the little package into it. “Use this and prove it.”

  He looked at her in amazement. “You carry condoms in your purse?”

  Maggie crossed her arms. “Oh, great,” she said in mock anger. “Now you want to talk about that, too?”

  He pulled her down onto the bed with him and kissed her. Maggie wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but when she came up for air, she was no longer wearing her nightgown.

  He ran his hands and his eyes over her body and Maggie felt the familiar rush of heat to her face as she blushed. Then a deeper, more powerful heat infused her as his mouth found her breast.

  She ran her fingers though Matt’s long, shiny hair, arching her hips up toward him. She could feel him through his shorts, but that wasn’t good enough.

  He clearly thought the same thing, rolling over and, in one quick motion, he yanked them down and kicked his legs free.
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  Matt had dropped the condom on the bed, and now he reached for it and put it on. He really didn’t need it—there was no way he could get her pregnant, and he hadn’t been with anyone else in—God, it was years. But it would take too long to explain, and Maggie had been adamant about this not being the right time for conversation.

  He lay beside her and kissed her, intending to take his time. He’d waited so long for this moment. Every minute, every second was going to count.

  But when she opened her mouth to him, when she threw one leg over his hips, he knew he couldn’t wait. And she was just as eager. He was surprised by her strength as she pulled him on top of her.

  She reached for him, guiding him and then...

  Oh, yes.

  She moved with him, breathing his name, kissing him, touching him, surrounding him.

  Time stood still and there was only Maggie, only these incredible sensations she was making him feel. His desire for her blazed through him, his heart pumping fire through his veins. His need consumed him and he heard himself call out her name as she exploded around him, as the rush of his own release nearly stopped his heart.

  She kissed him so sweetly, so completely, and he knew without a doubt that he would love her until the day that he died.

  Please, God, don’t let it be too soon.

  Matt rolled over, pulling her with him so that her head rested on his shoulder. He kissed her again and again, kisses for the sake of kissing, delighting in the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her mouth.

  Her eyes were so filled with love, he nearly wept.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “I believe you. You’re a good actor, but you’re not that good.”

  Matt laughed, but it faded away as he realized what he had to do now. There was no putting it off any longer. “We have to talk.”

  Maggie sighed, running her fingers across his chest and arms, already starting to make him crazy again.

  He couldn’t do this here. Not like this. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” he suggested. “Make a cup of tea?”

  Something in his voice must’ve telegraphed his anxiety, because she sat up. “I’m listening,” she said. “Really.”

  “Can we go downstairs?” he asked.

  She nodded and reached for her nightgown.

  Chapter Twelve

  AFTER PUTTING THE kettle on the stove, Matt pushed the kitchen windows closed. The night air had gone from cool to cold, with the wind blowing off the sound. Maggie had a sweatshirt on over her nightgown, but she still shivered slightly.

  He sat down at the table across from her, fiddling with the napkin holder as he tried to figure out how to start.

  “Now that we’re down here,” he said with a laugh, “I’m not sure how to say this.”

  She reached across the table, putting her hands on his. “Whatever you have to say, it can’t be that terrible, can it?”

  He met her eyes. “Mags, it’s about when I went into the hospital. And yes, it’s terrible.”

  She looked down at their hands for a moment, and when she looked back up into his eyes again, there was so much love on her face it nearly took his breath away. “You know there’s nothing you can say that will make me stop loving you. Nothing.”

  “I had cancer,” he told her. There. He said it.

  Maggie couldn’t breathe. She stared across the table at him, waiting, hoping, praying for it to be a joke. Any minute now he’d tell her the punch line.

  “I was diagnosed,” Matt said softly, “with Hodgkin’s disease.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. It was indeed a joke, a cruel, horrible joke of fate. “Was? Past tense?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t want to lie to you.” He looked up at her, his face apologetic, his eyes dark with unhappiness. “The truth is, I hope it’s gone, but I don’t know for sure. It’s been almost a year since I had my last treatment of chemo. The odds of a recurrence are pretty high for the first year—”

  “How high?” Tears were slipping down her cheeks.

  “Fifty percent,” he said. “Sixty percent, maybe more. I’m on the high end, because my cancer’s already recurred.”

  How could he sit there so calmly and tell her that the odds of his cancer returning were so terribly high?

  “But you know, instead of saying I’ve got a sixty percent chance of dying, I say there’s a forty percent chance I’m going to live to be an old man. And that’s great. That’s... There was a time during my second round of chemo that my chances of surviving barely broke double digits,” he said quietly.

  “You had chemotherapy,” Maggie said, pulling her hands away to wipe her eyes and cheeks. “For how long?”

  “Two six-month courses. The second was intensive and kind of experimental.”

  “God, Matt, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Before we made love? I tried to—”

  “No, damn it!” Maggie hit the table with the palm of her hand and the flower vase came perilously close to toppling. “When you were in the hospital!”

  The teakettle began to whistle, and they both stood up. Maggie reached the stove first, switching off the gas. She turned back to Matt and glared at him. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t. Besides, what was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, how are you, it’s been ten years, and oh, by the way, I have cancer?’”

  “Why not? God, do you know how it makes me feel that you were in that hospital and I didn’t even know? I was living my stupid, mundane life, completely unaware that any minute you were maybe going to die?”

  She began to cry again, and Matt wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

  “I didn’t die,” he told her. “I’m not going to die. Not now. Especially not now.”

  She glared at him. “Cancer isn’t something you can wish away.”

  He shrugged, pushing her hair back from her face. “Hey, why not? I’m willing to try anything. And wishing is relatively inexpensive and pain-free.” He kissed her gently. “Tonight was so perfect. I’m sorry I had to ruin it.”

  “What, now you’re apologizing for having had cancer?” With her arms wrapped around his waist, he felt so solid, so vital. She could hear his heart beating, steady and strong. It didn’t seem possible that cancer was growing inside of Matt’s perfect body. “I’m so glad you finally told me.”

  “I had to,” he said.

  “No, you didn’t.” She tilted her head back to look at him.

  “Yeah, I did. If you love me, you deserve to know. I just... Don’t be scared, okay?”

  “I’m not scared,” Maggie told him. No, she was terrified. She reached up to touch his hair. “When you had chemo...”

  His smile turned rueful. “Yup. I was balder than Yul Brenner. Except I didn’t look as good as he did.”

  “You probably haven’t cut it since...”

  “Only to even it out.” Matt sat down, pulling Maggie onto his lap. “Or to trim the ends. I kind of have this superstition. It’s silly...”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s dumb,” he admitted, “but after my hair started growing back in, I kind of saw it as a symbol of life. And I got this crazy idea that if I didn’t cut my hair, the cancer wouldn’t come back. I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s gotten to the point where it’s become like a superstition or a good-luck charm. It’s kind of like lifting your feet and touching the roof of the car when you cross railroad tracks, so you’ll have good luck. Deep down you know it’s not going to matter one damn bit, but you still do it—just in case.”

  She fingered his hair again. “Gee, if you’re never going to cut it, it’s going to get pretty long. In about five years, you’re going to have to hire someon
e to carry your hair around behind you.”

  “I hope so,” Matt said.

  His eyes were sober as Maggie gazed into them, and she realized with a jolt of fear that there was a very good chance Matt wouldn’t be alive in five years. “When will you know?” she asked.

  He knew what she meant. “I’m flying out to California at the end of next week.”

  “California?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I could go into Yale New Haven Hospital, but I’d rather go back to the doctor who treated me,” Matt told her. “We know each other pretty well. They’ll do a series of tests to find out if I’m still clean.”

  “And if you are?” she asked. “What then?”

  “Then I get happy.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “Then I come back and we make love for the rest of our long, happy lives.”

  Maggie started to cry.

  “Whoa,” Matt said. “Mags, that was the good part.”

  “I love you,” she said. “Don’t you dare die!”

  Matt held her close, his heart squeezing with pain, knowing that he couldn’t make her any promises.

  * * *

  MAGGIE TURNED ON the light in the late Mr. Stone’s ostentatious office and went straight to the bookshelf. It didn’t take her long to find what she wanted—she’d seen the books before, even though she hadn’t realized their significance. She pulled the big American Cancer Society’s Cancer Handbook off the shelf, along with several others.

  As she looked through the books, she realized that her suspicions were true. Mr. Stone had these books because he knew about Matt’s cancer. He had used a pink highlighter to mark the sections on Hodgkin’s, and she silently thanked him as she leafed through, reading the marked pages.

  She was still sitting there an hour later, books spread out in front of her on the huge desk, when Matt came in. His breezy steps slowed as he saw what she was reading.

  “Sometimes it’s scarier to read about it,” Matt said. “The books tell you only so much and make you realize how many unanswered questions you have. And if they go into any kind of detail, you need a medical degree to understand—”