Scenes of Passion by Suzanne Brockmann

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    Did he know? Could he tell that she’d finally succumbed to Matthew Fever? That’s what Angie had scornfully called it back in high school when one after another pretty young girl had fallen prey to Matt’s charms and followed him around adoringly, sighing soulfully.
    â€œEveryone gets it,” Angie had insisted.
    â€œNot me,” Maggie had said.
    Now she wondered if it were like other childhood diseases—much more dangerous if contracted when an adult.
    She closed the door to her room and undressed quickly, slipping into her bathrobe.
    There was a soft knock on her door, and she opened it cautiously, not wanting to get into another discussion with her mother about the pros and cons of an October wedding.
    But it was her little brother, Stevie, who stood there, yawning, as if he had just gotten out of bed.
    â€œMorning,” he said, scratching his head, making his short dark hair stand up straight.
    â€œIt’s five in the evening. Don’t tell me you slept all day.”
    â€œI cannot tell a lie,” Stevie said, a weak smile on his still-boyish face. “Your evening is my morning.”
    â€œThat’s pathetic.” She softened her words with a smile.
    â€œI didn’t get home last night until noon,” he told her. “That is noon, as in this morning.”
    â€œAre you kidding? Are you grounded for the rest of your life?”
    â€œIt was prom night.” Her brother grinned. “It was very wholesome. I went to two different after-prom parties, and there was absolutely no alcohol served at either one. I felt like one of My Three Sons . Believe it or not, it was fun. And I’m not hung over. What a bonus.”
    â€œHow’d it go with Danielle?”
    Stevie rolled his eyes. “Great—if my goal was for her to still not realize that I’m alive.”
    â€œIt must run in the family,” Maggie said. “I know what you mean.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “You can’t accuse the Brockster of not knowing you’re alive. He wants to marry you. What’s doing, Mag-oid? You got a boy toy on the side?”
    Maggie smacked him on the rear with her towel. “None of your business, Dr. Love. Outa my way. I need to take a shower.”
    â€œBe nice to me,” Stevie said. “I came here to warn you. I overheard the ’rents talking, and it sounds like Her Royal Highness, Queen Vanessa, is coming over for dinner tonight.”
    â€œOh, thank God,” Maggie said. “I’ve already got an excuse. I’m having dinner out with a friend.”
    â€œLucky you, you’ll miss that magic. Give a shout when you’re out of the shower.”
    Â 
    As Maggie was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, the doorbell rang. It was only 6:18. She’d never known Matt to be early, but he was doing an awful lot of things differently these days.
    She stood back and looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Jeans and a red tank top, sandals on her feet. Who’d’ve thought she’d ever wear something this casual to a dinner meeting with her new boss?
    A boss she happened to have the screaming hots for. And that was something she couldn’t let happen. Talk about ways to destroy a friendship. And what would Angie say?
    The doorbell rang again, and she clattered down the stairs, throwing the door open.
    â€œHi.” She smiled, expecting Matt.
    Brock looked back at her, his arms filled with suitcases. Vanessa stood behind him, also laden with luggage.
    Uh-oh.
    Maggie’s sister never traveled light, but seven suitcases for a two hour dinner…?
    â€œMy arms are breaking here,” Vanessa said, and Maggie stepped back, holding the door open for them.
    Brock piled the suitcases near the stairs, smiling at Maggie. “Hey, kiddo.” His deep voice boomed in the small foyer. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me tonight.”
    â€œNo,” Maggie said