Scenes of Passion Read Online Free Page B

“I’ve got the old man’s Maserati. He never drove it anywhere. What’s the point in having a car like that if you never use it?”
    â€œDo you remember when you stole it and used it to drive Angie to the junior prom?” That was one of the best times they’d had together and one of the worst.
    He unlocked the front passenger side door of the gleaming black sports car and opened it for Maggie. “How could I ever forget? I spent four days in jail for that one. God, my father was such a bastard.”
    Matt got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He looked over at Maggie, real sadness in his eyes. “I was such a disappointment to him. Right up to the end.”
    She didn’t know what to say, and then there was no reason to say anything because he put the key into the ignition and started the engine with a roar. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flashing her a smile. “This is a very nice car.”
    Maggie wanted to ask about his father, but she held her tongue. Mr. Stone had died over a year ago, and even though he and Matt had never gotten along, she’d been surprised when Matt didn’t show up for the funeral.
    She shook free of the thought, fastened her seat belt, and got ready to hang on for dear life as he pulled out of the parking lot. But he drove almost slowly.
    â€œWhere are we going?” she asked.
    Does it matter?
    She loosened her fingers from her grip on the handstrap as she realized he was going to stay under the speed limit.
    â€œOut to my father’s office,” Matt told her. “ My office,” he corrected himself with a laugh. He shot her a look. “Can you believe I have an office?”
    Maggie was confused. “You mean, over at the factory?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “The main office was in our house.”
    Matt glanced at her.
    Maggie’s face was lit in regular intervals by the street lights. The pale yellow glow made her seem unearthly.
    She was prettier than ever. She still had the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her complexion was fair—a fascinating contrast tothe dark brown of her soft, wavy hair. Her nose was small and almost impossibly perfect, her lips soft and full, and always quick to curve into a smile.
    For the first time since he’d hit town, he was honestly glad to be back.
    Very glad.
    â€œI want to offer you a job,” he told her as they neared the house. “I’d like to hire you as my corporate attorney and business advisor—for three hundred thousand dollars a year.”
    She stared at him.
    She didn’t say a word as he pulled into the driveway of his father’s huge white Victorian house. All the outside lights were on, spotlighting it against the darkness of the night.
    He’d grown up in this house, playing on the vast lawns that overlooked the Long Island Sound, scrambling on the rocks at the edge of the shore. It was a wonderful old place, full of nooks and crannies. It had rooms that weren’t perfectly square, windows that opened oddly, and closets that turned out to be secret staircases.
    â€œWhat’s the catch?” Maggie finally found her voice.
    After Matt’s mother died, his father had had the house renovated and restored. And although he knew his father hadn’t intended for it to happen, the renovations removed every last trace of her, every homey, motherly touch, leaving the house as impersonal and empty as a museum.
    Matt pulled around to the back, where the office was, and parked the Maserati under another bright spotlight.
    â€œThe catch,” he said, turning toward her in the sudden silence after the car’s powerful engine had been shut off. “Yeah, there’s definitely a catch. You know my father had money. Big money.”
    Maggie nodded. The Yankee Potato Chip Company, the mansion, the twelve-car garage with the twelve cars to go in it.
    â€œDear