“Did you tell her that?”
“Yes, I went to see her. We had a talk, and made up—well, sort of. I blame my father for playing us off against each other, so I apologized, but I wanted her to acknowledge the role he played. She wouldn’t go there. She was his loyal retainer to the end.”
“So he’s the bad guy, your father?”
“Oh, yeah. Classic bad guy. Cold, harsh, distant. Always gets his way. He was never available when I was growing up. He messed me up big-time.”
“And let me guess,” he said, leaning toward her. “You married a man just like him.”
She looked down at her left hand. “Married? Oops, did I forget to take that damn ring off?”
“You’re not married?” Owen asked, his heart leaping.
She laughed. “Just kidding. Usually when a married woman cozies up to a man in a bar, she takes off her ring. If she’s smart, that is.”
“Is that what you’re doing, cozying up to me in this bar?”
“What do you think?” she asked.
Under the table, her feet snuck in between his.
“I hope so,” Owen said, looking into her eyes, his pulse racing.
“We get a pass, don’t we, because of the storm? If two people were marooned on a desert island together, they’d be allowed to console each other until the rescue helicopter came.”
“I agree completely.”
Normally Owen was circumspect in these situations. But here in this place, so deserted and intimate, with the rain lashing against the window, and the light outside fading, he felt so close to her. In the candlelight, he took her hand, and turned it over to look at the stars.
“I used to have a big diamond, but we had to sell it,” she said, taking her hand away. “Times change, and all good things must come to an end. Though, when it comes to my marriage—” She sighed, and threw her head back against the banquette. “It’s not so easy to end that, I’m afraid. I’ve been trying to get away from him for years, but it never happens.”
“Why not? You have kids?” he asked.
“No.”
“You own property together?”
“No. Not anymore.”
He shrugged. “So leave him, then. Sounds like you could if you wanted to.”
She leaned forward and looked at him from under her lashes. “Listen to you, Chief, encouraging me to leave my husband. And we’ve only just met.”
She leaned closer, and their fingers intertwined again.
“I’m just saying. Life is short. If you’re unhappy, you should make a change,” he said.
“Oh, but you don’t know me. I’ve always been unhappy.” Her voice was breathy and low, and he seemed to hear it deep inside his head.
“Always?” he asked.
“Not now, not right this minute, but that’s because I’m distracted. You’re a pretty good distraction, you know?”
Her lips were parted. He was desperate to kiss her, and there was nobody here to see. He pulled on her hand, and as if by magic, she came around to his side of the booth and slipped in beside him. He took her face in his hands, and they had a kiss straight out of his teenaged wet dreams. Mouths open and hungry, tasting of red wine, their hands exploring each other. It wasn’t until he started to unbutton her blouse that he remembered where they were, and pulled back. Her eyes and her mouth were blurry with lust, and he had a raging hard-on. He’d never cheated on his wife (though this wouldn’t exactly be cheating), and he’d never slept with a married woman. But even if what they were doing was wrong, he didn’t want to stop.
“I’m staying at the inn, right down the street. Come back to my room with me,” he said, and his voice sounded strange and thick to his own ears.
But before she could answer, in one of the worst instances of timing in Owen’s life, the lights came back on. They sat back, blinking in the sudden brightness, their hands falling to their sides. Maggie rearranged her clothes, and moved back to the other side of the booth. He felt abandoned.
“I don’t know, Chief. Maybe we shouldn’t,” she said, smoothing her hair.
The waitress walked into the room, exuding cheerful efficiency, and broke the mood for good.
“There you go, folks. Power’s back on. Not too bad an outage, huh? Give me a minute and I’ll be right back for your food order.”
Somebody pounded on the plate-glass window. Owen looked up and saw a man standing there—a good-looking man of about his own age, slightly disheveled, with blond hair wet from the rain. He was staring at Maggie, and he looked angry.
“Oh, that’s my husband. I’d better go,” Maggie said breathlessly, and grabbed her bag.
She started to slide out of the booth, but Owen stopped her with his foot. He saw something in the man’s eyes that troubled him, a glint of rage, of hysteria almost.
“Hey, will you be okay? Is he—does he get violent?”
“No. That’s not his style, and he’s caught me in bars with strange men before. He’s more the sulk and guilt-trip type.” She looked at Owen wistfully. “Hey, sorry I have to run. But you should take the job, move to town. Belle River could use a man like you.”
The man banged on the window again. Maggie slipped out of the booth. And then she was gone.
Owen did move to Belle River. He gave up his high-powered career, sold his house, packed up his kids, and took the helm of this small-town police department. And the whole time in the back of his mind, he imagined that he’d get a blazing-hot affair with Maggie Price out of the deal. He knew that if he found her again, he wouldn’t care about his position, or the risks. He’d want to be with her, to kiss her again, to distract her from her unhappiness.