Flirting with Disaster Read Free

out, I should hate you for that.”
    In fact, she was pretty darn irritated about it. If it hadn’t been for Dinah’s meddling, Maggie would never in a million years have fallen, however halfheartedly, for a man like Warren Blake. Rock-steady and dependable might suit a lot of women, but such traits had always bored Maggie to tears. She preferred dark, dangerous and sexy. Men like Cord Beaufort, as a matter of fact.
    If she were being totally honest, she’d have to admit she’d known all along that with Warren, she was settling for someone safe. He might not rock her world, but he’d never hurt her, either. As it turned out, she’d been wrong. He had hurt her, though mostly it was her ego that was bruised. If a man like Warren couldn’t truly love her, who would?
    That was what she’d been pondering in her Sullivan’s Island hideaway for a few weeks now. If she wasn’t interesting enough, sexy enough or lovable enough for Warren, then she might as well resign herself to spinsterhood. He was her last chance. Her sure thing. Sort of the way Bobby Beaufort, Cord’s sweet, but dull-as-dishwater brother, had been Dinah’s backup plan till her hormones and good sense had interceded.
    Even as Maggie was struck by that notion, she realized she should have seen the handwriting on the wall. Wasn’t she the one who’d told Dinah that safe was never going to be enough? If it wasn’t good enough for Dinah, why had she, Maggie, ever thought it would work for her? They’d always been like two peas in a pod when it came to choosing between conventional and unconventional.
    â€œMind if I say something?” Cord asked, his gaze filled with surprising compassion. He spoke in that slow, lazy drawl that had once sent shivers down Maggie’s spine till she’d realized he’d never want anyone but Dinah. She’d learned to ignore the attraction and look in other directions. Warren, unfortunately, had been in the vicinity.
    Maggie shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    â€œHere’s the way I see it,” he began. “Nothing’s stopping you from sitting in this cozy little beach house all the live-long day, if that’s what you want to do. I’m sure your art and antiques gallery can pretty much run itself, thanks to those competent employees you’ve hired. And if it doesn’t, so what? You’ve got a nice little trust fund from your daddy. You don’t need to do a thing.”
    Maggie bristled. She’d never liked thinking of herself as a spoiled little rich girl who didn’t need to work for a living. She’d poured heart and soul into Images, a high-end shop that catered to Charleston’s wealthier citizens and the tourists who visited the city’s historic district. She’d never treated it like a hobby, and had taken pride in its success. She also felt a certain amount of perverse satisfaction just knowing that it drove her mother crazy to think of her daughter being in “trade,” as she put it. Juliette Forsythe should have lived in some earlier century.
    As for her employees, Maggie didn’t know where Cord had gotten the idea they were competent. She’d be lucky if they didn’t run the place into bankruptcy. Although, until right this second with Cord taunting her, she hadn’t much cared.
    But if Cord was aware of her growing indignation, he gave no indication. “Maggie’s a smart woman,” he continued mildly, aiming his words at Dinah and Warren and leaving Maggie to draw her own conclusions. “This has obviously been a trying time for her. I think we should let her decide for herself how she wants to spend her days. She can go back to work running her business, if that’s what matters to her. She can come on out and help us with our project and make a real difference in someone’s life. Or she can sit right here and feel sorry for herself. It’s her choice. I