“Starstruck,” Maggie whispered in Dean’s direction.
“You’re drunk on orgasms and don’t know what you’re saying,” he hissed back.
The only person she was surprised to see was Wallace, who was in deep discussion at the table with Morris.
“Mom, I think you’re the only one who hasn’t met Maggie and company yet,” Silas called to the woman behind the grill. With a smile much like her son’s, Blaire handed the tongs over to Jeremiah and wiped her hands on the GRILL MISTRESS apron that she wore over navy slacks and a gray sleeveless sweater. She had blond hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail and simple gold hoops in her ears.
“You must be Maggie, Dean, and Cody,” she said, coming to greet them. “I’m so glad you could come.”
Maggie accepted the offered hand and found the grip cool and confident. “Thank you for inviting us. Wallace, too,” she said.
“Rumor has it he hasn’t been getting many visitors, so we thought we’d add another place at the table,” she said.
“That’s nice of you,” Maggie said. “I wish we could stay longer. But we have some things to take care of this afternoon.”
Silas shot her a look, and she ignored it.
“That’s not a problem. We’re just happy to have you,” Blaire assured her.
“Beer, wine, pops, and waters are in there,” Silas said, pointing at a big blue cooler on the deck. “And I’m going to steal Maggie for a second to discuss an important landscaping problem.”
Without another word, he towed her through the back door and into the garage.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad that I’m not staying, or is there an actual problem?” she asked.
Instead of answering her, he pressed her up against the wall next to a meticulously organized corkboard of yard implements and kissed the ever-living hell out of her.
His mouth was hard and unyielding against hers. His hands settled at her hips, thumbs slipping under her T-shirt to stroke over her stomach. Her legs trembled as her body recalled in exquisite detail last night’s pleasure. That morning’s flirtation on his back porch over breakfast. She went boneless under his touch.
He pulled back with a growl. “Now that I’ve got my hands on you, it’s a hell of a lot harder to keep them off you,” he admitted.
Carefully, he withdrew his hands from her and placed them on either side of her head. He blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” she asked, still breathless.
“Because now I can’t walk back out there,” he said.
She glanced down and grinned. He was wearing gym shorts today, which showed off both his muscular legs and his impressive erection. “Oh,” she said.
Historically, Maggie hadn’t been the kind of girl who got dragged away from picnics because her boyfriend wanted to make out with her. She was the kind of girl who complimented the potato salad and helped wash dishes afterward. She had to admit she liked this version. A lot.
“I guess it wouldn’t help if I…” She reached down between them and gripped his shaft through his clothes.
“Maggie,” he warned, his forehead coming down to rest on hers.
“Oops.”
“Don’t make me drag you into the backseat of my mom’s sedan, darlin’。”
It seemed like something he would do. To be on the safe side, she released him and ducked under his arm.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” she offered.
“I don’t think that’s going to help,” he said, eyes steely.
“I’ll just go get a drink then and make small talk with your family while you try not to think about how hard you came in me last night.”
“Maggie!”
His bark was cut off by her laugh as she closed the door. She felt downright cheerful now and helped herself to a soda—correction, a pop—before taking a seat at the table next to Wallace.
“Have you found anything on Ava’s family?” Maggie asked.
He snorted. “Mrs. Campbell’s a mystery. I can trace the line forward from her, but not back. The local history books mention her coming from some wealthy European family, but I haven’t found anything related to the Dedmans.”
“Maybe her family changed their last name when they came to America?” she guessed, recalling her genealogy research in elementary school. The great-great-great-grandfather of one of the kids in her class had gone from the Russian Kohnovalsky to the easier-to-spell Cohen.