Maybe like called to like. Maybe he'd recognized her intuitively. He hid his hotter nature—his temper, his passion, the fighting impulses that'd resulted in bloodied knuckles as a teenager—behind the cold politician. But the true nature that he hid had recognized her. Wanted her, even.
Talk about a distraction.
She added something to the notepad and slid it back onto his lap, her attention back on the long-winded Mrs. Devlin from across the table, who was speaking about an art exhibit.
He'd written,I need to talk to you.
Beneath his thick-lined scrawl, she'd written in small precise script.We've just spent an hour together.
He added another line.In front of an audience.
He gently gave the notepad back to her.
She glanced at it, then at him. Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and then down at the paper. Her lips pursed. Oh ho.Shewas thinking about the kiss they'd shared, too.
Maggie had been doingher level best to think of everything but the kiss.
This man was Tirith's boyfriend, she reminded herself. Even though his knee was pressed against hers, sending fire along every nerve ending.
And yet, she didn't move away.
As the meeting dragged on, she'd forced her mind to wander to her sister instead of to the man beside her.
She needed to remember why she was here.
When Tirith had burst into the kitchen, her gaze had darted between Scarlett and Maggie.
There was no attempt made—by either twin—to hug each other. But Maggie had never seen her sister so rumpled. Her hair was escaping the clip at the back of her neck, and her taupe pantsuit looked as wrinkled as if she'd slept in it.
Maggie came out of her seat. "What's wrong?"
"I—" Tirith glanced at Scarlett. Stopped. Started again. "I need your help."
Scarlett stood from the table and toted her plate to the counter. "I'll leave you to it." She leveled a look at Maggie. "Think about what I said." About using her status to push the charity board around. Not likely.
Tirith had seemed to wilt once Scarlett was out of the room.
"Sit down." Maggie pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, and her sister stumbled into it.
"I've done something. Horrible." Was Tirith... crying?
Maggie lowered herself into the chair next to her as, sure enough, Tirith pressed a napkin to her eyes. She took a gasping inhale. "I was d-driving, and I was d-distracted. T-texting. And I…" She shook her head, pressing the napkin to her face again.
The sisters might not have been close, but Maggie couldn't stand by and see Tirith so upset and do nothing. She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders.
She could guess what had happened if Tirith had been texting and driving. A wreck. Or worse.
Why hadn't Tirith had a driver? Her sister rarely drove herself. Or maybe that was Mother. Maggie didn't know enough of their day-to-day life to say for sure.
"I h-hit a pedestrian," Tirith burst out. "A l-little girl."
Oh no.Oh, Tirith.
Maggie squeezed her sister. She had no words of comfort. Tirith must have been drowning under the guilt.
Tirith cried into her napkin almost silently as Maggie sat with her.
Finally when Tirith seemed to be calming, Maggie let her arms fall away, resting them on the table in front of her.
