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of woman—but it was girly nonetheless. Her wooden bed frame had scarves draped at the foot—his imagination would have run wild if this wasn’t Maggie’s bed—and there were half a dozen throw pillowsstacked in a grid pattern. He’d never understood how a sane woman could be as obsessed with throw pillows as she was. Two bedside tables, twin lamps and, on one side, a pile of books that looked like it might topple over if one more were added. A Mexican blanket on the bed, a couple of framed pictures of Maggie and Evan on the walls and that was about it.
    No sign of anything vaguely masculine,which was no surprise really, given that Maggie hadn’t had a man in her life since she’d had Evan. She’d been on a few dates but that was it. The last one was twelve months ago, he remembered, and when she’d dropped Evan off at his place, she’d hated when he’d teased her about the possibility of getting laid. Man, she’d stood in his living room and had blushed like a beetroot. Funny thing was, thenext morning when she’d picked Evan up bright and early for his soccer game, there was nothing about her that suggested she’d had sex. He knew women well enough to know the signs. A woman who’s just had sex has a look: an exhausted ‘I’ve been awake all night swinging from the chandeliers’ look. The beatific smile. Last night’s clothes. The smile that can’t be hidden. The drowsy eyes.
    He didn’tknow why he’d been looking so hard for the signs, but she hadn’t exhibited any. And he didn’t want to think about why he’d felt relieved.
    Cooper glanced around her bedroom. It sure was a loss to all humanity that the first man to be in Maggie’s bed since Evan was born was going to be him. On his own. She deserved some male attention. Hell, he knew she got that wherever she went in San Clemente.What he meant was, she deserved to loosen up and let go enough to have some really great sex.
    He pulled himself up. He shouldn’t be thinking about Maggie and sex at the same time. He’d thought about it once before, in that crowed bar in Bali when they’d met, but Vance had moved in and chosen Maggie first. Cooper was his wingman that night so he didn’t get to choose. He took his mind off whatVance and Maggie were doing by dancing with Maggie’s Irish friend and then later holding her hair out of her face as she puked into the lush gardens of the bar. In the years since, Maggie was his friend. And friends shouldn’t think about each other having sex.
    So why had he thought about that night for the six years since?
    He dropped his arms to his sides and shifted his weight onto his rightleg. Maggie stood cross-armed, glaring at him, a tender-hearted mix of stubborn and caring all at the same time. She let out a frustrated breath. ‘You gonna stand there all day like a big idiot or are you going to agree with me?’
    ‘Oh, so now I’m an idiot.’ He let go of the door frame and splayed a hand across his chest like she’d shot him with an arrow. He dipped his chin and looked at her throughlowered eyelids. And yeah, maybe he pouted as well. Just for some fun. ‘Cold, Maggie Mac, cold. Talk about hitting a man when he’s down. Look at me.’ He glanced down at his leg.
    ‘Oh you poor pathetic thing you,’ she laughed.
    That made him laugh, too. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll take the bed.’
    Maggie uncrossed her arms, propped them on her hips. She looked at him a moment, as if she was debating withherself. ‘You know why I’m doing this, don’t you, Coop?’
    She came closer, slipped her fingers through his. Cooper looked down. Her small hand looked so tiny in his big paw.
    He squeezed her fingers tight. ‘Yeah.’
    And he didn’t say what he wanted to: It’s never been a chore, Maggie Mac .
    *
    Supper that night was toasted cheese sandwicheson the sofa. Cooper sat at one end, his left leg stretched out in front of him, propped up on a tower of pillows on the coffee table. Maggie was at the other end and Evan