Marcus

by Kate Hoffmann

  Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. If I had a woman in my bed, I wouldn’t be here having coffee with you tossers.”

  “Good point,” Ian said.

  Marcus slid out of the booth, but Dec stopped him before he could make his getaway. “When you go back out to the Ross place, let me know if you see anything.”

  “Or anyone?” Marcus asked.

  “Just keep an eye out. She went there once-she may stop by again.”

  Once Marcus stepped outside, he drew a deep breath of the damp morning air. The minute he got home he was going to have a talk with Eden. The longer she dragged this out, the more consequences there would be in the end. They both needed a plan or this affair of theirs would turn into a major disaster.

  EDEN ROLLED OVER IN bed and opened her sleepy eyes, squinting to see the clock on the beside table. Pans clattered in the kitchen, and she flopped back into the soft pillows and stretched. A pleasant exhaustion settled over her, and she smiled to herself as she drew the sheet up over her naked body.

  Thoughts of Marcus drifted through her mind, images of his handsome face, eyes closed, passion suffusing his features. Her fingers tingled and she reached out and grabbed his pillow, inhaling his scent.

  When it came to desire, nothing seemed to stand between them. When he was inside her, she felt completely vulnerable and infinitely powerful at the same time. She’d discarded the last of her inhibitions. With Marcus, sex was an adventure to be shared.

  Eden crawled out of bed and drew the sail around her body. “I thought you were going to bring me breakfast in bed,” she called.

  A few moments later an older woman appeared, a dish towel clutched in her hands. “I’m sure I could make you something if you wanted,” she said softly, her words tinged with an accent.

  Eden drew a sharp breath, then forced a smile. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I thought you were Marcus.”

  She smiled warmly and nodded. “I’m not.”

  “Are you the maid?” Eden asked.

  “I do occasionally clean up after Marcus,” she said. “That much is true. Are you sure I can’t get you some breakfast, dear?”

  “I-I’m just going to get dressed,” Eden said.

  “That would be a fine idea. I’ll just get back to work.”

  Eden scrambled to find something to wear, but the only clothes within reach belonged to Marcus. She pulled a pair of his boxers from a pile of clean laundry on the floor, then slipped into a T-shirt. By the time she got to the kitchen, the housekeeper was heating water in the teakettle.

  “Can I make you a cup?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Eden replied. She sat down on one of the stools and observed the woman. She wasn’t dressed like a cleaning lady. She wore a pair of tailored pants and a cotton sweater set in a pretty shade of blue. An uneasy realization dawned and Eden’s stomach lurched. “You’re Marcus’s mother, aren’t you?”

  She glanced up and smiled. “I am.” She held out her hand. “Emma Quinn.”

  Hesitantly Eden accepted the gesture. “Liselotte,” she said. “Liselotte Bunderstrassen.”

  “What a lovely name,” Emma said. “Lisa…?”

  “Just Lisa is fine,” Eden said.

  Emma reached into a canister on the counter and withdrew a handful of tea bags. “Earl Grey or chamomile?”

  “Chamomile,” Eden said.

  “How long have you and Marcus known each other, Lisa?” Emma asked as she set two mugs next to the cooktop.

  “Not long,” Eden said, then swallowed hard. She certainly didn’t want his mother to think this was a one-night stand. “But long enough. He’s very sweet.”

  “He always has been. He’s the baby of the family and he’s a sensitive soul. Always watching out for others.”

  “Yes,” Eden said. “That’s true.” She paused. “He doesn’t talk much about his family. I know he has brothers.”

  “He has four brothers and two sisters. Do you have siblings?”

  Eden shook her head. “No, I’m an only child. I never thought much about having sisters or brothers. I got so little of my parents’ time as it was that I didn’t want to share.” She drew a deep breath. “But now I wish I had a sister or even a brother. Someone I could go to when I needed help. Someone who would always be on my side.”

  “Husbands are good for that, too,” Emma said.

  She’d made no attempt to hide the inference, and Eden couldn’t stop a smile. “Marcus and I-we haven’t…There’s no reason to believe that-I do like him an awful lot.”

  Emma Quinn reached out and patted her hand. “A mother can only hope,” she said. “Marcus would do well to find a wife. He needs someone to shake up his life, someone bright and outgoing, like you. He keeps to himself far too much.”

  Eden wasn’t sure how his mother would feel if she knew the truth. Would she be so eager to marry off her son to a notorious party girl who was the star of her very own sex tape? Emma Quinn might be looking for a daughter-in-law, but Eden knew she wouldn’t be on the short list.

  The teakettle began to squeal, and Marcus’s mother hopped off the stool and fetched it, filling both mugs with water. “Do you take sugar or milk?”

  “Just plain,” Eden said. She wrapped her hands around the mug. “Tell me about your family.”

  “I married Paddy Quinn when I was twenty-four. He’d grown up in Ireland and came over here to fish on a long-liner-a swordfishing boat. He came from a family of fishermen. I grew up here. My mother was Irish. My true father died before I was born. He was killed in the war, and my mother married an American G.I. who sent her off to Boston to live with his family.”

  “How did you meet your husband?”

  “We were introduced by friends. A blind date, you might say. We fell in love, but my mother didn’t want me to marry him. She wanted me to return to Ireland with her after my stepfather died, but I refused.”

  “How did you know you loved him?” Eden asked.

  “I didn’t at first. But every day, in little ways, he showed me that my happiness was the most important thing to him, more important than his own. He made me feel…” She smiled. “Safe. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it was to me. And later on it was all I needed.”

  “No,” Eden murmured. “It sounds wonderful. I know exactly what you mean.”

  “And then we had Rory and Eddie and Mary Grace and Jane. And then Ian and Declan and finally Marcus. Would you like children?”

  Her question took Eden aback. She’d never thought about having a family of her own. She hadn’t exactly had a good example to follow. The quick answer would have been no, but the thoughtful answer was much more surprising. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’d like to believe that someday I might have a family of my very own.”

  Eden sipped her tea as Emma Quinn busied herself around the kitchen. They chatted about Marcus and his talents as a boatbuilder and wood-carver. And gradually Eden began to realize that the man she believed Marcus to be-quiet, solid, tenderhearted-was the man that his family knew, as well.

  For the first time in her life she’d judged a man correctly. But was she the woman that Marcus believed her to be? Or had she simply been convinced she could be something more?

  Suddenly Eden felt a frantic need to protect her reputation. She’d get the tape and destroy it before Emma Quinn and the rest of Marcus’s family found out who she really was. Eden sipped at her tea and tried to calm her nerves.

  She’d never really cared what people thought of her. Why had that suddenly changed?

  MARCUS SAT ON A LOW bench and stared out at the harbor. Sailboats bobbed at their moorings, the rigging clanking as they rocked. It seemed like months since he and Eden had been on board Victorious, but it had only been little more than a day. In that time, so much had changed.

  On the boat they’d been swept away by their physical attraction to each other. But now she was sleeping in his bed and living in his loft. He’d grown used to having her with him, and though the sex
was incredible, he found himself enjoying the small, quiet moments they spent outside of their passion for each other. It was becoming more difficult to imagine a day without seeing her-or touching her.

  Was it just the sex? The notion wasn’t that farfetched. He’d never enjoyed such an intense relationship with a woman, nor one that required so little commitment. Eden didn’t ask anything of him beyond his willing participation in their bedroom activities.

  But he couldn’t help but feel as if they were biding their time. To believe that they could continue on like this was foolish. Though he’d insisted that she call her parents, he’d done nothing to remind her of her promise. For now, she belonged entirely to him, dependent on him for his protection. There was a pleasant security in that. But if he let things go on as they had been, he might never be able to let her go.

  He chuckled to himself. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice? He’d thrown himself into a purely physical relationship only to come out on the other side wanting more. Would he become one of those daft wankers who spent years pining after a woman they could never have? He shook his head. Hell, no. When Eden finally left, he wouldn’t look back.

  He stood and walked toward the boatyard, his hands shoved in his pockets, his thoughts occupied with the odd turn in his feelings. When it came to women, he’d never looked beyond the next night in bed. But with Eden, he’d let himself see a future. Though it was hazy and dim, it was there, just beyond his reach.

  Marcus clenched his fists. Would he grab for it or would he let it evaporate before his eyes? He stopped at the entrance to the boatyard and stared up at the sprawling building that held a retail store, the repair shop and a sail loft. How could he ever believe that he had anything to offer Eden? Sure, the sex was fantastic, but even Marcus knew that a real relationship couldn’t be built on only that.

  He was a regular guy. He made his living with his hands, and it wasn’t much of a living at that. He’d never questioned his financial success until now. But Eden deserved more than a crudely furnished loft above a shabby boatyard. His mind flashed an image of the Ross compound on the bay, the sprawling white clapboard house and the beautiful grounds, the garages filled with fancy cars, and servants who waited on the family hand and foot.

  And what did they have in common? What would they share if the passion ever wore off? They’d led completely different lives on opposite ends of the spectrum. Even if Marcus dedicated the rest of his life to making her happy, he’d be doomed to fail.

  When he turned into the parking lot for Quinn’s Boat Works, Marcus noticed his father in front of the service bay door, surrounded by crates, a crowbar clutched in his hand.

  “Da,” Marcus called. “What do you have there?”

  Paddy Quinn stood staring at the job at hand. His gray hair was mussed by the breeze and his cheeks were ruddy. Though he’d celebrated his sixtieth birthday last year, he didn’t show his age. His body was trim and his arms were muscled and the deep wrinkles brought on by years on the water only added character to his face. “New outboards,” he said. “We had to unload them here. The forklift is busted.”

  Though Marcus’s Irish accent had all but disappeared, his father’s brogue was still thick. Paddy had lived the first twenty-two years of his life in Ireland. Marcus’s mother, who’d been born in America, had adopted her accent from her own mother, Nana Callahan, the very same grandmother who had cared for the boys in Ireland.

  “It’s Sunday, Da. Leave it for tomorrow.”

  “It’s a holiday weekend. The store will be busy,” Paddy said. “By the way, your mam’s looking for you.”

  “Is she in the store?”

  “Nah, she walked over to the boathouse.”

  “When?” Marcus asked, turning toward the loft.

  Paddy frowned. “Might have been twenty minutes ago. She’s takin’ her sweet time about it. You’ll probably find her cleanin’ your kitchen.” He straightened and hitched his hands on his hips. “Can’t ever stop makin’ up for time lost, I fear. She needs to get her motherin’ in now while you boys’ll still have it. Give her a break, will ya?”

  “I better go see what she wants,” Marcus said.

  Marcus strode through the yard to the boathouse. He took the stairs two steps at a time and threw open the door to the loft. He stopped short when he saw his mother and Eden seated comfortably at the counter, both enjoying a cup of tea.

  They both turned when he walked in, and Eden graced him with a delighted smile. “Hi,” she said. “Your mother stopped by.”

  Emma Quinn pushed off the stool and stood, her hands clutched together in front of her. Even after her long battle with cancer she was a lovely woman, tiny and trim, her face unlined and her eyes bright. She wore her dark hair short and tucked behind her ears in a very proper way. Marcus had always remembered her smile, had seen it in his dreams when he was a boy, and it still warmed his heart. She smiled at him now.

  “Hey, Ma.”

  “Well, I must be going,” she said to Eden. “I’m sure you two have…things to do.” She held out her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear. I hope we’ll see each other again. Perhaps you can come to the house tomorrow. We’re having a picnic to celebrate the Fourth, and I’d love it if you could join us.”

  Eden took his mother’s hand, then thought better of it and wrapped her arms around Emma Quinn, giving her a fierce hug. “I’d like that,” she said.

  Marcus gave them both a long look before he stepped up and took his mother’s elbow. “I’ll walk you out, Ma,” he murmured. His gaze caught Eden’s and she smiled again. What the hell was she so happy about?

  He walked his mother down the stairs out to the boatyard. Emma Quinn had been silent along the way, but Marcus didn’t expect it to last. When they stepped outside, she turned and faced him. “She’s a lovely girl, Marcus.”

  “She is,” he agreed.

  “Though I can’t help but think that I’ve seen her before. Is she from here in town?”

  “No,” Marcus said.

  “Hmm. Very pretty. But an odd name, that one, don’t you think?”

  “She introduced herself?” Marcus asked.

  “Liselotte Bunderstrassen.” Emma sighed and shook her head. “It’s not Irish, that’s for sure.”

  “I think it’s German, Ma.”

  His mother stared at him. “And that’s all you have to say? It’s German? You have a young lady wandering around your apartment in her knickers,” she said. “Would you care to explain?”

  “Not right now, Ma,” Marcus said. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this between the two of us.”

  “And who would I be telling?” she asked as if insulted by the notion.

  “Oh, I don’t know. My sisters. My father. Your ladies down at St. Joe’s.”

  She pushed up on her toes and gave Marcus a peck on the cheek. “I hope you’re practicing that safe sex they’re always talking about. If you’re having relations, use a condom. Not that I want to know if you’re having relations. It’s not something a mother needs to know. And considering it’s against the church, I’d rather not know so I don’t have to confess it.” She paused. “So have you been using a condom?”

  “Ma, I’m not going to discuss my sex life with you.”

  She patted Marcus on the shoulder. “Then you talk to your da. He knows the score on those things.”

  “Tell Da I’ll be down in a minute to help him with those crates.”

  His mother gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “He’ll be fine. It’s Sunday and he shouldn’t be working anyway. You go upstairs and tend to your guest and I’ll take care of your father. And I hope to see you both tomorrow.”

  “We’ll see, Ma. I’ve got a lot of work to finish.” Marcus watched as she walked back through the boatyard, weaving around the timber cradles and wooden ladders. There were times when his mother still treated him like a teenager. She’d missed so much of his life and the lives of Ian and Declan that she was sometimes unable to accept
they were grown men.

  At least they’d managed to get beyond past hurts. When he’d returned from Ireland, his relationship with his mother had been in tatters. The anger had lasted years, and he’d kept his distance, afraid to allow her back into his life for fear that he’d lose her again. But over time Marcus had come to understand the choices she’d made.

  He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through while he and his brothers had been growing up in Ireland. His older siblings refused to speak of it, as did his father, but he’d heard from a family friend that the priest had been called for last rites five separate times.

  Her illness had nearly destroyed Marcus’s family, and the specter still hung over them all. But his mother had taught them all that they must live each day and stop worrying about the future. She had an amazing outlook, considering what she’d been through, and she never wasted time feeling sorry for herself.

  So why couldn’t he apply that theory to Eden? What would be, would be, and worrying over it wouldn’t change anything.

  Marcus slowly climbed the stairs to the loft. Eden was waiting for him, perched on a stool, her mug of tea clutched in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She came in and was cleaning up in the kitchen. I thought she was the housekeeper.”

  He frowned. “You thought I had a housekeeper?”

  “Well, I didn’t know,” Eden replied. “Your place is pretty clean for a guy.”

  Marcus crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, then poured himself a glass. “So what did you talk about?”

  “Nothing, really. You, mostly. Did she say anything about me?”

  “You mean about Liselotte Bunderstrassen?”

  “She asked my name. It’s the first thing that came to mind. You didn’t think I was going to admit to being Eden Ross, did you? I wanted your mother to like me.”

  Marcus sat down beside Eden. “She thought you were pretty. And she reminded me that we need to practice safe sex.”

  “You told her we were having sex?” Eden cried.

  “You’re in my bed at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.” He looked down and frowned. “And wearing my underwear. My mother’s not an idiot.”