by BETH KERY
Or maybe it was the fact that she was pregnant.
Whatever the case, Marc took one look at her once they’d walked into his cool, quiet living room and suggested she go take a nap. She was so pleasantly groggy that she didn’t argue, but wandered back to the guest bedroom, shut the door and fell asleep almost instantly on the bed.
She awoke later, turned over and saw muted evening light seeping around the blinds.
Thank goodness. She hadn’t slept for too long. It would have made her sad to think she’d wasted this rare opportunity with Marc by sleeping away a good chunk of time.
She sprung out of bed, completely refreshed. Pregnancy seemed to have the effect of making her feel either as wrung out as a limp dishrag or energized, as if she could take on the world…maybe even Marc Kavanaugh.
While she showered, she recalled in vivid detail laying there on that deck chair and watching the intent focus on Marc’s face while he slowly, carefully drew little gliding circles over the tops of her breasts. Heat rushed through her body and she turned down the hot water a tad. Mari wasn’t sure if it was just Marc’s effortless sexuality or the fact that her own body was extra sensitive—perhaps because of the pregnancy—but she’d never known she possessed quite so many erogenous zones.
After her shower, she took time and care with her appearance, wanting to look her best. She styled her hair and applied her make-up sparingly—she didn’t need much, thanks to her good color from spending the afternoon in the sun. She dressed in a sleeveless, coral chiffon dress she favored because it worked for everything from a casual evening at home to dinner or cocktails out. The chiffon fabric twisted just beneath the V-neck and followed the same tan line as the suit she’d worn today. Her eyebrows went up when she inspected herself in the dress. Maybe her stomach wasn’t starting to protrude, but her breasts definitely looked fuller than usual beneath the soft fabric.
She finished off the outfit with gold hoop earrings, a wrist cuff, sandals and then completed her preparation with a spritz of her favorite perfume. Her heart sank a little in disappointment when she entered the large living/dining room area and didn’t see Marc anywhere. Had he thought she was going to sleep through the night, and left to run some errands? No—it looked as if he’d set the dining room table for two. In the distance, she heard a shower running in the master bath.
She smiled as she perused his bookcases in the living room. She was glad they were staying in for the evening.
One could always learn so much about a person from their books. Marc’s shelves were filled with everything from autobiographies and biographies to historical books and popular thrillers. She pulled out one of three unlabeled black books and murmured happily when she realized it was a photo album of Marc’s younger years.
She sat in the corner of the couch and began leafing through the album. Derry Kavanaugh’s face leaped out at her from one photo. It was a rare family shot of the whole Kavanaugh family on one of the Harbor Town white beaches. One single moment of happiness had been captured for eternity, Mari thought as she brushed a finger across Marc’s adolescent face. Derry’s hair was a mixture of gold and gray, and his handsome, smiling face made him look as if he didn’t know the meaning of sorrow. The photo had caught Brigit Kavanaugh staring at her husband, love softening her features.
She felt a bond with Brigit in that moment. They were both grown women who had fallen in love with charismatic Kavanaugh men. They had both lost those men in different ways.
If Brigit had a second chance with Derry Kavanaugh, would she take it? She took another look at a Brigit’s loving expression as she stared at her husband and had her answer.
Her heart felt a little heavy or full—Mari couldn’t decide which—when she turned the page. For a few seconds, she just stared. After a moment, she carefully picked up the wax-paper envelope with the two flowers that had been dried and preserved—the daisy and the iris. She saw the words Marc had quoted back to her written in Brigit’s slanted, clear hand—Mari’s favorites. Sun and shade. The envelope had been placed beneath a photo of her and Marc standing in the Kavanaugh backyard, Marc’s arm around her, both of them grinning broadly, sunburned and flushed with first love. She must have been about sixteen, Marc nineteen.
“I took it when I found it at Mom’s.”
Mari glanced up at the sound of Marc’s gruff voice. Through the film of tears over her eyes, she saw that his hair was still damp and that he wore a pair of jeans and a casual blue cotton button-down shirt. She must have had a slightly bewildered expression on her face because he seemed to find it necessary to clarify.
“The flowers, I mean. I figured…you know.”
“What?” Mari asked when he didn’t finish.
“I figured they belonged here with me.”
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
“I didn’t really have anything of yours after you left,” Marc explained. “Except for photos.” He inhaled and glanced out the windows to the lake in the distance. “Truth be told, I sort of stole it from Mom. I didn’t want to have to deal with her questions if I asked for permission for them.”
“When did you take them?” Mari asked in a hushed voice.
Marc met her gaze again. “One weekend…after the Palmer House.”
Mari swallowed and carefully replaced the dried flowers in the book. She stood and slid the photo album back into its place on the shelf. When she turned, she saw him examining her appearance.
“You look gorgeous. You dressed up. I ordered in some food for us, but we can go out if you like.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m glad you planned to stay in.”
His grin caused something to hitch in her chest. “I’ll take you for dinner tomorrow night. Some place nice. Tonight, I ordered in from a favorite restaurant—French Vietnamese cuisine. They already delivered. It’s warming in the oven.”
“Great.”
“I have some wine chilled,” he said, pointing toward the kitchen. “I’ll just…”
Mari stepped forward, halting his exit by placing her hand on his arm. He looked down at her, surprised by her abrupt movement. Standing this close, she could smell the scent of his soap and spicy cologne and could see the flecks of green in the midst of the sky-blue of his iris.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what? Stealing some dried flowers?”
“No. For not forgetting me…for not giving up.”
She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him fleetingly on the mouth. When she lowered and looked up at him, she saw that he looked stunned.
“How about that food? I’m hungrier than I thought I would be.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen in a silent prompt.
He blinked, seeming to come out of his daze. “Right,” he said. “Dinner.”
Mari smiled as she followed him. He was usually so confident. It did something to her to see him off balance, even if it had lasted for all of two seconds.
Marc had ordered multiple items, so they opened all the cartons and spooned small portions from each onto their plates. The food was some of the best she’d ever eaten, and Mari didn’t think it was just because of the company. There was steamed Chilean sea bass with cellophane noodles and oyster mushrooms; jumbo shrimp, asparagus and scallions; diced filet mignon and yams in a light sate sauce and a lovely salad made with lotus root, cucumber, tomatoes and a tamarind dressing.
Just as Mari picked up her fork to begin, Marc hopped up from his seat. “Hold on… I forgot.”
He came back into the dining room carrying a candlestick and brand new taper. Grinning, he lit the candle and sat down across from Mari.
“So proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she teased as she forked a succulent shrimp.
“Well, you’ve got to admit, when you get a caveman to serve you fine cuisine by candlelight, it’s a small miracle, right?”
Mari gave a small moan as she chewed the shrimp. “You did very well, Caveman.”
A while later she leaned ba
ck in her chair and sighed as she stared out at the dark blue lake and muted lavender sky. The flickering candle was starting to cast shadows on the ceiling. It would be dark soon. She lazily forked her last bite of salad and chewed it slowly, appreciating the subtle blend of flavors on her tongue.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she murmured.
“I’m glad you liked it.” He nodded at her full wine glass. “Wine not to your liking?”
“Oh… No, it’s fine,” she said hastily. “The food was so delicious I didn’t have a thought for it, that’s all.”
“You can take it into the living room, if you like,” he suggested. “I got dessert, but maybe we should wait a bit?”
“Definitely,” Mari agreed.
He stood and began to clear their dishes. When Mari started to help him, he shooed her off, insisting she take her wine and relax in the living room. Mari obligingly took her full glass of wine, but felt a little awkward since she had no intention of drinking it. She kicked off the sandals she was wearing, perched in the corner of the L-shaped couch and drew up her feet. When Marc joined her a few minutes later, he carried a mug and handed it to her.
“Figured you’d probably prefer tea. It’s herbal,” he said as he handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, scooting her feet back a few inches to make room for him to sit.
“I was just thinking while I was cleaning up in the kitchen—I’m not used to being around you as an adult. I shouldn’t have assumed you drink alcohol.” He continued when she stared at him in blankly, “I’ve never seen you drink since I met up with you at the Palmer House. It wouldn’t surprise me if you abstained.”
“I have a glass of wine once in a while,” she said as understanding dawned. He’d assumed she hadn’t drank her glass of wine for reasons related to their past. In truth, she hadn’t drank it because of her pregnancy. “What I said was true. It just didn’t appeal tonight.”
Marc nodded, but his expression was somber. “I mentioned it the other night, but I’ll say it again. I’m not much of a drinker, either. I just thought some wine with the food—”
“Marc,” she interrupted. “I didn’t think twice about you having a glass of wine. You didn’t even finish it. Do you really think I’m worried that you’re some kind of alcoholic because your father had a drinking problem?”
He shrugged and glanced away. “It’s not as if I haven’t heard something similar before. My brother and sisters have, at one time or another. All of us were stained by my dad’s actions.”
Mari opened her mouth to demand the details—who had dared to insinuate something so ridiculous? How could they possibly justify their allegations, when the Kavanaugh children were practically paragons of virtue, dedication and hard work?—but she closed her mouth when she noticed Marc’s rigid profile.
“It’s so unfair. I’m sorry,” she murmured.
His gaze returned to her face. “It meant a lot, to discover you weren’t one of those people judging me for someone else’s actions,” he said quietly.
She shook her head, her throat suddenly tight with emotion. She cradled his jaw with her hand and moved her fingers, absorbing the sensation of his warm skin, both overwhelmed by his vibrant presence and hungry to experience more of him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her as he studied her through narrowed eyelids.
“Life is so uncertain. I wish…I wish I could always have you like this.”
“Like this?” His mouth quirked, and Mari brushed her thumb against his lips. He went still at her touch.
“Just us,” she whispered as she moved her finger, studying his texture like her thumb was her only source of sensation. “No one else.”
“It is just us. And the future,” he said.
“There’s the past.”
His hand came up and cradled her shoulder. “There’s the present, Mari.”
The present.
Staring into Marc’s eyes, she felt the present moment stretching out to eternity. He didn’t move or speak when she leaned over and placed her mug of tea on the coffee table, but she sensed the tension that had leaped into his muscles. She lifted her knee and straddled his thighs, her head lowered. The need she felt couldn’t be denied any longer.
She unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt and pressed her face into the opening.
She did what she’d been holding back from doing for weeks now…for years.
She drowned herself in him.
Chapter Twelve
The skin on his chest felt thick and warm pressed against her seeking lips. He didn’t have an abundant amount of hair there, but what she encountered delighted her as she rubbed her cheek and lips against it, experiencing the springy, soft sensation. His scent filled her, intoxicated her. She moved her hands, cradling his waist and then sliding up the taper to his ribs, caressing him with gentle, molding palms and eager fingers.
It took her a few seconds to realize he was holding his breath. That changed when she gently pulled aside the fabric of his shirt and kissed a dark copper-colored nipple.
He gasped her name raggedly and tangled his fingers in her loose hair.
He was so hard, so male. Her lips and fingertips couldn’t seem to get enough of him. She rubbed her mouth across his nipple, testing the texture with her tongue, thrilling to the sensation of the flesh beading beneath her caress. Her hands moved fleetly, unbuttoning the remainder of his shirt. His abdomen and ribs rose and fell as she explored his naked torso and tasted his skin.
He said something in a low, rough tone when she moved her mouth, raining light, quick kisses on his chest. She couldn’t hear him, but interpreted the words to mean desire. He hissed her name when she greedily sampled another small, flat nipple and felt it grow stiff below her tongue and lips.
He cursed and grasped her shoulders, lifting her. He pulled her down to him and seized her mouth, and their separate fires leaped into a single inferno.
He joined her in her quest to explore, to touch…to thrill. His hands molded her back muscles and encircled her waist. She loved how big he was, how much of her he could hold in his grasp. He shifted her slightly on top of him, bringing her closer against him, matching the core of her heat to his.
They groaned into each other’s mouths, burning separately…burning as one.
Mari felt liberated. Before, she’d allowed herself to touch Marc’s fires, to be consumed by them, even. This was the first time she’d let her own flames run free. Before, there had always been the nagging restraint, the hovering caution.
Not now, though. Not in this eternal moment.
He shifted his hands to her hips, his fingers delving into the soft flesh of her buttocks. They continued to devour each other as he rocked her against him, both of them so hungry, so starved for one another. He moved one hand to the back of her head and held her while he ravished her mouth. His lips lowered, feeling hot and voracious on the skin of her neck. She tilted back her chin and arched her back, offering herself to him, lost in a sea of sensation. His hands moved rapidly as he pressed kisses against her neck and shoulders, sweeping aside the fabric of her dress and the straps of her bra. He peeled cloth off her breasts. Mari cried out in abrupt loss when suddenly his mouth was gone, then gasped as his mouth closed over a nipple. She furrowed her fingers through his short hair and held him to her as she whimpered in sublime pleasure. An unbearable ache swelled inside her, a pain she knew would only be silenced by their joining. He continued to tease her flesh with his mouth and tongue until Mari grew desperate. She reached between them, wild to remove the barrier of their clothing. His head rose when he realized what she was doing. His breath came in short, jagged pants against her damp breasts as they fumbled, united in a fury of need.
Her head fell back and she gasped at the sensation of him entering her.
“Look at me.”
She complied with his command. It felt as if she’d explode from the strength of her combined emotion and arousal when she
met his fierce gaze. She rested in his lap, quivering. She felt so full…so inundated with him.
They began to move at the same moment as if by some unspoken agreement. He closed his eyes. A muscle twitched in his cheek. She understood the sweet agony. She experienced it with him.
“You’ve been holding yourself back from me,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes open now, pinning her as she moved over him.
She didn’t reply. Her body spoke for her. It was true, but she wasn’t holding back from him now.
And she made sure he knew it.
She leaned down and scraped her parted lips against his, caressing rather than kissing. She tasted his sweat. Their breaths mingled and the inferno inside her grew. His hold on her hips and buttocks tightened and they both became more demanding, both of the other and themselves.
She wanted to hold onto these seconds forever…never wanted it to end.
If it didn’t end this moment, she would die.
She held on tight to his shoulders and cried out in pleasure as she succumbed. She heard his low, rough growl as he held her down to him, felt his muscles grow rock hard beneath her clutching fingers. Her name was a fierce prayer on his tongue.
The seconds unfolded into minutes as time resumed its normal cadence. Mari pressed her lips against Marc’s pulse as she tried to catch her breath. She felt his leaping heart slow to a steady throb.
Something had happened.
She had the amazingly clear thought through her hazy satiation: She had to tell Marc about the baby, and not just because she was obligated. In that moment she wanted to tell him, longed to complete the link between herself, this vibrant man she held and their growing child with every living cell in her being.
She whimpered in protest when he lifted her, separating them. He groped for his jeans, roughly pulling them up around his hips.
“No. I don’t want it to end,” she murmured.
“It’s not going to end.”
She blinked when she heard the hard edge to his voice. Then he was gathering her to him and standing.
The master bedroom was dim and shadowed. The duvet felt cool against her heated skin when he laid her on his bed. He came down over her.
