by BETH KERY
“It’s only the beginning,” he said in a gruff whisper and his mouth settled on hers.
Mari quickly learned he was right. They made love again and then held each other.
She considered how she would tell him about the baby. Now, perhaps, when they held each other and their desire for one another still lingered around them like a comforting cocoon? Her heart felt so full at the moment, though. She didn’t want to tell him in a rushing torrent of emotion and end up crying on his chest, feeling like a fool.
Perhaps tomorrow while they were out at dinner would be a safer choice, she thought nervously.
“What are you concentrating on so hard?” Marc interrupted her thoughts.
She glanced up at his face, surprised. “Was I?”
He gave her the slow grin that always caused a funny sensation in her belly and brushed a tendril of hair off her brow. “You looked like you were plotting how to break some terrible news. I have a feeling I know what it is.”
She sat up slightly, alarmed. “You do?”
He nodded, suddenly sober.
“I made the criminal offense of not giving you your dessert.”
Mari rolled her eyes. He laughed and clambered out of bed, telling her to sit still. When he returned, Mari smiled at the vision of him, naked and magnificent and carrying a tray which he set on the bedside table.
“Dessert is served,” he told her, coming down next to her on the bed. He flipped the bedside lamp to a dim setting. He turned and dipped a spoon into a small carton and then a dish.
“What’s this?” she murmured when he held the spoon to her mouth.
“Fresh pineapple and homemade coconut ice cream.”
Mari opened her lips and sweet, rich flavor burst on her tongue.
“Oh…you’re going to spoil me,” she groaned.
His teeth flashed white against his tan skin when he grinned. He removed the spoon from her mouth, but pressed the cold, smooth metal against her lower lip, massaging the flesh in a small circle.
“That’s the plan,” he murmured, his tone a gentle, sensual threat.
He gathered more ice cream and fruit and pressed it once again to her mouth. She laughed.
“You don’t have to feed me, Marc.”
“We should try and get some of it into your stomach.”
“So you can get the rest of it in yours?” she joked as the confection melted on her tongue.
“I’ll end up eating plenty, don’t worry.”
He turned from gathering more ice cream on the spoon. Instead of pressing it to her mouth, however, he placed a dollop on the tip of her breast. Mari barely had time to gasp at the unexpected chill when his mouth was there, hot and agitating. Her eyes went wide at the erotic sensation of bitter cold on her nipple transforming so quickly to delicious heat. She grabbed onto his head and sighed. Did he somehow sense how sensitive her breasts were? How much pleasure he gave her with his fingers and mouth? He seemed so focused on them…as if he somehow knew.
Or perhaps it had nothing to do with her body burgeoning with new life. Maybe her flesh would always react this way to Marc’s touch?
The idea was a little disorienting.
He drew on her nipple and her thoughts splintered in a thousand directions. Her eyelids flickered closed as she gave into yet another wave of delicious pleasure.
Drowning.
He felt like he was drowning in her. Marc had told her last night he drank sparingly, if at all, and that had been the truth, but he could easily become addicted to Mari…to the vision of her smile, the way her muscles quivered in anticipation when he kissed the side of her ribs or her belly, the sweet sounds that came from her throat when he was deep, deep inside her.
After a night and most of the following day, Marc started to feel like a heel for keeping her captive in bed for all that time. Not that Mari seemed to mind, but still. It was another gorgeous sunny day, surely they should try and get out and enjoy it some? They were too enraptured with each other to notice much of anything else.
Nevertheless, they showered and ate a late lunch at the café around the corner. Afterward, they went back up to the pool where they were glad to see they were the only ones present. They took a quick swim and returned to their recliners, the hot sun on his skin feeling more like a sensual caress than usual because Mari was lying next to him.
“Marc.”
He blinked when she said his name. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the sight of her belly and hips sparkling with droplets of water.
“Hmm?” he asked.
She shook her head and laughed. “You’re a lecher, you know that?”
“If I am, it’s with good reason,” he muttered as he reached into Mari’s bag. “I’ve waited a hell of a long time.” He regretted his words when he saw her expression go solemn. He held up the infamous bottle of suntan lotion from the day before. “Time to oil up.”
Her serious look disappeared as she collapsed into giggles. When he started to smooth the lotion onto her soft, warm skin, though, all the tension he’d felt yesterday returned. His smile faded and Mari’s laughter quieted.
He managed to cover her upper arm and right shoulder with lotion before their stares met and held. They both stood by silent mutual agreement and grabbed their things. He took her hand and led her back to his condo.
The fact that they’d held themselves on such tight leashes the previous day added to their sense of haste. Perhaps it was half a lifetime spent apart that heightened their sense of need.
Maybe it was the dark worry that these were stolen days with Mari that added to Marc’s desperate hunger for her.
“We have to go back to Harbor Town tomorrow,” Mari whispered wistfully next to his chest a while later. They lay entangled on his bed, their hearts still thumping rapidly from their latest explosive joining.
He ran his fingers through her long hair and marveled once again at its softness. “That’s a long time away still. I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. We have more than twenty-four hours together,” he murmured. “That’s plenty of time.”
“Plenty of time for what?” she asked, pressing her lips to his chest.
“Plenty of time for me to convince you to spend the rest of your life with me.”
He’d said it lightly enough, but she must have caught the thread of seriousness in his tone, because she lifted her head. Her eyes looked dark, soft and velvety in the shadowed room.
“How can you be so certain that’s what you want?” she whispered.
“You know me. I’m a decisive guy,” he said, smiling in order to lighten the moment. He didn’t like the anxiety in Mari’s eyes.
“But…but you and Sandra divorced only a year and a half ago, and what about—”
“Are you implying it’s a complete impossibility?” he asked as he stroked the nape of her neck.
“Well…no.”
He met her stare. “There’s still time, then.” He pressed gently with his fingertips and she put her head back on his chest. “I think there might be time for a little nap, too. You wear me out, Mari.”
He smiled when he felt the vibrations of her small chuckle.
She lay awake and watched Marc sleeping, detailing every line of his face. It was true she had an ocean of doubt about their being together, but she had faith in Marc.
She tried to imagine his expression tonight at dinner when she told him about the baby. She drowsily pictured his look of incredulity slowly morphing to one of amazement and excitement.
And love?
Her eyelids opened heavily a while later. The sound of a cell phone ringing insistently had finally penetrated her deep sleep. She lifted her head.
“Marc. That’s yours. They’ve called back several times now, I think. It must be important.”
His eyes popped open. He scowled as he rolled over to the far side of the bed and reached for the phone on the bedside table. He glanced at the caller identification before he answered.
“Yeah?” h
e asked in a deep, sleep-roughened voice.
A long silence ensued. Mari glanced over at him. His profile was rigid with concentration as he listened to the caller. A sense of unease stole over her lassitude.
“How long has it been since she admitted her to the hospital?”
Mari gathered the loose sheet around her and sat up in the bed, her heart starting to hammer rapidly in her chest.
“Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah. We can be in Harbor Town in a few hours. Traffic should be nothing right now…I know, I understand…I still want to come… Yeah, okay. See you soon.”
He hit the End button.
“What is it?” Mari asked.
“It’s my mom.” He met her eyes before he set the cell phone on the table. “She had a heart attack.”
“Oh, my God—” Mari whispered.
“It’s not bad,” he said hastily, hearing her shock. “She’s going to be fine. That was Liam calling. It was relatively mild. The cardiologist told Liam and Colleen she’s had high blood pressure and high cholesterol for a while now, but according to the doctor, it hasn’t improved with treatment. The cardiologist implied my mom hadn’t been taking her medications.”
“Did you and Liam and Colleen know—”
“No. She never told us. I thought she was completely healthy,” Marc interrupted grimly. “She looks so healthy. She’s so slender and active. It’s the last thing I would have expected.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” he said in a flat tone.
Mari’s chest ached for him. She knew what he was experiencing.
“Anyway…Liam says they’ll likely release her tomorrow, but I still want to go.”
“Of course,” Mari said. She started to rise from bed when Marc put his hand on her forearm, halting her. She looked over at him.
“This doesn’t change anything. Do you understand?”
He seemed to regret the harshness of his tone. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I only meant… I’m sorry, Mari.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said fervently. “I understand completely. Of course you have to go. It’s family.”
He opened his eyes. “Yeah. But I’m sorry nonetheless.”
She nodded and hurried out of bed. The vivid dreams about telling Marc about the baby slowly faded to the background.
Chapter Thirteen
They arrived back in Harbor Town that evening at about six. Mari insisted upon accompanying Marc to the hospital.
“I mean… I won’t go into your mother’s room or anything—that would upset her—but I’d like to be there for you. If you’d like it, anyway.”
Marc had given her a half smile and grabbed her hand. “’Course I want you there.”
Once they’d located the unit where Brigit was staying, Mari told Marc she was going to find them something to drink while he went and saw his mother. Her throat was dry after the long drive. She left him to confer with the nurse and wandered through the corridors of the hospital in search of a vending machine.
When she returned to the unit carrying two orange juices, she found Marc talking to Colleen in the waiting area. They were the only two occupants in the room, their backs turned to her. Mari went still when she heard the distress in Colleen’s tone as she spoke in a quiet, shaking voice to her brother.
“It’s my fault,” Colleen said.
“What? How could it be your fault? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“All right, maybe it wasn’t entirely my doing, but what I said to her certainly didn’t help matters,” Colleen said in a hard voice. She swept her long hair over one shoulder in an anxious gesture and leaned back in the chair. “It was after I spoke to her that she got all quiet. Then her complexion went sort of gray and she clutched at herself like this.” Colleen demonstrated by grabbing at the area between her left chest and shoulder. “She said she was having a cramp. It scared the hell out of me.”
Marc put an arm around his sister for reassurance.
“Yeah, it must have been scary. But it wasn’t because of anything you did or said. The doctor said this has been building for a while. Mom hasn’t been attending to her treatment.”
“What I said didn’t help any.”
“I doubt that. What were you talking about?” Marc asked, seeming disbelieving and curious all at once.
Feeling guilty for eavesdropping upon the conversation, Mari had stepped forward to identify herself when Colleen spoke in a low, flat tone.
“I told her about my new job. I told her about Mari starting up The Family Center. At first, I thought her silence just signaled her disapproval, but then I noticed her complexion, how odd she looked—”
Marc suddenly looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes pinning her. Had she made a sound? Mari thought perhaps she had.
A sound of distress.
“Mari,” Colleen said breathlessly as she stood.
“Mari?” Marc asked, his voice louder than Colleen’s had been.
Mari blinked. How long had she been standing there while her heart hammered in her ears? Marc was coming toward her, his brows drawn together. She stupidly offered him a bottle of juice.
“It’s not very cold,” she said. “I think the vending machine was broken.”
He looked at her like she’d been speaking in Swahili. He put his hand on her upper arm. She started. She hated the way his jaw hardened at her instinctive recoil from his touch, but there was nothing Mari could do.
That old feeling of helplessness had risen in her again.
“I think I should go,” she said quietly to Marc.
“Because of what you just heard?” Marc demanded, blue eyes flashing.
“Mari, please don’t,” Colleen said hastily. “I was feeling sorry for myself. I’m sure what I said to Mom had nothing to do with—”
“You don’t believe that,” Mari interrupted levelly. She turned back to Marc and handed him the other bottle of juice. He seemed so stunned by unfolding events that he accepted it automatically.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
“No. I can walk.” She didn’t know what had come over her, but she felt strangely calm despite her rapid heartbeat. She met Marc’s stare, trying her best to seem reassuring even though she felt powerless at that moment. “Everything will be okay, Marc. I’ll get my things from you later. You should see your mother right now.”
Marc looked like he was about to protest when Colleen spoke, sounding a little weary.
“I’ll take Mari home. It’ll take me five minutes. You should go on in, Marc. Mom’s waiting for you.”
Mari didn’t glance back when Colleen touched her elbow. They walked away.
When she arrived home, Ryan came down the hallway, bare-chested and holding a butter knife. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a surprised expression.
“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”
“We came back a little early,” Mari said. She parked her rolling suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and placed her fingertips on her eyelids. When she opened them, she was staring at a steely bicep.
“Cool tattoo,” she said dully, examining the artist’s rendering of the logo of the Air Force wings morphing into an eagle taking flight. “When did you get that?”
“Two…three years— Who cares?” he asked, interrupting himself impatiently. “Are you okay, Mari?”
“Yeah. I’m just really, really tired. I need to go to bed.” She started up the stairs, but turned back. Ryan was staring at her with something close to alarm. “I’m okay, Ryan. Marc’s mom just had a heart attack. It took us by surprise, that’s all.”
His mouth dropped open.
“Like I said, I’m just tired. Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I don’t want any visitors. No one.”
Ryan nodded, looking somber.
Mari sighed and trudged up the stairs. She was too fatigued to think…to feel. She felt as if weariness had soaked into her very bones.
This was the ending to the
ir magical weekend. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her.
Her bedroom faced west, so it was bright with sunshine. She began to draw the curtains. When she reached the window next to the elm tree, she made sure it was locked before she shut out the remainder of the golden evening light. She thought of how she’d planned to spend that evening in Marc’s arms after telling him about her pregnancy.
But the past had a way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it.
The next day Mari stayed to herself. She kept her cell phone turned off. Ryan treated her as if she was recovering from an illness. He seemed like he wanted to question her, but was too sensitive of her mood to interrogate her, for which Mari was thankful. She needed to think.
She was playing her cello at around one o’clock when she paused, hearing tense, male voices downstairs. She held her breath and tried to make out the words.
It was Marc and Ryan. It sounded like they both stood at the front door. Their voices were muffled, but their volume increased with almost every word.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Ryan suddenly shouted, plenty clear enough for her to hear.
“Who the hell are you? Her jailer?” Marc responded, just as aggressively.
“I’m doing what she asked me to do, Kavanaugh. She said she didn’t want to see you.”
Mari hastily set down her bow and started to rise— she wouldn’t be surprised, given the animosity between Marc and Ryan, if a fight broke out—but then the screen door banged loudly and silence ensued.
She set aside her cello and raced over to the window. She opened the sash and searched the leafy branches, dreading seeing Marc’s face…and longing for it. The robins remained the only occupants of the elm tree.
A moment later, she sat on the edge of her bed. She realized distantly her cheeks were wet with tears. The memory of studying Marc’s face while he slept yesterday afternoon came back to her in graphic detail.
Such a beautiful man.
What parts of Marc would be in their baby? Would their child have his eyes? His sense of humor? His fierce courage?
