by BETH KERY
She met his stare when he faded off. For a moment, she was trapped in his gaze.
“We don’t have to dissect the reasons, Marc. Suffice it to say that Chicago was a mistake.”
“I don’t agree,” he stated flatly.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree, then.” She noticed the tilt to his jaw—the Kavanaugh pride and stubbornness in full evidence. She sighed and groped for a way to change the volatile topic. “I’d forgotten what a good dancer you are,” she murmured.
“I’d forgotten how hard it was to hold you in my arms and not be able to make love to you later. It’s a memory I’d rather put to rest for good, Mari.”
Her breath froze on an inhale. His blue eyes blazed hot enough to melt her.
So much for safe topics.
She blinked as if awakening from a trance and took a step away from him. “Don’t, Marc.”
“Don’t what? Make it harder than it already is? Too late,” he said softly. His mouth quirked at his double entendre.
Mari was so busy staring at his sexy grin that she didn’t resist when he pulled her back into his arms. He didn’t miss a beat when the band started playing a slow ballad. The man really could move on the dance floor. As if he needed that extra edge. He was already more attractive to her than he had a right to be.
He gathered her close, so close that Mari became highly conscious of the how thin the barrier of their clothing was, of how little separated them from touching skin to skin.
“Just relax. Didn’t anyone ever tell you there’s a time for arguing and a time for…dancing?”
The annoyed glance she threw him was more defense than genuine irritation. The truth was, her reaction to Marc worried her. It’d be convenient to say that being around him only evoked all those old feelings, but the reality was, her physical reaction to Marc as a woman was even stronger than it’d been as a girl.
Exponentially so.
Mari held herself rigid as they swayed to the music, but her resistance could only last so long. Her flesh seemed to mold and melt against his of its own accord as if her body recognized its perfect template, even if her brain refused to acknowledge it. A warm sensation settled in her lower belly.
When Marc opened his hand on her lower back and applied a delicious pressure, Mari gave up the fight and rested her cheek between his shoulder and chest. She sighed, inhaling his scent. He smelled delicious—spicy and clean. Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt him lightly nuzzle her hair with his chin. His warm lips brushed against the side of her neck. She shivered. Every patch of skin that his mouth touched seemed to sing with awareness.
When the final note played, her head fell back. She found herself staring into Marc’s eyes, which had gone from blazing to smoky. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. The contours of his arousal were abundantly clear to her given how close they pressed.
It was as if a spell had fallen over her. It must have, for her to be having such intimate thoughts—such intimate feelings—in the midst of a crowded, noisy bar.
A crowded, noisy bar in Harbor Town, of all places.
She pulled back from Marc’s embrace and touched her fingertips to her cheeks, mortified to feel how hot they were.
“Excuse me,” she murmured before she twisted out of his arms.
The water from the ladies’ room sink barely cooled her burning cheeks. Her heat had sprung from an inner source that wasn’t so easily extinguished. Her eyes closed, she folded a wet paper towel and pressed it to her face, trying to regain her equilibrium.
He could knock her off balance so easily—still and always.
The thought of walking out there and facing Eric and the other patrons mortified her. Marc and she had been practically glued together on the dance floor. At the recollection of Marc nuzzling and kissing her neck—and of her not only allowing it, but loving it—shock washed over her.
She needed to get out of the bar. She needed to get out of Harbor Town altogether, as quickly as possible.
She’d apologize to Eric tomorrow for her abrupt abandonment.
Someone—a woman—called out to her as she fled the noisy establishment. Mari glanced over at the bar and glimpsed Liam and Colleen Kavanaugh watching her. She read excitement and a hint of concern in Colleen’s aquamarine eyes. Part of her was glad to see Colleen’s willingness to speak with her after all these years, but she was too discombobulated at the moment to renew old friendships. Panic pressed on her chest.
How could she have ever thought it was a good idea to return to Harbor Town? How could she have misled herself into believing Dr. Rothschild when her former therapist had said she had unfinished business in the little town and a bone-deep desire to heal?
She burst out the front door of Jake’s Place, gulped the warm, fresh air she’d been oxygen-deprived. It didn’t occur to her until she reached the parking lot just what—or who—it was she was escaping. A pair of hands settled on her shoulders and spun her around.
“Marc,” she said in a strangled voice. She hadn’t realized until that moment she’d been dreading his touch and anticipating it, as well.
“Don’t run from me, Mari. Don’t run from this.”
She swayed closer, to him, inhaling his scent. Nobody smelled like Marc. She wanted to believe that this was something they could solve. Her body wanted to believe him…wanted to trust in Marc, longed to be swept away by a dream.
A girl’s dream.
She met his blazing eyes.
“Marc, we can’t. Not again,” she whispered. She started to move out of their embrace, her fear returning, but he stopped her.
“What is it, Mari? What’s your problem with me?” he asked quietly. She saw wariness shadow his face, felt it rising in his tense muscles. “Is it that you think I’m a killer by association? I’m not my father, damn it. I barely finish a beer if I drink at all. I’d throw myself off the top of the Sears Tower before I got behind the wheel of a car drunk. I didn’t kill your parents.”
She blinked in shock at the sudden appearance of his anger. They’d tacitly agreed to stay away from the minefield of this topic in Chicago.
“I never said you did.”
“I lost my father in that crash, as well,” he said.
Her throat tightened. “I know that. Surely you know that.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to think except that you believe I’m guilty by association. I don’t know, because you’ve never really told me, have you? You walked away five weeks ago. You left when we were together and refused to speak to me for fifteen years. One night, we were on the verge of becoming lovers, and the next, we were separated by the news of the crash. Within days, you were gone and thousands of miles separated us, as well.”
“Marc, we were kids. I’d lost almost my entire world,” she moaned.
“You came back to Harbor Town. You must have had a reason.”
“I did have a reason,” Mari said. Her gaze deflected off his face. What would he think about The Family Center? Her fantasies about opening it never included having to tell Marc about her plans. What if he thought the project was odd…or worse, self-righteous on Mari’s part? He’d probably never understand how much she’d thought of him while making her plans…of the young man she’d loved and lost so many years ago.
She closed her eyes, trying to banish her chaotic thoughts. All she wanted at that moment was to escape this volatile situation with Marc.
“I didn’t come back to Harbor Town for you. And I don’t want to talk about the past with you, either, Marc.”
“Who do you want to talk about it with? Reyes? Is it okay to talk about things with him? Because you’re both victims, while I’m the son of the monster who robbed you of your parents?”
“Marc, don’t. Please.”
It pained her more than she could bear to see the raw hurt on his handsome face. A need arose in her to soothe his sadness, to somehow ease his anguish. The knowledge that she was powerless to do so caused the swelling, tight s
ensation to mount in her chest. She was stunned at how easily that old wound had opened when she saw his expression of disillusionment.
His expression suddenly shifted. He caressed her upper arms in a soothing motion. “Jesus. You’re shaking. I’m sorry—”
“What’s going on, Mari?”
Mari’s eyes widened at the sound of the hard voice behind them. She looked over Marc’s right shoulder and saw Eric standing there, looking furious. Marc twisted his chin around.
“Oh, look,” Marc muttered with subdued sarcasm. “If it isn’t the other victim, here to save Mari from the beast. What are you going to do, Reyes? Start a brawl with me in the parking lot?”
“Marc—” Mari called out warningly, sensing the volatility inherent to the moment.
“No, Kavanaugh. That’d be your M.O., if I recall correctly,” Eric replied.
She grabbed hold of Marc’s shoulders and tried to get him to face her when he turned toward Eric. “Marc—”
“I’m betting he never bothered to tell you about that. Did he, Mari?” Eric asked. “I know Ryan wanted to keep that story from you—how Kavanaugh clobbered your brother in the parking lot of the courthouse after the judge made his final decision about the lawsuit?” His upper lip curled in contempt, Eric glanced at Marc.
Marc closed his eyes in what appeared to be frustration and mounting anger. After a second, he met her stare. She read regret on his features.
“I thought Ryan would have told you,” he said, for her ears only. “I thought maybe that was part of the reason you avoided me all these years.”
Something about her expression must have told him the truth—that Ryan never had told his little sister about their fight.
“I was twenty-two years old at the time, Mari. It was a long time ago.”
Marc and Ryan used to be inseparable, the best of friends. A powerful sadness swept over her.
“Is there a problem?” someone called out sharply.
Eric turned and saw the youngest male Kavanaugh stalking toward them. Mari had heard from Marc that Liam had become a decorated police detective. She could easily believe it was true. He looked like he was about to make a drug bust in a Chicago alley as he stormed toward them.
“Walk away, Reyes,” Liam barked, blue eyes blazing. “Why don’t you hurry back to that slick house on Buena Vista Drive that my mom’s money paid for?”
Eric’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You son of a—”
“I wouldn’t finish that if I were you,” Liam muttered, jaw rigid.
Mari was distantly aware of Jake’s front door opening and closing again, but her attention was on the sparks flying between Liam and Eric. Eric’s hands were still balled into furious fists.
“What’s the matter, Reyes? Worried about bruising those delicate surgeon’s hands?” Liam taunted softly. His cocky grin dared Eric to hit him.
Mari groaned when she saw the flash of fury in Eric’s dark eyes as he started toward Liam.
“Eric, don’t—” Mari called out, but Marc was already moving to intercept them.
“Cut it out, you two,” Marc barked. He reached to restrain Eric, his muscles flexing hard beneath his shirt.
But someone else got to Eric first. A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Eric turned, his back to Mari. He remained firmly planted on his feet, but jerked when someone landed a punch on his jaw.
“Leave my brothers alone, Reyes.”
Mari gaped when she recognized Colleen Kavanaugh.
“Get her inside right now,” Marc growled at Liam, his eyes blazing.
Liam looked like he was chewing nails as he regarded Eric. For a second, Mari worried he’d refuse to obey Marc’s taut command, but then he grabbed his sister’s arm and murmured to her.
Colleen stumbled on the gravel, her sandaled feet moving reluctantly as Liam led her back to the bar. She twisted around and pinned Eric with a baleful stare. He didn’t move, just stood there as if frozen, gazing after the retreating Kavanaughs. Mari heard him curse softly beneath his breath as he stared at Colleen’s beautiful, tear-dampened face.
Soon only she, Eric and Marc remained in the parking lot. She couldn’t fully identify the expression on Marc’s face as his gaze flickered over her, then Eric, then her again. It was as if every imaginable emotion frothed inside him at once in that charged moment. His mouth looked set and hard when he turned and walked toward Jake’s Place.
Mari exhaled shakily.
Eric and she regarded each other silently in the dim parking lot lights as the band finished a raucous tune. The final chords faded off in the hot, still summer night. She sensed that Eric knew, as she did, that they’d just narrowly escaped a volatile explosion of emotion.
Nausea rose in her like a striking snake, taking her by surprise. She gagged and bent over, coughing.
“Mari?” Eric’s voice sounded shocked and concerned. He touched her back. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed with effort and straightened shakily. “I…I don’t know. I just felt sick there for a minute.”
“Come on. Let’s get you home. This is the last thing you needed to deal with on top of not feeling well.”
But as Eric led her to his car, she turned to watch Marc disappear inside Jake’s and willfully tamped down the desire to go after him.
Chapter Three
The second Marc joined his mother on the front porch his gaze immediately traveled down Sycamore Avenue to the sandstone, Arts and Crafts-style house down the block. A dark blue sedan sat in the driveway. Mari’s car had been notably absent when he’d returned this afternoon from their annual visit to Harbor Town Cemetery.
I didn’t come back to Harbor Town for you, he vividly recalled her saying last night. He leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms below his ribs. What had she come back for, then?
He inhaled deeply of the fresh air. It always seemed to take several days into his summer vacation to get the city soot out of his lungs. The sky had turned a pale blue, tinged with lavender, but above the beach at the end of Sycamore Avenue, crimson, pink and gold splashed across the horizon. It would be sunset soon—Harbor Town’s most famous tourist attraction. How many of those sunsets had he watched with Mari in his arms?
He jerked his mind into the present.
“When did you say you were headed back to Chicago?” Brigit Kavanaugh asked. She’d placed her sneakered foot on the pavement, stopping the porch swing’s movement.
Marc knew she’d noticed him staring at Mari’s house. Not that it was odd for him to look at the Itani vacation home on his rare visits to Harbor Town. His eyes had been trained long ago to stray toward that house. Even his ex-wife, Sandra, used to take note of it, usually with a flippant, sarcastic remark, on the few occasions she’d accompanied him to Harbor Town.
“I was thinking about staying on a couple days past Brendan’s party,” Marc said, referring to his nephew’s tenth birthday celebration.
“Really? Do you think work can spare you that long?”
He shrugged. “The county can undoubtedly do without me.”
“Marc,” Brigit scoffed with a smile. “You’re a state’s attorney, for goodness’ sake. You have over a thousand employees working under you.”
“Most of whom are gone for the holiday. I’ve never taken off more than day here and there since entering office. I have the vacation time. I might as well use some of it. It’s not like I haven’t been working from here, anyway.”
All of the Kavanaugh children had taken jobs that would somehow prove they were hard-working, sacrificing, worthy members of society, Marc mused. His sister Deidre was an Army nurse on her fourth tour of duty. Liam was a twice-decorated detective on the organized crime squad of the Chicago Police Department, and Colleen was a psychiatric social worker who worked with high-risk teenagers with emotional and substance abuse problems.
Survivors’ guilt.
Their father’s final actions had left its mark on all of them.
His mother usually w
anted her sons to stay on as long as possible for these annual Independence Day visits. She seemed to want Marc long gone at the present time, though. He tried to ignore the flare of irritation he felt at that fact. Brigit loved him. She remembered how much he’d been hurt by Mari’s refusal to see him after the crash. Maybe she just didn’t want to see him get hurt again.
The porch swing resumed the rhythmic squeaking noise that blended so hypnotically with the sounds of the locusts and the Lake Michigan waves breaking on the nearby beach.
“You’d do best by staying away from her,” Brigit said, finally saying the words he knew she’d been thinking since the parades yesterday.
“Maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t seem to be stifling the urge to do the exact opposite.”
Brigit exhaled at his quiet admission. “After all they did to us—”
“Mari never did anything to us. As for what Ryan and his aunt did, it’s not that different than what most people would have done in the same situation.”
“She ignored you! She took that money—blood money! After all this time, you’ve forgotten the effect it had on me—on us.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, stung. “Maybe it’s never occurred to you that Mari and I might have memories, too, Ma, memories outside of Dad and the crash and the deaths—and the grudge.”
Her face pale and tense, she brought the swing to a halt and stared at him. He hated seeing her pain, but damn it, what he’d said was true. He exhaled heavily, trying to rid himself of his anger. He wasn’t mad at his mother, necessarily, but at this whole situation.
He almost heard Brigit building her arguments in her mind. Marc had become a lawyer like his father, but it was his mother who’d taught him the skills for making an airtight case.
“You want Mari because she’s the only thing you’ve wanted and couldn’t have.”
Marc started. “That’s a hell of a thing to say. Do you really believe that?”
“I do,” Brigit said quietly. “You’re my oldest son, Marc. I carried you in my body, and I watched you grow from an infant to a man. Do you really think I’ve never noticed that once you set your mind on something, you make it happen, no matter what kind of storm you cause in the process?”
