If You Come
Back To Me
Beth Kery

www.spice-books.co.uk

Also available

IF I CAN’T LET GO

IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU

IF I TRUST YOU

IF I NEED YOU

BETH KERY holds a doctorate degree in the behavioural sciences and enjoys incorporating what she’s learned about human nature into her stories. To date, she has published more than a dozen novels and short stories and writes in multiple genres, always with the overarching theme of passionate, emotional romance. To find out about upcoming books in the Harbor Town series, visit Beth at her website at www.BethKery.com or join her for a chat at her reader group, www.groups.yahoo.com/group/BethKery.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

He’d followed her for three blocks, undecided whether he would call out or just fade back into the shadows of their mutual memories. The weight of the past had frozen his vocal cords, but the sight of her graceful figure drew him like a magnet.

He repeatedly told himself there was no reason for so much trepidation. There was nothing between Mari and him now. The common ground they once shared was shadowed by his shame for his father’s actions as well as the bitterness he felt toward Mari for refusing to see or speak to him for half a lifetime.

He nearly did a complete turnabout in the revolving doors of the Palmer House Hotel, telling himself it would be best to just walk away. But at the last second, impulse drove him to speak her name.

“Marianna.”

She glanced around.

Mari’s eyes—God, he’d forgotten their power. The sounds in the bustling, luxurious hotel lobby faded as the color washed out of her cheeks. He felt a stab of regret. It’d been the sight of her breathtaking face that’d compelled him to pull up short and call her name.

For a few seconds, they remained motionless. The single word he’d uttered had been the first they’d shared since they’d both lost loved ones in one cruel swipe of fate’s hand.

“Marc,” Mari mouthed.

“I was at your performance and I followed you,” he explained rapidly. When she continued to stare at him, her expression rigid with shock, he realized how strange that sounded. “I just wanted to say…you were wonderful.”

She set down her cello case and straightened, seeming to gather herself. Her small smile seemed to give him permission to step closer. “Since when does Marc Kavanaugh listen to anything but rock music?”

“Give me some credit, Mari. A lot can change in fifteen years.”

“I’ll grant you that,” she replied softly.

He couldn’t stop himself from devouring the sight that had been ripped away from him so long ago. She wore the black dress that was standard apparel for a symphony member. The garment was simple and elegant, but it couldn’t hide the fact that womanhood had added some curves to Mari’s slender form.

In all the right places, Marc acknowledged as his gaze lingered for two heartbeats on her full breasts. He glanced down at her hands and noticed she was twisting them together, betraying her nerves. Mari was a cellist—a brilliant one. She had the hands of musician— sensitive and elegant. Even though she’d been young and inexperienced when they’d been together so long ago, she’d had a magical touch on his appreciative skin.

“Look at you. Marianna Itani, all grown up.”

“You, too.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but her lowered glance seemed almost as hungry as his inspection of her had been.

She returned his smile when she looked into his eyes. “Every inch the newly elected Cook County State’s Attorney.”

“How did you know about that?”

She shrugged. “I read about it. I wasn’t surprised. It was a foregone conclusion you’d excel at whatever you did. You always got what you wanted, once you made up your mind about it.” She swallowed and glanced away. “I was sorry to hear about your divorce.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure that didn’t make any headlines. How did you know about that?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I still have a few contacts in Harbor Town. I keep in touch.”

Not with me though, Mari. Fifteen years of silence. Marc banished the flash of frustration, knowing how fruitless the emotion was.

“Right.” He nodded, understanding dawning. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Walt Edelmann over at the Shop and Save was the first person to know about my divorce outside of Sandra and myself. It’s almost supernatural the way that man acquires gossip.”

Her radiant smile made a dull ache expand in his chest. “Do you think Walt still works at the Shop and Save?”

“I know he does. I don’t go back to Harbor Town often, but, when I do, I always see Walt. He’s a standard fixture. He and my mother chat almost every day, which is code for exchanging juicy news.”

Her glance ricocheted off him at the mention of his mother. The light from the lobby chandeliers made the dark gold highlights in her brown hair gleam when she lowered her head. “Well…you know how small towns are.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied gruffly.

She stirred beneath his stare. The moment wasn’t as awkward as it was tense. Charged. He waited, wondering what she would say. He was having trouble finding words himself. He and Mari were almost strangers to each other now. It was odd, the paradox of connection and distance he felt with this woman, as though they each stood on the opposite side of a great chasm of grief, joined only by a thin, ephemeral thread.

Still, that cord was strong enough that it had tugged at him this afternoon when he’d seen the newspaper article about the San Francisco Orchestra playing at Symphony Hall; it had made him ask his administrative assistant to buy him a ticket to the performance. It had fueled his impulsive decision to follow Mari to her hotel.

He nodded in the direction of a crowded lounge. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She hesitated. He was sure she was going to say it wasn’t a good idea. He might have agreed with her five minutes ago, before he’d been stunned by the visceral impact of standing so close to her…of seeing her face.

“I have a suite. There’s a separate room where we could have a drink and talk. I mean…if you’d like,” she added when he didn’t immediately respond.

Seeing the slight tremble in her lush lips had mesmerized him.

He blinked, wondering if he was seeing things he wanted to see, not reality. In eyes that reminded him of rare cognac, he saw the glow of desire, a heat that hadn’t been entirely stamped out by the weight of tragedy.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

She nodded, but neither of them moved. The bond he’d shared with Mari since they’d been sunburned, carefree teenagers in Harbor Town—a bond formed by love and battered by grief—chose that moment to recall its strength and coil tight.

He stepped forward at the same moment she came toward him and enfolded her in his arms. A convulsion of emotion shook her body.

“Shh.” His hand found its way into her smooth, soft hair. He fisted a handful and lifted it to his nose. Her scent filled his head. Desire roared in his blood.

“Mari,” he whispered.

He pressed his mouth to her brow, her eyelid and cheek. He felt her go still in his arms when he kissed the corner of her mouth. She turned her head slowly, her lips brushing against his. Their breaths mingled. A powerful need surged up in him, its primal quality shocking him. He possessively covered her mouth.

When he lifted his head a moment later, she was panting softly through well-kissed lips.

“Lead the way, Mari.”

“I can think of a thousand reasons we shouldn’t do this,” she whispered.

“I can only think of you.”

She put her hand in his and they headed toward the elevators that led to the rooms.

Chapter One

Five weeks later

Mari understood, for the first time in her life, the full meaning of the word bittersweet when she returned to Harbor Town after nearly fifteen years. The feeling strengthened when she left the empty office complex on the north end of town and saw Lake Michigan shimmering through the trees.

“We’re not far from Silver Dune Bay here, are we?” she asked Eric Reyes as he paused beside her. She waved goodbye to Marilyn Jordan, the real estate agent who had just shown them the commercial property.

“Fancy a swim, do you? It’s hot enough for one, that’s for sure.” His grin faded. “Mari? Are you okay? You’re very pale.”

She brushed a tendril of hair off her sweaty brow and steadied herself by leaning against the wall of the building. She swallowed thickly, trying to calm the nausea swelling in her belly.

“I’m fine. I think I caught a bug. The guy who sat next to me on the plane was coughing nonstop for the whole trip.”

Eric studied her through narrowed eyes. Mari was suddenly reminded that her friend was a doctor, a very gifted one by all accounts.

“It’s nothing, Eric,” she assured him. “It comes and goes. I’m sure this heat isn’t helping matters any.”

She stepped away from the wall, willing her queasiness to ease. She didn’t have time for illness. This was a trip she’d needed to make for a long time, and she’d planned to complete her mission in a quick and dirty fashion. Because of her impulsiveness with Marc Kavanaugh five weeks ago, her desire to take care of business and get out of Harbor Town as soon as possible only intensified by the hour.

She forced a smile and walked with Eric toward his sedan.

“Were you one of the daredevils who used to jump off Silver Dune? It’s got to be a forty-foot drop to the bay,” she reflected as Eric unlocked the passenger door of his car. In her mind’s eye, she pictured her summertime best friend Colleen Kavanaugh leaping off the tall dune without a backward glance, her long blond hair streaming out behind her like a golden cape.

Mari had always been a little in awe of the Kavanaughs’ fearlessness. All the children had seemed to possess that indefinable, elusive quality that Mari thought of as American royalty—the golden, effortless beauty, the easy confidence and quick smile, the love of a dare, a fierce temper and an even fiercer loyalty to those they loved.

“It’s fifty feet, actually,” Eric replied once she was seated in the car. He shut her door and came around to the driver’s side. After he flipped the ignition, he immediately turned the air conditioning on high to cool the stifling interior. “And yeah, I took the leap plenty of times in my day.”

Took the leap.

Mari had only had the nerve to leap once in her life. She still could see Marc staring down at her, his mouth quirked in a sexy, little smile even as the rest of his features were softened in compassion for her fear.

Stop thinking so much, Mari. Just jump.

She had jumped, back when she was eighteen years old. It’d been the summer her parents had been killed.

Foolishness had caused her to take a similar reckless leap five weeks ago in Chicago. As a thirty-three-year-old woman, Mari hardly had the excuse of a girlhood infatuation any longer, yet something fluttered in her belly as she clearly recalled Marc pinning her with the blazing blue eyes as he fused their flesh. She heard his desire-roughened voice in her ear.

I’ve waited for this for fifteen years, Mari.

She clenched her eyelids shut and placed her hand on her stomach, not to soothe her nausea this time, but to calm the thrill of excitement and wonder the memory evoked. When she opened her eyes, she saw Eric’s curious glance raking over her.

“So are you going to keep me in suspense or what?” he asked as he pulled onto Route 6.

“What do you mean?” she asked warily, still under the influence of the carnal memory.

Eric gave her a bewildered glance. “I’m wondering what you think of the property, Mari.”

“Oh!” She laughed in relief. For a second there, she’d thought those physician’s eyes of his had x-rayed straight into her skull and read her thoughts. “I do like the office space. Very much. It’s in a private area, and I love all the sunlight. It’s nice that it’s so close to the woods and the lake. There’s plenty of room for The Family Center to grow as we get new funding and programs. Thank you so much for doing all the preliminary groundwork before I got here, Eric. You and Natalie have done a hundred times more than I’d expected.”

“It wasn’t that much, especially with all the research and ideas you sent us. Plus, you’d already compiled most of the paperwork for the state.”

“Most people will think I’m nuts for doing this—a cello player opening up a facility for victims of substance abuse,” she muttered.

Eric’s dark brows quirked upward. “Good thing the Reyes aren’t most people then.”

Mari smiled. Of course the Reyes weren’t most people. Eric and Natalie had been just as impacted by the effects of substance abuse as Mari and her brother, Ryan, had.

And the Kavanaughs…

It’d been fifteen years since a drunk Derry Kavanaugh, Marc’s father, had gotten behind the wheel of his car. Marc’s father had caused a three-way crash that night, killing himself, both of Mari’s parents and Eric’s mother. The accident had left Eric’s sister, Natalie, scarred—damage both physical and psychological.

This was the old wound that Mari had felt compelled to return to Harbor Town and try to heal. Not just for herself or Eric or Natalie or Marc, but for anyone who had ever been impacted by the devastating effects of substance abuse.

Eric grabbed her hand as he drove. “Nat and I are right here in Harbor Town, and we’re one hundred percent behind you on this. Are you sure you don’t need any of the money from the lawsuit? Do you really think it was the best idea to transfer all of it over to a trust for The Family Center?”

“Of course I’m sure. You know I’ve planned to start this project with money from the lawsuit for years now. I never could touch that fund for anything else. It just seemed like—” she paused, trying to find the right words “—that money was meant for something bigger than me. I just haven’t had the time to get things moving until now. Besides, I’m selling the house on Sycamore Avenue. That’ll give Ryan and me a nice nest egg.”

She glanced out the window at the rows of perfectly maintained lakeside cottages. Each and every one looked to be occupied with vacationers. The population of Harbor Town swelled in the summer months.

She smiled wistfully as she watched a little girl with a dark ponytail run around the corner of a house. She’d sported a pink bikini and an inflatable green dragon around her waist.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever have the time I need to do what needs to be done,” she murmured.

Eric wiggled her hand in his before he let go. “You know what I think you need? I think you need a little fun and relaxation, Harbor Town-style.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“The Fourth of July festivities, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the downtown parade.”

Mari laughed warily. “How could I forget such a spectacle?”

“Let’s go have a peek, get an ice cream, goof off. There’s plenty of time later to sit down and talk about the plans for The Family Center.”

“Eric…” Mari hesitated, hating the idea of being seen in such a public place. Marc had mentioned five weeks ago that he rarely returned to Harbor Town, but she knew that his sister, Colleen, still lived here, as did their mother, Brigit. At the thought of running into either of them—especially Brigit—dread rose.

“Mari,” Eric said gently. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Isn’t that one of the reasons you wanted to start up The Family Center, to get past the pain of our history, to make something positive come of it? You can’t do that by hiding in your house the whole time you’re here.”

Her eyes felt moist as she stared blankly out the window. Eric was right. Surely it was part of her own healing to remember not just the bitterness but the sweetness associated with the quaint lakeside community.

“All right,” she replied softly. “Let’s go to the parade.”

Mari stood next to Eric on the curb of Main Street. A boisterous crowd of locals, vacationers and day-trippers surrounded them. A trombone blared off-key, startling her. She glanced up at Eric, and they shared a smile.

A huge sailboat float, surrounded by the smiling, waving men and women of the Arab-American Business Council, followed the marching band. Harbor Town was one of many quaint Michigan towns that lined the lakeshore, drawing vacationers from Detroit and Chicago and everywhere in between. A small population of Arab-Americans had settled in many lakeside communities over the past several decades. Harbor Town was often held up as a banner example of how a minority group could not only blend with a community, but enrich and improve it. Her parents had belonged to a Lebanese faction of eastern orthodox Christianity—the Maronites. Despite the minority status of their religion among Arab-Americans, Kassim and Shada Itani had taken comfort in having others around who shared so many common cultural elements.

“Oh, look! It’s Alex Kouri,” Mari exclaimed as a distinguished man in his sixties marched past. His eyes widened incredulously as his gaze landed on her, and he waved and mouthed her name.

Mr. Kouri had been one of her father’s closest friends. Both of them had been Detroit-based businessmen who had brought their families to Harbor Town for summer vacations. Mr. Kouri and her father would frequently drive back and forth together from Harbor Town to Dearborn, Michigan, on Friday and Sunday evenings, leaving their families to idle away the hot, summer weekdays while they worked at their corporate jobs.

Mari noticed how gray Mr. Kouri’s hair had become. That’s how her father would have looked, had he lived.

She saw a woman standing at the curb, her rapt attention on Mari and Eric, not on the parade. Still as nosey as ever, Mari thought with a flash of irritation, recognizing Esther Fontel, the old neighbor from Sycamore Avenue. The woman had once ratted her out to her parents when she observed Mari sneaking out her bedroom window and down the trusty old elm tree to join Marc on his motorcycle one hot summer night. Mari still recalled how angry her father had been, the hurt and the disappointment on her mother’s face.

Until she’d turned fifteen, Mari hadn’t fully understood the impact that her parents’ ethnicity and religious views would have on her. Her brother had dated and enjoyed any number of summertime, teenage dalliances in Harbor Town. When Mari became a young woman, however, she’d learned firsthand that Ryan and she would not be treated the same when it came to dating. Especially when it came to Marc Kavanaugh.

Marc and Ryan had been close friends since they were both ten years old. Her parents had actually both been very fond of Marc, and he was a regular visitor in the Itani vacation home.

But the summer Mari had turned fifteen, everything had changed—and Marc Kavanaugh had quickly moved to the top of her parents’ list of undesirable dating partners for Mari.

Mrs. Fontel looked pointedly across the street, and Mari followed her gaze. She stared, shock vibrating her consciousness. Two tall, good-looking men with healthy, golden tans and dark blond hair stood in the crowd. Her gaze stuck on the one with the short, wavy hair. He had a little girl perched on his shoulders.

He looked just as good in shorts and a T-shirt that skimmed his lean, muscular torso as he had in the gray suit he’d worn in Chicago, Mari thought dazedly.

Her glance flickered to the right of Liam and Marc, and Brigit Kavanaugh’s furious glare struck her like a slap to the face from an ice cold hand. Marc’s stare was fiercer, though. It seemed to bore right through her across the span of Main Street.

It felt like someone had reached inside her and twisted her intestines. He’d said he only returned to Harbor Town a few times a year, she thought wildly. What were the chances he’d be here for the same handful of days she was?

She shivered despite the heat. It was Independence Day. Tomorrow would be the anniversary of the crash. Perhaps the Kavanaughs had gathered to visit Derry Kavanaugh’s grave. Why hadn’t she considered that possibility?

She jerked her gaze back to the parade, making no sense of the flashing, moving, colorful scene before her eyes, still highly aware of him watching her. He’d always been able to melt her with those blue eyes. She could only imagine the effect they had on the people he’d cross-examined in the courtroom.

Mari had certainly felt the power of his stare during that night in Chicago.

He must be furious at her for not showing up at their agreed-upon lunch, for not returning his calls…especially after what had occurred between them in that hotel room.

“Well, if it isn’t Mari Itani,” Liam Kavanaugh drawled under his breath.

Marc followed Liam’s gaze, too surprised by his brother’s statement to comment at first. He immediately found Mari in the crowd. She wore her long hair up and a casual, yellow dress that tied beneath her full breasts in a bow. The garment set off Mari’s flawless, glowing skin to perfection. Not to mention what that innocent-seeming ribbon did to highlight the fullness of her curves.

“Mari Itani?” Marc’s sister Colleen asked incredulously from behind him. “Where?”

“Stop pointing, Liam,” Brigit Kavanaugh scolded when Liam tried to show his sister where Mari stood.

“Did you know she was back, Mom?” Marc asked sharply.

“I knew it. She’s just here to get the house in order before it goes on the market. Can’t believe she and Ryan have waited this long to sell it, but obviously they haven’t been hurting for money,” Brigit replied bitterly.

“Mommy, can we follow the parade down the street? I want to see Brendan again. He looked so funny,” Marc’s niece, Jenny, begged from her perch on his shoulders. Marc’s nephew, Brendan, had marched in the parade as part of the Harbor Town Swim and Dive Club.

Colleen laughed and reached up for her six-year-old daughter. Marc bent his knees to make the transfer easier.

“Aren’t you coming, Uncle Marc?” Jenny asked, tugging on his hand once her feet were firmly on the ground.

“I’ll stay here and keep Grandma company. Tell us if Brendan trips or anything,” Marc replied.

Jenny grinned broadly at the prospect and yanked her mother down the sidewalk.

Liam chuckled. “How come sisters always want to see their brothers humiliated?”

“Probably because brothers make it their mission to ignore their sisters,” Marc muttered, his gaze again fixed on the vision in yellow across the street.

“It looks like Mari grew up real nice,” Liam murmured as he rubbed his goatee speculatively. Liam wore sunglasses, but Marc sensed the appreciative gleam in his brother’s eyes as he studied Mari. When he saw Marc’s glare, Liam just raised his eyebrows in a playful expression that said loud and clear, so sue me for noticing the obvious.

He felt like he was still recovering from a sucker punch to the gut.

At first, he’d had the wild thought that her presence in Harbor Town was somehow related to what had happened in that hotel room in Chicago. When he saw how Mari made a point of avoiding his gaze, though, he wondered.

“Is Ryan with her?” Marc asked slowly, not liking the idea of Mari’s insolent brother residing down the street from his mom, even if it was just for a few nights. Ryan Itani’s behavior during the lawsuit hearings stood out as one of the worst in a collection of bad memories from that time of his life.

“No. Ryan’s still in the Air Force, doing a tour of duty in Afghanistan. I just heard Mari was here to sell the house, and I saw the car in the driveway, so I guess it’s true. It’s none of my business. I’m just relieved they’re finally selling. That house has been a blight on Sycamore Avenue for fifteen years now. Mari and Ryan wouldn’t even rent it out to vacationers.”

“You’d have just complained if they’d rented it out to vacationers, Ma. Besides, Joe Brown keeps the place in good shape.”

Liam paused when Brigit shot him an annoyed glance. Marc smirked at his brother. You walked right into that trap, sucker. Liam should have known better than to say something reasonable when it came to the topic of the Itanis. Hadn’t they learned years ago that when it came to matters of grief and loss, logic went the way of friendship, compassion…love?

Straight to hell, in other words.

“Who’s the guy with Mari?” Liam asked once their view was no longer obscured.

Marc froze. He’d been so focused on Mari he hadn’t noticed the tall, good-looking man standing next to her.

Brigit sniffed at Liam’s question.

“That’s Eric Reyes. He’s a doctor now. I’m sure Mari and him have plenty to talk about. Gloat over, more likely. I think I’ll go and catch up with Colleen. There’s nothing left to see here,” Brigit said before she departed in a huff. So that was Eric Reyes. The seething, skinny kid he recalled from the court battle for his father’s estate had grown into a formidable-looking man. Had his mother said doctor? Reyes must have used the money he’d received in the lawsuit to send himself to medical school.

Fury burned in his chest. Not about the lawsuit. He was a state’s attorney, after all, a victim’s advocate first and foremost. Marc had long ago come to terms with the fact that in catastrophes like the one his father had caused, the victims’ damages weren’t likely to be covered merely by insurance. A good portion of his father’s personal assets had been ordered liquidated and disbursed to the Itani and Reyes families.

He’d never been able to make his mother see things as he did. Feeling as if she and her children were being punished for Derry’s crime, Brigit had been bewildered and hurt by the other families’ legal actions. Brigit had needed to sell the family home in Chicago and relocate to the summer house in Harbor Town. She’d been forced to pay a good portion of a lifetime’s savings, including her children’s college funds, in order to legally amend for her husband’s actions.

The crash had meant crushing loss and grief. The lawsuits had built walls of betrayal and fury between the families involved.

Mari had never actively taken part in the proceedings. Her aunt and older brother had kept her protected in Chicago following her parents’ deaths. She’d been young at the time—only eighteen. As he studied Mari’s averted profile, Marc wondered for the hundred thousandth time what she thought of the whole affair, what she’d thought of him all these years. The topic had never come up during that intense, impulsive night in Chicago.

They’d been too involved in other things.

He grimaced at the thought. He couldn’t help but feel the stark symbolism of having shared something so intimate with Mari only to now be standing on opposite sides of a Harbor Town street.

Reyes put his arm around Mari’s shoulder and stroked skin that Marc knew from experience was as soft and smooth as a new flower petal.

It made sense, Mari together with Reyes. Blood was thicker than water, but shared, spilled blood was perhaps even more binding. Isn’t that what they said about soldiers who watched each other’s backs in wartime? They’d do favors for each other that they might refuse to do for a family member.

I can’t compete with that, he thought darkly.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not after Mari had made a point of abandoning him following their soul-searing reunion.

“Are you going to talk to her?” Liam prodded.

He twisted his mouth into a frown. “Something tells me she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth to say something, but when Marc turned a grim face to him, he closed it again.

By the time Marc entered Jake’s Place accompanied by Colleen and Liam at ten that night, Colleen had commented on his bad mood. Marc had gone from preoccupied to morose as the day had progressed. He’d convinced himself that Mari was right to avoid him. Their impulsive tryst in Chicago had been a mistake, some kind of residual, emotional backfire from their charged history together as kids.

He’d just gotten a divorce eighteen months ago. Hadn’t he made a firm pact with himself that he wasn’t going to consider any serious relationships for quite some time, anyway?

No sooner had they stepped into Jake’s loud, crowded, front room when Marc saw her. She sat in a booth across from Eric Reyes, laughing at something he’d just said. Even though Marc had decided just seconds ago that Mari and he were best separated by two thirds of a continent, his feet seemed to disagree with his brain.

This had nothing to do with logic.

He plunged through the crowd, ignoring Colleen’s shouted question. His entire awareness had narrowed down to a single, precise focus.

Mari’s eyes widened in surprise when he strode up to the booth.

“Let’s dance, Mari.”

Chapter Two

Mari stared mutely up at Marc. The man’s full impact struck her just as powerfully as it had when he’d unexpectedly tracked her down in Chicago.

God, he’d turned into a beautiful man.

His once-light hair had darkened to a burnished gold. He wore it short now, but the conservative style couldn’t suppress the natural wave. Whiskers shadowed his jaw. He looked just as good in a suit and tie as he did in the casual white button-down shirt and jeans he wore at present, but Mari knew which outfit Marc preferred. The wildness of the Kavanaugh spirit could never be disguised by the packaging of refined clothing.

He was still as lean as he’d been at twenty-one, but he’d gained some muscle in his chest and shoulders. She dragged her eyes off the tempting sight of his strong thighs and narrow hips encased in faded, extremely well-fitting denims and met his stare.

He looked good enough to eat—and furious. His eyes glittered like blue flames in his tanned face. Just before he walked up to the booth, she’d been telling Eric she was feeling exhausted after their busy day. Yet one look at Marc, and her blood was pumping madly in her veins, washing away every hint of fatigue.

“Uh, sure,” she replied. She couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse a dance without sounding rude or highlighting the significance of the encounter. If she agreed, surely people would just assume it was a casual dance between two old sweethearts.

Neither she nor Marc spoke as he led her to the edge of the crowded dance floor. The cover band was playing an ’80s classic with a good beat. Marc put his arm around her waist, and they began to move as naturally as if their last dance had been yesterday.

Mari kept her gaze averted from his face, but she was hyperaware of every point of contact of their bodies, how well they fit one another…how perfectly they moved together.

She’d thought something similar five weeks ago when they’d finally made love.

Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory. So much emotional baggage separated them. Why was it, then, that being in his arms felt so right—so natural?

She recalled watching him dress as morning sunlight had peeked around the heavy draperies in the Palmer House hotel room. Marc needed to get back to his condo to shower and then rush to a meeting, but they’d already agreed to have lunch. And dinner.

From the bed, Mari was admiring the shape of his long legs as he stepped into his pants when he caught her staring. He paused and they shared a smile that brought to mind the night spent in each other’s arms, the nearly unbearable pleasure of touching each other, of complete communion after so long and after so much.

Marc’s cell phone rang, breaking their stare. He ignored it, but after a pause, it started ringing again.

“Maybe you should answer,” she murmured with a smile. “Sounds important.”

Gleaming with heat, his eyes remained fixed on her, while he reached for the phone.

“Hey, Mom,” he said.

It’d been like a bucket of ice water had been tossed in her face.

Everything had come back—all the anguish, all the grief, all the memories of why they’d been ripped apart so long ago.

Ryan had once told her Brigit Kavanaugh had confronted him after a day in court. “Don’t you understand that I lost my husband in that accident? I’m mourning just like you are. Why are you trying to punish me further by taking everything away from my children? Have you no pity?” Brigit had tearfully asked Ryan.

The memory of her brother’s encounter always made Mari recoil in pain. She hadn’t been around during the court proceedings, but distance hadn’t been able to diminish her knowledge of all the hurt between the Kavanaughs and the Itanis.

That’s why, after Marc had left the hotel room, she’d packed her bags and caught the first flight she could back to San Francisco. Some things just weren’t meant to be.

Even if they did feel so right.

Their thighs, hips and bellies slid together provocatively as they danced. Every once in a while, the tips of her breasts would brush his ribs. Her nipples felt achy, overly sensitive. It excited her, their furtive, subtle, rhythmic caresses. A strange brew of emotions simmered inside her—nervousness, uncertainty, longing…

Arousal.

She stared over Marc’s shoulder, not really seeing anything. She was hyperfocused on the sensation of his hard, shifting body and too mesmerized by his masculine scent. She experienced a nearly overpowering desire to lay her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to ask you why you blew me off in Chicago, would it?” His gruff, quiet voice caused a prickling sensation on her neck.

She flushed and avoided his laserlike stare. “I would think the answer was obvious.”

“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you and me, Mari. Nothing has ever been easy, either. It was my mother’s phone call that did it, wasn’t it? That’s what made you run? I knew I shouldn’t have answered it,” he said bitterly. “I only did because I’d been trying for weeks to coordinate communication between my mother and my sister, Deidre, in Germany, and they were supposed to have talked the night before. I had a feeling it might not have gone well for my mother. Their relationship had been strained for years….”

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 sensation 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 wanted 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?”

Marc scowled. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from his own mother’s mouth. “You make me sound like a spoiled brat. I’ve worked like hell to get anything I’ve ever had. And I’ve failed at plenty of things. What about Sandra?” he demanded.

“I said anything you ever wanted. If you’d wanted Sandra more, the two of you would still be married.”

Marc gave his mother a hard stare, warning her not to tread on that private territory. He’d heard her out after he and Sandra had decided to split, but that decision was his and his ex-wife’s business, not Brigit’s. His mother changed gears, just like that.

“Mari never married, I hear,” Brigit said levelly.

“No,” Marc conceded, not sure where his mother was going with her comment.

“Her brother is the only family since her aunt died a few years ago. I don’t think Ryan would take too kindly to having Mari get involved with you again.”

“You really care about what Ryan Itani thinks?”

“No. But if you care about Mari, you should. Would you really consider alienating her from her only relative?”

Marc rolled his eyes and stood. “You’re assuming Mari would even be interested. I haven’t seen any indication of that so far,” he muttered bitterly. His mother’s comment hit home, even if he tried not to let her see it. He knew he should leave Mari alone. He knew he shouldn’t stir up the frothing cauldron of their shared history.

Problem was, he already had. He’d touched Mari again. He’d held her naked against him while her shudders of pleasure and release had vibrated into his body and mixed with his own.

It was too late, Marc realized with a grim sense of amazement. Something had happened in those ecstatic moments that couldn’t now be ignored.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He swung around like a hound catching the scent and he saw Mari walking toward her car, her long brown hair bobbing in a ponytail. As she was opening the car door, she paused and looked furtively down the street. Their gazes locked for a few electric seconds before she ducked into the car.

The screen door squeaked open. Combing his longish blonde hair with his fingers in a distracted fashion, Liam sauntered onto the front porch. He looked a little taken aback when Marc charged him.

“Give me the keys to your bike,” Marc ordered tersely.

Liam’s bewilderment dissipated when he glanced over Marc’s shoulder and saw Mari’s car backing rapidly out of the driveway. He dug into his short’s pocket and handed Marc the keys to his motorcycle.

“Fill it up with gas while you’re out, will you? Unless whatever you’re doing gets too interesting, that is,” Liam said with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Marc grabbed the keys and jogged down the porch steps, ignoring his mother’s burning glance of disapproval.

Mari had risen early the morning following the Jake’s Place fiasco, determined to refocus on her mission. She breakfasted with Eric and Natalie Reyes to discuss more plans for The Family Center. Afterward, she and Eric went to the real estate office to sign a lease, and then to an office furniture and supply store to arrange for items to be delivered to the Silver Dune Bay facility.

She spent the rest of the day making the old house presentable to prospective buyers. Without really knowing why she did it, she paused in her manic scrubbing at 5:17 p.m., walked to the front door and cautiously peeked out a window. A silver sedan passed with three people in it, Marc at the wheel.

She’d somehow known he was near, even though she’d been doing her damnedest to deny his presence in her mind all day. She returned to her cleaning and tried to turn her thoughts in another direction, but failed.

Later that evening, she stood at the front door and gazed onto the tree-lined street. How the hell had she ended up here at this point in her life? Mari wondered. Seeing the crimson sky at the end of the street caused hundreds of other remembered sunsets to blaze to the forefront of her mind. She was hyperaware of the handsome, white house built in the Colonial Revival style up the street.

After the end of a doomed, four-year relationship with James Henry, an investment banker from San Francisco, Mari had experienced a desire for a fresh start. That inner push had set her plans into motion. She’d wanted to be free of her past once and for all and that meant returning to Harbor Town.

Too bad her grand scheme for a clean slate and healing had turned into a maelstrom of mixed emotions.

By late evening, her stomach had started to growl. She took a shower, pulled her hair into a ponytail and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Her heart was skipping rapidly when she exited the house and headed for her car. Something compelled her to look up the street at the Kavanaugh house.

Sure enough, Marc was leaning against the porch railing, his head turned, watching her. For a few seconds, it felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

She got in her car and drove to a little diner on the edge of town called The Tap and Grill. After the friendly counter lady had brought her an enormous turkey sandwich to go, she drove aimlessly through the town’s quiet, tree-lined streets, finally ending up on scenic Vista Point Drive, overlooking the beach.

A motorcycle roared, breaking the sleepy silence, as she parked at the side of the street. She opened the car door and leaned over to the passenger seat to grab her sandwich. A shadow fell across the steering wheel.

She turned around to see Marc standing between her car and the open door.

“I hope whatever’s in that bag is enough for two.”

Mari glanced out the back window, noticing the gleaming black and chrome motorcycle parked down the street. She’d peeked out of her windows enough lately to know the vehicle belonged to Liam. Apparently Marc had forsaken a bike years ago for the handsome, conservative sedan she’d seen him driving. Memories of Marc and her brother, Ryan, tearing down the street on their motorcycles, looking like young summertime gods with their deep tans, sunglasses and wind-tousled hair, washed over her.

“Did you follow me?” she asked him warily.

He shrugged, his stare never leaving her face. “I figured you wouldn’t answer the door if I knocked at your house. When you finally broke cover, I thought I better take my chance or risk not seeing you for another fifteen years.”

She gave him a hard look. He quirked one eyebrow.

“We need to talk, Mari. Please.”

Against her will, her gaze lowered to his shadowed jaw and tanned throat. She shivered when she recalled how the stubble had felt brushing against her neck that night in Chicago, grazing ever so lightly against the sensitive skin covering her ribs. The sight of his insouciant male good looks only increased her caution.

Or her reaction to them did.

“So if I let you come with me to Sunset Beach, that’s all you’ll try to do? Talk?”

He sighed. “I’m not planning on coming on to you on the beach,” he replied drily.

She rolled her eyes at him as she aggressively swung her legs out of the car, daring him not to move back and give her the space she required.

His only reaction to her wary acquiescence was a slight grin. They said nothing as they made their way down the private sidewalk that ran between two mansion sized homes. When they hit the white sand beach, Mari led them over to the manmade break water that consisted of stacked lengths of cut, unfinished logs.

She plopped down on the breakwater. Marc sat down next to her. She studied him through the corner of her eye. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a dark blue shirt that failed to hide the breadth of shoulders or hint at the sleek muscles Mari knew lay just beneath the soft fabric. He managed to make the casual beachwear look sexy as hell. She could just see him as a tall, lanky, cocky fourteen-year-old sporting a new pair of sunglasses, standing on Sycamore Beach and clutching his skimboard, the sunlight turning his hair into a havoc of incandescent gold waves.

She handed him half of her sandwich wrapped in a napkin.

“I was only kidding about sharing. Eat your supper,” he murmured, giving her a sideways smile.

“You know how they make sandwiches at The Tap. It’s huge.” She insistently pushed the sandwich toward him. Maybe he noticed the irritation in her expression, because his eyebrows rose, and he accepted the food, probably to avoid an argument.

The fiery, orange-red sun looked like it was slowly quenching itself in the shimmering, dark blue water. They ate without speaking. For the first time, it struck her how odd it was that the beach was empty.

“Isn’t Sunset Beach public anymore?” she slowly asked Marc as she held up the paper bag so he could deposit his rumpled napkin inside it.

He shook his head. “Mom told me the home owners hereabouts bought it from the town a few years back. It’s private now.”

Mari stopped chewing and glanced warily at the affluent residences nearby.

“Don’t worry. They aren’t going to call the cops on us. Unless we make an ugly scene or something,” Marc said when he saw her uneasiness over trespassing.

She took a swig of the bottled water she’d ordered with the sandwich. She offered the bottle to Marc, and he drank, too. Mari glanced away from the strangely erotic sight of him placing his mouth where hers had just been.

“I don’t plan on making a scene,” she said briskly, shoving the wrapper and the remainder of her sandwich into the bag. “And you’re awfully quiet for someone who insisted we had to talk.”

“I just didn’t want to ruin the peaceful moment.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Implying that whatever you have to say is the opposite of peaceful?”

“If it involves you reacting to it by refusing to see me again… Yeah, there might be some serious waves.”

Mari kicked off her flip-flops and stuck her feet in the cool, fine sand. Despite her attempts to calm herself, her voice still cracked when she spoke.

“Marc… You saw what happened last night as well as I did. All that animosity, all that hurt. It’d be irresponsible of us to…you know—”

“I think I know, but do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly.

“I wasn’t planning this little reunion, Mari. But now that it’s happened, I’m not willing to just walk away from it, either. And I’m not talking about sneaking down to your house and having some hot, vacation sex with an old fling.” His gaze flickered down over her neck and breasts and he added gruffly, “Although I think we both know that scenario has its appeal. The point is, you mean more than that to me. It was a hell of a thing to see you Chicago and realize that was still true, after all these years. I’m a practical guy. It’s kind of hard to run from the truth when it’s staring you right in the face.”

Mari swallowed thickly in the silence that followed.

“It would never work out,” she said after a moment, her voice so quiet it almost couldn’t be heard above the sound of the waves breaking gently on the beach.

“I don’t think you’re so sure about that. I think you want to act like you’re sure—” her heart surged against her breastbone when he reached up and caressed her jaw with large, gentle fingers “—so it’ll be easier to push me away.”

Her spine straightened and he let his hand drop to the wood embankment. “I’m not being selfish. I’m trying to be wise,” she explained. “I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t want my brother to worry. I don’t want your mother to be angry. I don’t want—”

“What about you? What about what you want, Mari?”

She looked out at the dark waters, worrying her lower lip with her front teeth. She was highly aware of him leaning toward her.

“Because here’s the thing,” Marc muttered near her left ear, causing her neck to prickle in awareness. “I think you were worried about all those things when you left Harbor Town fifteen years ago, when you cut off all ties with me. I think you were thinking about what was wise instead of what was right.”

She glanced at him furtively, but when she saw the expression on his face, her gaze stuck.

“I think you were considering what you thought your parents would have wanted you to do in that situation, Mari.”

Anger flared in her breast at his mention of her parents. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

She started to stand, intent on getting away from him at that moment. He halted her with a firm hand on her shoulder but it was the earnestness in his deep voice that truly restrained her.

“I’m not saying it was wrong. I understand. Your folks were suddenly gone—something you’d never dreamed of as a possibility, even in your worst nightmares—so you did what you thought they would have wanted if they were alive. The rebellious daughter who lied to them and snuck out to see the guy her parents forbade her to see vanished fifteen years ago.”

“So what if she did?” Mari challenged. “You’re making my point, not talking me out of it. I had been behaving like a selfish, lying, thankless brat. Sometimes it takes a crisis before you realize how foolish—how hurtful—you’ve been acting.”

“And I’ll bet after they died, there were times you would have done anything to take back your rebellion against them,” he said quietly. “But there was nothing heartless in what you did, Mari. You were acting like a typical teenager. You never purposely hurt your parents.”

“Only because their deaths got in the way of them ever fully realizing what I was doing,” she cried out.

“So that’s it? You’re going to carry around the guilt of a teenage girl inside of you forever? Be a martyr to your parents’ cause?” he asked harshly.

This time he didn’t succeed in stopping her when she stood. Marc caught up to her several feet away from the surging waves. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around until she faced him.

“I’m not blaming you for feeling guilty, Mari. God knows I haven’t been immune to the emotion. I’m not blaming you for staying away for all those years, either. But here’s the thing…”

She realized that tears were streaming down her face, even though she hadn’t been aware of feeling sadness, only anger and shame and hurt. She stared up into Marc’s shadowed face and knew she was experiencing something else in that moment, no matter how tenuous that emotion was.

Hope.

She didn’t move, despite her charging heart, when Marc leaned down until their faces were only inches apart. “…you’re not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore. You’re a woman. Tell me that if you met me for the first time in Chicago that you wouldn’t be intrigued by the chemistry between us.”

“That’s wishful thinking, and you know it,” she said in a choked voice. “We aren’t strangers. We can’t escape the past.”

“I’m not suggesting we can. But we can deal with it. Or at least we can try.”

A shudder went through her at his words. He placed his hand on her back and softly rubbed her, soothing her even though he probably didn’t understand her sudden anguish.

We can deal with it.

Was it true? It stunned her to realize that a big part of her doubted they could successfully face their demons.

The realization hurt. Wasn’t that why she’d returned to Harbor Town? Because she’d convinced herself there was a chance people could heal, even in the most difficult of circumstances? Did she believe it for other people but not herself?

A moan escaped her throat, and Marc enfolded her in his arms. Hot tears scalded her cheeks, as if they’d been held inside her body for too long and finally boiled over. She pressed her face against his chest. Years of pent-up emotion poured out of her while the waves anointed her bare feet with cold, clean water and Marc held her, helping to ease her anguish.

God, the things she wanted to say to her parents— how sorry she was for not appreciating them more, how much she’d regretted over the years that she hadn’t been the daughter they wanted, how much she’d needed their calm, steady presence as a child…how much she loved them.

She’d had similar thoughts thousands of times, but tonight, here on the beach with Marc Kavanaugh’s arms surrounding her, Mari knew she’d never fully felt the impact of those regrets.

After several more emotional minutes, Mari slowly became aware of Marc’s warm mouth pressing her head as he occasionally murmured to her in a quieting fashion. When he kissed her ear, she shivered in his arms. Her crying slowly ceased as she became more aware of him.

“All I’m asking is that you at least try.” His rough whisper so near her ear caused her to still in sudden sensual awareness.

“I’m not sure I know how, Marc. It seems like too much, thinking about some of this stuff.” She sniffed and turned her face into his shirt. “It’s so…”

“What?” he asked quietly.

He cupped the back of her head. She leaned back and looked up at him.

“Big. Intimidating.”

“I’m bigger.”

She went entirely still when she saw his slow, potent smile cast in moonlight.

“Don’t be so cocky,” she admonished, even though she couldn’t help but smile at his immodesty.

He chuckled and pressed her head back to his chest. “I only meant that I’m stubborn, and more than willing to try.” Neither of them spoke for a pregnant moment. “As far as strength goes, I think you’re underestimating yourself, Mari. All I’m asking is that you give us a chance. All I’m asking is that you don’t run.”

He must have sensed her uncertainty, because he spoke coaxingly near her ear.

“Just agree to see me, spend time with me, for the next week or so.”

“That’s all?” she asked doubtfully.

He drew her against his hard length, making sure she wasn’t left in doubt of his desire for her.

“I want you. I always have. I’ve never made a secret of it…not that I could.” She glanced up at him to see his small smile. “But I’ll go at your pace. As long as I know you’re not running, I’ll be happy. Well…at least pacified.”

She sighed. She wished she could know it if was right, wished she could be certain.

“Take a risk, Mari.”

Her gaze leaped to meet his. Was he a mind reader?

“All right,” she whispered. “But I can’t guarantee anything. And I want to take things slowly…test out the waters.” See what kind of effect our being seen together has on your family and friends like Eric and Natalie Reyes, she added privately. She grimaced at her thought, realizing Marc was right to suggest she considered everyone else’s feelings before her own.

He pulled her closer. He didn’t say anything, but she found herself wondering if he thought the same thing she did. They’d learned fifteen years ago that life was tenuous. People who thought happiness was guaranteed, that security was a certainty, were living in a dream.

But did that mean the dream wasn’t worth seeking?

Mari didn’t know the answer to that. So she did the best she could. She put her arms around Marc’s waist and tried to exist on the knife’s edge between doubt and desire. Despite her uncertainties, she became focused on the sensation of Marc’s body against hers. She closed her eyes. For a few delicious moments, she was only aware of the soothing sound of the gentle surf and Marc’s spicy male scent.

She opened her heavy eyelids when he murmured her name. Much to her amazement, she found herself nuzzling his neck just above his collar, exploring the textures of his skin against her lips. He felt so good. Tasted so good, she added to herself when the tip of her tongue sampled him. He said her name again, more insistently this time. She leaned back and saw the gleam in his eyes as he stared down at her upturned face.

She waited with sharp anticipation while he slowly lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, but it was gentle…a promise of passion rather than the thing itself, a sweetness to be savored on her searching lips. She craned up for more of his taste and cried out softly when he lifted his head, depriving her.

“We’d better go,” he said, his voice ragged.

“What? Oh…okay,” Mari murmured, feeling bereft in the absence of Marc’s tender kiss. Hadn’t she been the one to tell him not to try anything on the beach, and yet here she was, tempting him into kissing her with all the power she knew he had?

So much for taking things slowly, Mari thought irritably as they went to retrieve the sandwich bag and headed down the lamp-lit sidewalk to the road.

She felt dazed and unsettled about what had just happened out there on that moonlit beach. Had she really just told Marc Kavanaugh she’d see him?

“Uh, I’ll see you…. I’d better be…” She fumbled uncertainly after she’d unlocked her car door, highly aware of Marc standing just behind her on the quiet street.

“Yeah. You’ll see me.”

He sounded so restrained. Wasn’t he going to kiss her again? At least touch her?

“Okay, then,” she mumbled. “Good night.”

He said nothing, increasing her confusion. She slammed her car door and turned the key. Harbor Town seemed as if it’d been cast under a drowsy enchantment, Mari thought as she drove home on the darkened streets. If the kids were out playing on the peaceful summer night, they must be playing hide-and-seek, because she saw no one on her short ride home.

Until she pulled into the driveway and stepped out of her car, that is.

She heard the roar of the motorcycle. Marc pulled up behind her, cut the engine and dismounted the sleek bike. She sensed tension in his shadowed form as he stalked toward her.

“I said I wouldn’t accost you on the beach, but I didn’t say a word about your front yard.”

He took her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.

This kiss was everything his former one was not: hot, consuming. He spanned her upper back with his hands in a blatant gesture of ownership, her breasts pressing tightly against his ribs.

Mari moaned as he explored her mouth thoroughly, and she submitted to his bold claim. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on while lust surged in her blood, enlivening her flesh. It never occurred to her to question the sudden inferno of her desire. Logic and the result of Marc’s kisses were mutually exclusive events.

She panted softly when he lifted his head only to lower it again and press his mouth to her neck. She couldn’t think straight with him nibbling and kissing, his teeth occasionally gently scraping her skin, causing her nipples to tighten in excitement. His hands moved over her, coaxing her to enter a sensual fog. She leaned her head back, granting him more access. Her eyelids parted into slits, and she found herself staring at the dim streetlight.

A quick, flashing picture arose in her imagination— Brigit Kavanaugh standing on her front porch, staring down Sycamore Street as her son publicly ravished Mari Itani in her driveway.

“Marc,” she whispered hoarsely. “People will see.”

For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her as he continued to ravenously explore her neck with his mouth, but then he abruptly stopped. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a lush maple tree. Mari jogged after him. The tree’s thick canopy of leaves provided a cover the streetlight couldn’t penetrate.

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