He became aware of the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen. The scent of coffee mingled with something that smelled bread-like and sweet. Wearing his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, Mark went down the hallway. Samantha stood in the kitchen, sipping coffee from one of his mugs. A waffle iron that hadn’t seen use in years was on the counter, and Emily sat perched on one of the barstools, clad in her nightgown. Samantha had changed back into the shorts and tank top she’d had on last night, and her dark hair was twisted into a messy bun. She attempted a soft smile over the rim of her mug, although he noticed there were deep hollows under her eyes.
“We’re making waffles with fruit compote,” she said, obviously putting up a bright front for Emily. “You had frozen raspberries in the freezer, so I improvised. I hope that’s all right?”
A saucepan on the gas range held the simmering sauce.
“Sure. Homemade waffles are an improvement over the frozen ones we typically have, unless we go to the hotel restaurant. Right, Emily?”
His daughter nodded enthusiastically, her eyes glued to the kitchen activity. Samantha opened the iron and took out the first golden square, which she dusted with powdered sugar and covered with several spoonfuls of sauce. Looking at Emily, she said, “Okay, sweetie. We’ll let you try the first one. Why don’t you sit at the table and I’ll pour you some milk?”
Helping Emily climb from the stool, Mark settled her into one of the rush-seat dining chairs at the breakfast table. She clutched a worn-looking teddy bear with just one black-button eye and a bow tie.
“Who’s your new friend?”
“That’s Walton.” Samantha came over with the milk and set it in front of Emily. She sounded a little embarrassed. “I can’t believe I brought him with me from the apartment last night. I don’t even remember packing him. He’s sort of my security blanket—I’ve had him since I was a little girl. Emily found him in my overnight case.”
Mark looked at Emily, who had a large mouthful of waffle. “You were going through Samantha’s things, Em?”
“It’s okay,” Samantha assured him. She went back to the kitchen to prepare another waffle for Mark. He followed her and helped himself to coffee from the carafe she’d already made.
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he said in a low voice, out of Emily’s hearing.
“I got up early and went back to the guest room. I didn’t want Emily to see us…like that.”
Mark again noticed Samantha’s withdrawn, tense features, her façade temporarily dropped. He thought of last night and the way she’d come to his bed, her arms wrapped around herself. She’d trembled against him before exhaustion had finally claimed her. Mark had lain in bed awake for a long time afterward, aware of the way her body fit perfectly against his. He’d breathed in the scent of her hair and felt the soft, rounded curves of her bottom as she spooned against him. But what he’d felt hadn’t been sexual, at least not at that point in time. He had wanted to protect her.
He touched her shoulder. “Are you feeling better this morning?”
“I am,” Samantha replied softly, but she didn’t look it. Although she had removed the small bandage, her forehead was bruised, and an angry scab had begun to form over the cut. Mark had also seen the faint bluish circles on her upper arms where the intruder had grabbed her. Anger percolated inside him. Samantha busied herself with preparing his food.
He started to say something, but the phone’s ringing halted him. Mark went to answer it.
“Mercer,” he said upon hearing his sister’s voice. “She’s right here. Hold on.”
“I left her a message earlier,” Samantha said. “We were supposed to meet for a run this morning.” She took the phone, tucking it between her shoulder and ear as she poured batter into the iron and closed its top. Mark looked over at Emily, who was pretending to feed the stuffed animal breakfast. The bear had sticky raspberry sauce on its nose. Although he’d walked from the kitchen, he caught bits of Samantha’s conversation. She was giving Mercer the same story about a faceless burglar she’d surprised.
“Mercer’s on her way over,” she said once she ended the call and came into the breakfast area, carrying a plate with Mark’s food. She set it on the table, sounding resigned. “Since I’m not up to running, she wants to spend the morning with me. She’s insisting.”
Mark nodded. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“It isn’t necessary. I’m fine,” she murmured, appearing distracted as she stared out the window at a trio of sailboats—racing sloops—gliding past on the greenish-blue water. Their brightly colored sails fluttered in the breeze.
You’re not fine. But he bit back his disagreement since his daughter was there.
“Mercer said we could take Emily to the beach, but I’d really like to just get back to my apartment.”
“Stay with Mercer and Emily, all right? I don’t want you going back there until the window’s been repaired. You also need a security system. I can have the hotel’s technician put one in this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mark. But I can’t let you—”
He touched her arm. “You can. Although what I’d prefer is that you take a room at the hotel for a while.”
“No. I can’t afford that.”
“I’m not asking you to pay for it,” he said softly. “I’ll comp you a room. Or you can stay here with Emily and me, for as long as you want.”
Eyes pained, she shook her head in polite refusal and retreated to the kitchen. “Your breakfast is getting cold. Go sit with your daughter and eat.”
Mark sat across from Emily, positioning himself so he could keep an eye on Samantha. She leaned casually against the granite countertop near the sink as she nursed her coffee. But there was no doubt about it. Although the morning sunlight had strengthened her composure, Samantha was still rattled, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise.
An hour later, Mark prepared to leave for the hotel. At the least, he needed to make morning rounds and ensure operations were running smoothly. Mercer had arrived a short time earlier, carrying a beach bag and one of her bathing suits for Samantha. It was a sleek black maillot, and as Mark passed by them on the bungalow’s porch, he couldn’t help but notice the way it showcased Samantha’s trim figure even with the cover-up she wore over it. She and Mercer were busy coating the fair-skinned Emily with sunscreen.
“We’ll keep her under the umbrella most of the time,” Mercer assured him. “And we won’t let her go into the surf without one of us. Even with those little water wing things on.”
Mark nodded, knowing his sister was conscientious when it came to Emily. He noticed that the upset she’d displayed the previous evening appeared to have receded, and she seemed back to her usual cheerful self.
“We’re planning to have lunch at The Palms,” Mercer said, referring to the hotel’s casual poolside eatery. “Want to join us? Maybe around twelve thirty?”
“I’ll try, but I doubt I can make it. I have a lot to do.” His gaze moved to Samantha. She looked up at him briefly, then continued rubbing lotion on Emily’s shoulders. He walked out to his car.
Mark hadn’t lied, exactly. He was busy today, although he didn’t plan to be at the St. Clair for more than an hour or so. Samantha’s apartment key, which she’d given him for the hotel’s maintenance crew, was in his pocket. He wasn’t sending his staff over alone. Mark was going, too. He planned to search for something that might provide him with some answers into Samantha’s past and who the hell wanted to hurt her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What were you thinking, darling?” Olivia’s expression was reproachful as she sat in one of the leather armchairs in Mark’s office. Her stylish bob swung as she shook her head. “Have you even considered the kind of impression you’re making on Emily?”
Mark squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Samantha’s a friend, Mom.” He didn’t bother keeping the annoyance from his voice. “Someone broke into her apartment last night—I was there right after it happened.
I didn’t think it would be a good idea for her to be alone.”
She gave an incredulous laugh. “You have an entire hotel full of rooms. Yet you took her to your home for the evening? Please tell me she slept in the guest room.”
Gossip traveled fast among the hotel staff, but Mark hadn’t realized the grapevine ran all the way to Olivia’s white-columned estate. He should have remembered that Benita, the au pair who had helped him with Emily last night, was the cousin of Olivia’s housekeeper, Marisol.
“According to Marisol, this Samantha Marsh looked as though she’d been manhandled.”
“She surprised the burglar,” Mark said, his patience wearing thin. “She got a little banged up, but she’s okay. The police are looking into it. Besides, I don’t see how any of this is your business. Or Marisol’s.”
“A physical assault,” Olivia fretted, her fingers worrying her ever-present pearls. “We don’t have that kind of thing happen in Rarity Cove. You don’t suppose Luther Banda did it?”
“No, I don’t. Luther is a trusted employee of Samantha’s, so why would he do anything to hurt her? Besides, she said the intruder was white.” He busied himself with the papers on his desk, hoping she might take the hint that he had things to do. “Is there something I can help you with? Why are you here, exactly? Other than to stick your nose in my personal life.”
Olivia rose and crossed the oriental carpet so she stood in front of his desk. “I just don’t understand you, Mark. Felicity came to the reception last night at my invitation—”
“At your invitation, not mine,” he emphasized. “And in case you didn’t notice, I was there with a date of my own choosing. I was under no obligation to fawn over Felicity just because you invited her. It’s bad enough you finagled me into dancing with her.”
Olivia’s tone was petulant. “You ran off in the middle of Carter’s reception. With that woman.”
“I thought you wanted me to date. To get on with my life, is how you put it. Or is that only if I’m dating someone you pick out for me from your inventory of Junior League socialites?”
“Shelley belonged to the Rarity Cove Junior League,” she reminded softly, appearing hurt.
Mark blew out a quiet breath and checked his wristwatch. It was almost noon already, and he was still mired in his duties at the hotel. He had the maintenance crew scheduled to go to Samantha’s apartment at twelve thirty, and he was determined to make the trip with them. He’d also sent one of the workers ahead to meet the tow truck so the Camry could be taken to the garage and have its tires replaced when the shop opened on Monday. Samantha would want to repay him, but he didn’t care about the cost. As the eldest of the St. Clair brood, he was used to taking charge.
“I love you, darling, that’s all,” Olivia said, earnest. “I won’t apologize for wanting what’s best for you.”
“You don’t even know Samantha.”
Olivia frowned. “So you are interested in her.”
Mark shrugged, not wanting to engage further in the topic. He received a text on his phone so he unclipped it from his belt to check the message.
“First you say she’s just a friend, and now you’ve repeatedly referred to her as your date. You were awfully attentive to her last night—”
“I’ve got to go. There’s a situation in the lobby.” Mark walked around his desk, and placing his hands on Olivia’s shoulders, he gently but firmly guided her toward the door.
“I’m not blind, you know. Samantha Marsh is an extremely attractive woman. I can see how she might turn your head. But what do you really know about her?”
When he failed to answer, Olivia sighed and picked up her purse, placing its strap over her shoulder. “Just tell me you’ll think about slowing things down.”
“There’s nothing to slow down.”
“You may be a grown man, but you’re still my son, Mark Harrison St. Clair. And as sure as I’m standing here, there’s something about that woman that sets off alarm bells. A mother’s intuition is never wrong.”
“What about Carter and the real estate agent climbing all over him last night?” Mark inquired pointedly. “From what I hear, Mitzi Ackerman’s a bona fide cougar—she’s bedded half of Charleston. Why aren’t you concerned about that?”
Olivia’s gaze was unflinching. “I love Carter every bit as much as I love you, but I have no illusions. He travels in a different world, and he gives as good as he gets. What would the young people call him? A player. But you, Mark. You’re old-fashioned and one of the last true Southern gentlemen. Just like your daddy.”
Her blue eyes were sincere. “You’ve been hurt too much already with Shelley’s passing. I just can’t bear to see you in any more pain.”
Kissing him good-bye on the cheek, she turned to find her other son leaning against the doorframe.
“Carter,” she exclaimed with an air of surprise.
“Did I really just hear my own momma calling me a player? You’ve been watching too much of The Bachelor.”
Carter kissed her warmly despite the slight he had overheard. Once she’d exited, he came into the office, seating himself on the edge of Mark’s desk. He picked up a Montblanc fountain pen, absently twisting its top.
“Don’t you have a movie set to be at?” Mark asked.
“Not on Sunday. I’m footloose and fancy-free—”
“Well, I’m not. I just got texted. I’m needed at the front desk.”
“I’ll say,” Carter agreed with a grin. “I just walked through. There’s a lady—and calling her big-boned would be courteous—in a muumuu raising holy hell about the minibar in her room. Apparently someone else ate everything inside it, and she wants it all off her bill.”
“Great. So what’re you doing here?”
“I don’t know, I thought we could do something together. Maybe take your boat out.” Awkwardly, Carter cleared his throat. “The truth is, I wanted to talk to you.”
“About selling the hotel again?”
He pressed his lips together. “No, Mark. I got the message on that.”
“Either way, you’ll have to take a number and get in line, right behind the guest in the muumuu. And after I put out that fire, I have an errand to run.”
“Yeah? Where?” Carter appeared interested, and Mark wondered if he was really that bored hanging around the hotel. Despite her obvious assets, it appeared even Mitzi Ackerman hadn’t been able to hold his interest for long. Mark sighed inwardly, trying to decide how much to reveal.
“I figured you’d already heard since everyone else has. Samantha’s apartment was broken into last night. The guy was still there when she went inside. She had a close call.”
Carter sobered. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, I think. She’s down at the beach with Mercer and Emily right now. I’m having hotel maintenance go to her place and repair the window. Our tech is also installing a security system since they aren’t standard at the Wayfarer. It’s an old building, and the wiring’s tricky. I’m going with them to supervise.”
“I’ll go, too.”
“There’s no need.”
Carter crossed his arms over his chest. “Then maybe I’ll just head down to the beach with Mercer and Sam. I don’t suppose Sam’s wearing one of those thong bikinis?”
Mark glared at his brother, who raised his palms in self-defense.
“It was a joke.” Carter slid off the desk. He went to stand in front of Mark, blocking his exit. “What’s really going on, Mark? You’re wound as tight as the inside of a golf ball.”
“It’s nothing. And how am I supposed to know you’re joking? Word is, you asked Samantha to Tommy Houghton’s barbecue.”
Carter colored a bit. “Relax. She turned me down cold.”
“But you asked her, Carter. When you clearly knew I was taking her out.” Mark shook his head, deciding to speak his mind. What had happened with Samantha last night had his emotions running high, and Carter seemed the perfect target for his frustration. “It’s like
you can’t let things go. You always want to keep some kind of competition going between us.”
Carter briefly dropped his head, appearing repentant. “You’re right, and I’ll own up to it. I’m sorry, Mark. Asking Samantha to go to the barbecue was a jackass move—”
“You bet it was,” Mark ground out, barely keeping his anger on simmer. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve got legions of female fans drooling over you? It’s like you’re still trying to prove that Shelley made the wrong choice.”
Carter looked as though he’d been slapped, his eyes pained. He said hoarsely, “We used to be close growing up, remember? Before things went to hell between us.”
Mark ran a hand over his mouth. He often recalled the closeness they’d shared, too, before Carter and Shelley’s indiscretion caused the rift that had never fully mended between them. In truth, he hated that his relationship with Carter remained defined by what had happened years earlier—when neither of them was even fully an adult. Still, it was something they both seemed incapable of getting past. He was stuck in the role of the responsible, put-upon older brother while Carter was the perpetual bad boy and prodigal son. At one time they had simply been siblings, bonded by friendship and blood.
It had also occurred to him that he’d been willing to eventually forgive Shelley and let her back into his life, but he had never been so generous with Carter. Hurt, feeling betrayed, Mark had vilified him to their family and mutual friends, widening the chasm between them. Carter had headed north after high school and had rarely come back home except for the obligatory family occasion—a marriage, a birth, a burial.
“I know I’m the one who screwed everything up,” Carter said roughly. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about. Samantha said some things about you and me last night that hit home… I was hoping we could work on things. Try to start over.”
Mark felt a stab of guilt. For the sake of family, he conceded it was time they both tried a little harder to let things go.
Before the Storm Page 13