“You took the news about Mercer’s boyfriend better than I thought you would,” Samantha said against Mark’s ear. “She’s been worried about telling you.”
He looked at her. “You already knew?”
“For a little while.”
“Did you know she was bringing him tonight?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure Mercer knew in advance. She said he’d been wanting to come here to meet everyone, but she’d been putting him off. They were arguing about it the night of Carter’s reception, which is why she was upset. She didn’t mention him coming when we went running last night, so my guess is he surprised her.”
“I can’t believe she’s been sneaking around with her college professor.” With a stern expression, Mark studied the couple. “I don’t want to think about when all this started. How old was she?”
“She was twenty-two,” Samantha assured him.
“She’s my little sister, and he’s too damn old for her.” But he sighed softly, watching as Mercer laughed at something Jonathan had said. “Do you think they’re serious?”
“He’s told her he’s in love with her. I think maybe she feels the same way.”
“Is he divorced?”
“He’s a widower, like you,” she said softly. “Although his wife died a long time ago.”
Mark didn’t say anything for a while, and Samantha wished she could banish his sad memories.
“Thank you,” he murmured finally.
She looked up at him quizzically. “For what?”
“For the past week. For coming into my life.” Mark swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice had roughened. “When Shelley died…when Emily and I lost her…I sort of gave up.”
Samantha laid her palm against his chest, her heart hurting at just how bad things had been for him.
“I always believed my one chance was her,” Mark admitted. “I missed her so much I didn’t even want to try again. But now…”
He gazed into Samantha’s eyes. Her blood pulsed harder as he toyed with a strand of her long hair. With some difficulty, she broke eye contact, staring down at the flaxen sand. But he gently put a finger under her chin and lifted her face back to his.
“Hey. I don’t care about my mother and her social caste, or Carter’s unsolicited opinions. Or how much time we’ve known each other. I already know how I feel about you.”
“Mark…”
But he silenced her with his kiss. Samantha couldn’t help but slide her arms around his neck, clinging to him as their mouths joined. Once their lips parted, Samantha caressed his face. A fragile happiness swelled inside her.
Their embrace ended as Emily broke from the nearby table where children were digging into wedges of juicy watermelon and making a mess. She ran to them, and Mark pressed her against his hip, uncaring of her sticky fingers that clutched the pocket of his khaki pants.
“Want to dance, Em?”
Samantha took a step back, smiling as Mark lifted Emily and twirled with her in time to the music, her pink cotton skirt floating around her like a ballerina’s gown.
This place, this glorious night, was like a dream from which Samantha never wanted to wake. But fireworks exploded in the pitch-black sky, signaling the evening’s conclusion. She strolled down to the ocean with Mark, Emily and the others, hearing the excited exclamations of the children at each new pinwheel burst of colorful light. Shallow waves lapped at her ankles, and the cool, wet sand pulled between her toes with the ocean’s ebb and flow. Mark wrapped his arm around her. Samantha laid her head against his chest, thinking that even in her wildest imagination, no moment could be more perfect than this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The St. Clair gift shop was more like an elegant boutique. Egyptian-cotton bathrobes and clothing bearing the resort’s crest were interspersed with antiques, fine stationery, scented candles and luxury bath items, as well as handmade pottery by artists native to the lowcountry.
“So what do you think?” Sandra Johnson, who ran the shop, asked as Samantha viewed the display of Café Bella items with wonderment. Gratitude filled her.
“It’s…lovely. I can’t thank you enough.”
Sandra smiled. She was a middle-aged, African-American woman with an attractive face and silver hair. “You should thank Mr. St. Clair. He decided on the placement himself.”
Her products had been given a prime position inside the shop. Jars of preserved lemons and condiments lined the shelves of a massive, antique cupboard across from the cash register. Gift baskets with food items arranged inside them also sat on the massive hearth of a brick fireplace that Samantha had been told was part of the original plantation home where the hotel now stood.
“Mr. St. Clair’s planning a tasting,” Sandra revealed. “The hotel has a wine and cheese hour on the south veranda nightly at seven. He’s asked the kitchen staff to feature your products. We’ll use them for the first time tonight, with some lovely placards stating that the items are available for purchase here and at your location off the downtown square. The items will also be in the VIP packages for guests staying in the private bungalows. If I were you, Miss Marsh, I’d consider increasing production.”
“I should,” Samantha murmured, a lump in her throat, touched by all Mark had done. Tamping down her emotion, she feigned interest in a cashmere throw draped over the back of a chintz-covered chair.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, because it’s supposed to be a surprise, but I thought you should know. A writer from Southern Living will be at the tasting tonight. He’s also planning to drop by your café.”
It looks like you have just about everything you need.
Carter’s words from the past weekend came back to Samantha. It didn’t seem possible her life had taken such a fortuitous turn.
“That’s wonderful,” she managed to say. “Do you know where Mr. St. Clair is right now?”
“I believe he was going to the pool house with one of the technicians. Something about a problem with one of the spa motors.”
Thanking her again, Samantha picked up her shoulder bag and headed in the direction of the hotel’s beachfront plaza. Outside, the balmy breeze tossed her hair as she walked past vacationers enjoying the Olympic-size swimming pool. Sea gulls cawed overhead. Her heart lifted when she glimpsed Mark, who was talking with a jump-suited repairman outside one of the discreetly camouflaged utility buildings. When he saw her, he smiled and began striding back toward the pool area.
“What’re you doing here?”
“The lunch rush’s over at the café, and I couldn’t wait to see the display,” she confessed. “Mark, it’s beautiful.”
“So are you,” he said in a low voice.
The tenderness in his eyes made Samantha yearn for his touch. The sleeves of Mark’s dress shirt were rolled up, his tie loosened at his throat and gently flapping in the ocean breeze. He reached out, his fingers tangling with hers. Seeking a safer course for their conversation, she glanced at the television that hung over the covered, poolside bar. Although its volume wasn’t loud enough to be heard above the outdoor conversation, its screen showed the now-familiar satellite image of the storm system swirling in the Atlantic Ocean. A graphic depicted several potential paths the storm, recently upgraded to Hurricane Gina, might take. It was a sobering sight.
“Should we be doing something to prepare?” Samantha asked.
Mark had followed her gaze. “It’s still too early, unfortunately. It could hit anywhere between Savannah and south of Virginia Beach, and there’s no telling at this point if it’s going to continue to gain steam or fizzle. Regardless, we’re going to get some bad weather. Heavy rain, at the least.”
Samantha’s nerves tingled. “I never really thought about something like this before moving here.”
“It’s just part of coastal living. August through October is the height of hurricane season. But don’t worry—we’re keeping an eye on things,” Mark said reassuringly, although she could see the concern on his features. “If we end
up in its path, we’ll mobilize.”
They went into the hotel. Mark held the door for her, his hand low against her back as the cool blast of air conditioning met them.
“Are you in a hurry to get back to the café?” he asked.
“I can probably spare some time. Why?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, slipping his arm around her waist, Mark guided her down a corridor to their right, taking them off course from the lobby. They passed the closed doors of guest rooms. Samantha had begun to ask where they were going, but fell silent as he walked her backward into an alcove, pressing her against the wall with his body. His mouth on hers was hot and firm. Samantha closed her eyes, her hands running over his strong shoulders before cupping his neck, her fingers threading through the hair at his nape as they kissed. When he finally broke contact, she glanced around breathlessly, making sure they were still alone.
She smiled softly as she looked into his eyes. “What if one of the hotel guests came through here? Or your staff?”
His fingers slid through her hair. “You’re absolutely right. Come with me.”
She laughed as he took her hand and led her farther down the hall. They stopped in front of one of the last rooms.
“It’s vacant.” He pulled a plastic card from his pocket. “And I have the master key.”
Once they were behind closed doors, however, all levity disappeared between them. Instead, the air grew instantly charged as Mark’s eyes darkened with passion. Samantha felt a flush of heat at what they were about to do. She went into his embrace, her arms around his neck. For a time, their mouths and tongues simply mingled, until their hands began working at one another’s clothing—his tie and dress shirt, her blouse and khaki capris. The room’s large window overlooking the beach was curtained and closed, creating a dark and intimate spot for their coupling. She sighed against Mark’s mouth as his fingers undid her bra clasp, his hands cupping her breasts, his head lowering to them as the garment fell to the floor. He suckled her, his teeth gently rasping over one hardened, sensitive nipple and then the other.
Pulling away the luxury, goose-down duvet with a hard tug, he guided Samantha onto the bed. She lay on her back on the cool, crisp sheets, waiting for Mark to join her. She was fully nude now and unashamed as his heated gaze moved leisurely over every inch of her tanned skin, over her breasts and between her thighs. She spread herself for him wantonly, her heart beating hard and her rib cage rising and falling in anticipation. Mark removed the remainder of his clothing, prepared himself with a condom from his wallet and levered over her on the bed.
His fingers traveled over her cheekbone, and his blue eyes, intense with want, held hers.
Samantha’s fingers brushed over his lips before sliding through his hair.
He entered her with a groan, and she gasped at being filled by him. At Mark being buried deep inside her once more.
“God,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against hers.
They moved together, his slow, deliberate thrusts sending spiraling sensations through her. The heat building between them—the frictionless slide of their bodies, his mouth on her throat—all of it was maddening, overwhelming. For a long time, the room was filled only with the sounds of their ragged breathing and the air conditioner’s muffled roar. Mark’s fingers stroked her expertly in intimate places as he continued his sweet assault.
“Mark…” she begged against his fevered skin as he began to drive deeper into her, sending her up. “Mark, please, I can’t wait anymore…”
Mouth gasping, her neck arching on the pillow, his lips hushed her cry as Samantha came hard a short time later, her body clenching and shuddering underneath him. Her surrender was Mark’s undoing. Samantha could feel him tensing, being dragged under in the riptide of their union. His thrusts intensified. Mark buried his face in the dip of her neck as he finally expended himself with his own hoarse grunt, nearly causing her to orgasm again.
Their passion left her weak and limp-boned, and she clung to Mark as he rolled with her onto his side, keeping her cradled in the protective circle of his arms.
“You okay?” he asked once their heart rates had begun a slow descent. She nodded, and he gently kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, her lips.
Samantha looked at him in the shadowed room, still a little dazed. “That was unexpected.”
“What was? That I would want to make love to you? Because that shouldn’t be a surprise by now.”
He’d said make love. Not have sex, or screw, or any of the other, baser words for it. Words she had known with Devin. Words that were no longer a part of her life.
“Not so much that,” she whispered, wanting to keep things light despite the rush of emotion she felt lying next to him. Her hand brushed over his chest. “But that you’d want to do it here in the middle of the afternoon.”
“I feel like a different person since I met you. More spontaneous.” Features somber, he played with her long hair, winding dark strands around his finger. “More alive.”
Silent, Samantha pressed her lips against his shoulder. That night she’d gone to his place to return the borrowed money, Mark had told her that he might be falling in love with her. At the oyster roast, he’d also said she could be his second chance. Since then they had been mostly talking around their feelings, and she hoped it would remain that way. She wanted only to live in the moment, to not think about anything but the pleasure they were giving each other in the here and now. She was too afraid of wanting more.
But in the private chambers of her heart, she had already confessed her love to him a hundred times.
“Are you ever going to tell me about this?” he inquired when she rolled away from him onto her other side. He traced the small of her back with a fingertip. Devin’s butterfly. He’d asked about it before.
“I have told you…” Samantha shrugged casually despite the dull pain inside her. “It was a mistake in my youth. I hate it.”
“I don’t,” he said quietly. “I could never hate anything that’s part of you.”
Samantha turned to him, her throat tight as she studied his face. Then she softly pressed her mouth to his.
“I suppose there are a few benefits to running a hotel,” he mused once her lips left his. “Like having access to vacant rooms. Even if I’ll have to come up with a reason for maid service to revisit in here.”
She caressed his jaw. “We might have to try this again, then.”
“I’d like nothing more,” he murmured.
Mark waited for Samantha to exit the guest room and then closed the door behind them. What he hadn’t anticipated was running into Carter, who had just turned into the corridor. He felt an involuntary flush rise on his skin. Samantha must have also become aware of Carter’s presence, because she averted her gaze, fiddling with the contents of her shoulder bag as he approached. There was little doubt he had seen them coming out of the guest room, but Mark refused to act like a child who had been caught breaking a rule. He placed a hand at Samantha’s waist as they greeted Carter. He seemed downbeat, if anything, although Mark noticed his eyes trailing to the now-closed door.
“What’re you doing here?” Mark asked. “I thought you were on location all day.”
“They suspended shooting until tomorrow.” Carter dragged a hand through his hair, sounding sheepish. “We had an…incident.”
“What happened?” Mark knew the film crew was shooting an outdoor scene on the Ashley River all week.
“I was off my game and missed my mark. I got hit in the head by the boom and knocked off the boat. I might’ve passed out for a few seconds.”
“You might have?” Mark echoed, genuinely concerned.
Carter shrugged. Mark was taken aback by such a rookie error, since both of them had practically grown up on the water and were expert sailors. The boom—the large, mobile post that hung horizontally from the mast—could pose a real danger to the uninitiated.
“You could’ve drowned, Carter,” Samantha said worrie
dly.
“The paramedics checked me out. I’m fine.”
Mark noticed Carter seemed tense, and there were faint smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. “You don’t look fine. Think you should see a doctor?”
“You sound like the paramedics,” Carter muttered. “I just want a shower, a bottle of scotch sent up to my room and some sleep.”
“I should go,” Samantha said. “Mark, try to talk some sense into him and get him to see someone.”
She touched Mark’s arm in a farewell gesture. The two men watched as Samantha made her way down the hall. Once she was gone, Mark placed his hands inside his pockets. “How about it? Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with. I’ve got some things to take care of, but I can have the limo service drive you to the urgent care center in town.”
Carter didn’t answer. He was still frowning, staring hard at the corner Samantha had disappeared around.
“Carter, did you hear what—”
Carter lowered his voice. “I can practically smell the sex on you, for God’s sake. You’re the head of this hotel, Mark. Having a quickie in one of the rooms isn’t like you. None of this is.”
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, his anger percolating. He wasn’t going to stand here and let Carter, of all people, lecture him about inappropriate behavior.
His brother moved restlessly, his features drawn. “We…need to talk in private. About Samantha. It’s important.”
The earnestness on his face created a tingling in Mark’s stomach. But the cell phone clipped to his waist beeped, indicating he had received a text. He took it from his belt and glanced at the screen. “I’ve got to go.”
He backed away, re-clipping the phone.
“Mark—”
“I’m happy,” he snapped. “Can’t you see that? Just leave it alone, all right?”
They stared at one another until Mark said, “Do you want the limo or not?”
Carter shook his head, subdued. “No.”
“Get some rest, then.” His heart beating hard in his ears, Mark went toward his office, leaving Carter standing alone.
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