by BETH KERY
“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.