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
