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