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.