Page 30 of If You Come Back To Me (If You Come Back To Me 1)

“I’m not guaranteeing anything, but I can have a look. Let’s start with the furnace, since it’s inside, and it’s about to start pouring. It might be the blower or a belt.”

A thought struck Mari as she flipped on the hall light and led Marc to the closed doorway on the right.

“What’s wrong?” he asked from behind her.

She glanced down at her skimpy dress and folded her arms over her breasts. In the darkness, she’d forgotten to think about how thin the fabric was. She turned her head warily. Her heart bumped against her breastbone at the vision of Marc in full light. He was wearing his customary beachwear—long cargo shorts that showed off his muscular, tanned calves and a blue T-shirt that picked up the color of his eyes. His dark blond hair had been sexily mussed by the whipping wind.

“Nothing is wrong.” She waved at the shut door down the hallway. “The furnace is in the basement.”

Her gaze shot away when she saw something flicker in Marc’s eyes.

“Yeah. I remember that, strangely.” His mouth quirked. “Lead the way.”

Mari closed her eyelids briefly when she turned. She’d been so eager to have her AC fixed, she hadn’t been thinking…

She flipped on the light over the basement stairs and took the squeaky steps at a brisk pace. She was proud that she didn’t blush when she nodded at the furnace situated in a cubbyhole of the unfinished basement. Marc didn’t say anything, just went over to it and opened the door that accessed the machinery. Mari stood back, admiring the flex and play of his muscles beneath the blue cotton.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat when he suddenly paused in his poking and walked into the narrow space between the furnace and wall. He opened up the breaker box and flipped a switch. When he returned, he saw humor dancing in his eyes.

“I used to kiss you back in that cubbyhole until my lips were chapped for days.”

For a second, Mari’s mouth just hung open. She was sure she must have imagined him saying it. She’d been a little embarrassed up in the hallway when she realized two things: one, she was wearing a thin, translucent dress with barely anything on beneath it, and two, she was about to take Marc to their first make-out hideaway. She’d thought he was tacitly agreeing to not make mention of the subject when he saw her discomfort. But here he’d just bluntly pointed out the elephant in the room.

Laughter burst from her throat. Her eyes sprung wide at the strength of her response, and she covered her mouth. She couldn’t help it. It must be hysteria. When she saw Marc’s grin widen, though, she wondered. How could the sound of Marc Kavanaugh’s deep chuckle be anything but right?

“Remember that time when my mom came downstairs to put in a load of laundry while we were back there?” she asked between jags of laughter.

“Yeah,” Marc replied as he opened the box he held. “We froze up for about two seconds and then got right back to the thick of things. I don’t even remember when your mother went back upstairs again.”

“Neither do I.”

When she registered his altered expression and fading grin, the unexpected, swelling wave of amusement waned. Heat rose beneath her skin. Marc’s gaze lowered to her breasts, which she’d exposed as she tried to cover her erupting laughter. He went still, masculine appreciation gleaming in his eyes.

Mari was a little surprised she couldn’t hear the electricity popping in the air between them.

She cleared her throat and looped her arms beneath her breasts. When he met her gaze, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, attempting to package the poignant moment in the convenient mental container of silly childhood nostalgia.

But the moment hadn’t evoked anything silly inside her. Far from it.

“You just threw a breaker. I reset it. The AC should work now,” he said as he shut the door to the furnace.

“That’s it?” Mari asked in amazement.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to go upstairs and see if the AC turns on or not.”

She nodded, but neither of them moved. Instead they remained motionless, facing each other.

It felt like she was keeping a volcano of emotion from erupting from her chest. Her inhalation sounded ragged and raw in her own ears. It was really too damn much. Too much history. Too much feeling.

“Come here,” Marc said, his voice quiet, but firm.

She flew across the room and into his open arms. A convulsion of emotion shuddered through her body and she gasped.

“Why do you fight it so much, Mari?” he asked gruffly as he stroked her back, trying to soothe her.

“I know it’ll never work out.” Tears shot out of her eyes with the same pressured intensity as her words. “But I can’t seem to stop wanting you. Especially…”

His hand, spread on her lower back above her buttocks, paused. “What?”

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