Page 16 of If You Come Back To Me (If You Come Back To Me 1)

Mari’s breath froze on an inhale.

“Liam?”

Marc’s response made her jump. She frantically pushed away from him and started righting her mussed clothing.

“Uh, sorry to bother you,” Liam called. “I saw the bike.”

She put her hands on Marc’s shoulders and shoved. “Go on. Talk to him,” she whispered. Even in the midst of her mortification and disbelief at her wantonness, Mari missed his hard heat.

“I got a call from my captain,” she heard Liam say. “I need to get back to Chicago tonight, but I should make it back for Brendan’s birthday party. Mom said you were staying. Can I take your car? You can keep the bike and we’ll switch when I get back.”

Mari felt like a fool standing in the dark shadows of the tree when Liam surely knew she was there. She smoothed her hair, but there was nothing she could do about the heat and color in her cheeks—the telltale

signs of her impulsivity when it came to Marc. She held her chin up as she joined the two men at the edge of the yard.

“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Mari Itani,” Liam said, deadpan.

She met Liam’s amused glance and broke into a grin. She couldn’t help it. Liam had always made her laugh.

He held out his arms invitingly. “Give me a hug, girl. We never got around to saying hello last night.”

She went willingly, gasping when Liam squeezed her so tight her breath whooshed out of her lungs. Marc tapped his brother’s elbow after several seconds.

“Haven’t you got some emergency in Chicago?” Marc prompted.

“Oh, right,” Liam agreed. He grinned devilishly as he released Mari. “I guess I should let you two get back to whatever emergency you were attending to behind that tree.”

Mari glanced at Marc furtively. “Don’t hurry away on my part, Liam. I was just about to go inside.”

“Mari,” Marc growled a quiet warning, which she ignored.

“Good night, both of you. Liam…it was wonderful to see you,” Mari said before she hurried toward the house.

“Nice timing,” she heard Marc say with dark sarcasm.

She flew up the front porch steps to the sound of Liam’s low, male laughter.

Chapter Four

The beachgoers would love the new day, Mari decided. She peered through the screen door the next morning. Bright sunshine had turned Sycamore Avenue into a picture of small-town Americana, complete with whitewashed fences and robins twittering in the lush, mature oaks and maples.

She glanced toward the top of the street, her gaze lingering on the Kavanaugh house. It stunned her, how nervous she was about seeing Marc again. How excited.

He was just a man, after all.

But she was lying to herself, and she knew it. She’d never reacted to anyone as she had to Marc. She’d done her share of dating over the years and almost married James. Several of those men, most notably James, had accused her of being obsessed with her career—aloof and distant.

Some quirk of nature had made her anything but aloof with Marc.

She turned her attention back to the house, determined to tackle the dusting before the day got away from her. Surely she had more practical things to consider at the moment besides reigniting an old flame.

She retrieved some rags and lemon-scented polishing oil and buried herself in some honest, physical labor.

A wave of nausea forced her down the ladder several hours later. She supposed she should eat something. She pushed a few tendrils that had come unbound off her perspiration-damp face. Applying some elbow grease to what seemed like miles of mahogany built-ins, wainscoting and trim really worked up a sweat. She was in the kitchen eating some crackers to calm her stomach when she heard footsteps on the front porch.

She froze. It was him; she just knew it. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, she went to the screen door.

It was Marc, all right. He waited at the door, his arms crossed beneath his chest, his knees slightly bent. He leaned back on his heels in a relaxed, thoroughly male pose. Their gazes immediately met through the screen door. She saw his eyes flicker briefly down before he met her stare again. At that brief visual caress, her nipples prickled in awareness against the fabric of her bra and form-fitting T-shirt.

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