The Hometown Hero Returns by Beth Kery Page B

whooshed out of her lungs. Marc tapped his brother’s elbow after several seconds.
    â€œHaven’t you got some emergency in Chicago?” Marc prompted.
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œMari,” Marc growled a quiet warning, which she ignored.
    â€œGood night, both of you. Liam…it was wonderful to see you,” Mari said before she hurried toward the house.
    â€œNice 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
    T he 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.
    â€œIs that her?” someone asked in a hushed voice.
    Marc’s jaw tilted sideways even though he continued to meet Mari’s gaze. “That’s her.” Marc’s voice lowered in a mock conspiratorial whisper to the young boy who stood next to him.
    Marc wasn’t alone on her front porch. She hadn’t initially noticed, thanks to Marc’s powerful presence. No sooner had she seen the tall boy when another child— this one sporting a long, white-blond ponytail—peeked around Marc’s thigh.
    â€œHello,” the little girl said.
    â€œHi,” Mari replied, charmed by the child’s huge, blue eyes and sober expression.
    She opened the screen door. Her gaze flickered up to Marc, who was warmly watching her. Leave it to him to bring the two children—his niece and nephew?—to lighten the tension of their meeting.
    Marc touched the top of the little girl’s head. “You can come out of hiding, Jenny. Mari won’t bite. I don’t think so, anyway.”
    She rolled her eyes at Marc before she