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.
“Is 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.
“Hello,” the little girl said.
“Hi,” 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 smiled and beckoned her visitors into the house.
“You two wouldn’t be Colleen’s kids, would you?” Mari asked over her shoulder as she led them down the hallway to the kitchen. She’d heard that, unlike the other Kavanaughs, Colleen had married and had children.
“Yes, Colleen Sinclair is our mom,” the boy said. His adult tone made Mari’s smile widen.
“Marianna Itani, meet my niece and nephew, Jenny and Brendan,” Marc said as they entered the sunny kitchen.
“You said her name was Mari, not Marianna,” Jenny said to her uncle under her breath, as if she was politely trying to correct his error.
“Mari is short for Marianna like Jenny is for Jennifer,” Marc explained.
“Oh,” Jenny uttered while she studied Mari with interest. “You look like a princess.”
“Jenny,” Brendan groaned, clearly embarrassed by his little sister’s forthrightness.
Mari smiled at the girl. “Thank you. You look very much like your mother did when she was close to your age. And it’s a pleasure to meet both of you. Would you like something to drink? Some lemonade?” she added when both children nodded.
Mari poured lemonade and searched through her meager groceries for a snack that might tempt the children. She found a small bag of gourmet, chocolate chip cookies and placed several on a plate. Marc watched her while the kids looked around the large kitchen with interest.
“Brendan told me this house was haunted,” Jenny said as Mari handed her a glass of lemonade and set the cookies on the oak table.
“I did not,” Brendan said, blushing. He was blond, like his sister, although his hair was a shade or two darker. He obviously had already spent a lot of time at one of Harbor Town’s white sand beaches, given his even, glowing tan. Despite Brendan’s dark eyes, Mari couldn’t help but be reminded of Marc at a similar age. “You did. Every time we play outside after dark at Grandma’s, you say it,” Jenny replied before she took a sip of her lemonade and daintily picked up a cookie.
Mari glanced at Marc, and they shared a secret smile. As a child, Colleen had been both a lady and a hell-raiser. It seemed her daughter shared a similar bent.
“Do you mind if we look around?” Brendan asked Mari.
“Feel free, although there isn’t much to see,” Mari said. “Least of all any ghosts, I’m afraid.”