Unfortunately, she'd never been quite as good at keeping her work and her personal life separated. She loved The Sugar Shack. It was a part of her, built of blood, sweat, tears and most of all, heart. If it failed, if something happened to it or she had to close the doors, a very big part of her would die with it.
But even more important than that, and definitely what owned a much bigger portion of her heart and soul, was Danny. She would light a match and torch The Sugar Shack down to the ground if it meant keeping her child happy and safe.
And for better or worse, Marc was Danny's father, a part of him. He was also probably the only investor she would ever find who was actually willing and able to give the bakery an influx of much-needed cash, and who apparently thought her ideas for expansion held actual merit.
Anyone else would have already jumped at the offer. But there was so much at stake for her-and for Danny and Aunt Helen.
She'd been silent for so long, she was surprised Marc didn't check her for a pulse. She also suspected she would have the mother of all headaches soon just from the strain of thinking so hard. It was as though a Ping-Pong championship tournament was taking place inside her brain.
But in the end, she didn't follow her head or even her heart. She followed her gut.
"All right," she told him, the words nearly torn from a throat gone tight with the strain of her internal struggle. "But I don't want your charity. If we're going to do this, then I want it to be completely official and aboveboard. We'll have Brian draw up investment papers, or make it a legal loan that I will pay back, or however these things are normally done."
Marc smiled gently, the sort of smile a parent offers a recalcitrant child, almost as though he was getting ready to humor her.
"Fine. I'll call Brian in the morning and get the ball rolling."
She nodded slowly, still reluctant, still unsure. Gut or no gut, agreeing to let Marc become a partner in her and her aunt's business still made her hugely uncomfortable, and there was no guarantee that it wasn't a monumental mistake.
"So that's the business end of things. We'll iron out the details tomorrow," he said. Then he ran his hands down the bare flesh of her arms from her shoulders to her elbows and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Now on to something a bit more personal."
Her first thought was that he wanted to discuss Danny again, and her heart dropped all the way to her stomach, only to jump back up and lodge in her throat. Her chest grew tight as she held her breath and waited-for the bomb to drop, for him to demand full custody or announce that he was taking their son back to Pittsburgh with him.
Instead, he tugged her close, lowered his head and kissed her.
Seven
For a moment, Vanessa stood completely frozen, eyes wide, shock holding her immobile. But then his heat, his passion, seeped into her, and she began to lean against him, his eyes sliding closed on a silent sigh.
Marc's hands slipped from her elbows to her waist, pulling her even more tightly to him and holding her there with his arms crossed like iron bands at her back. His lips were warm and firm and masterful, plundering even as he attempted to coax and seduce.
He tasted like coffee and cream, and felt like heaven. Just as she remembered.
Kissing Marc had always been pure pleasure, like a cool glass of water on a hot summer day or sinking into a relaxing bubble bath after a long, exhausting day at work.
Hand drifting up to cup her cheek, Marc pulled away just enough to let her catch her breath and meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with a desire that Vanessa knew must be reflected in her own. Whether she wanted it or not, whether she liked it or not, there was no denying the heat that flared between them. Even now, after a year of separation, after the end of their marriage.
"I've been wanting to do that all evening," Marc murmured, his thumb slowly stroking just beneath her lower lip.
She wished she could deny feeling the same way, but had to admit that the thought of kissing him again had crossed her mind a few times since their unexpected reunion , as well. Especially during dinner, while they'd stared at one another across the candlelit table.
But kissing him wasn't a good idea. Being alone with him in his hotel room for much longer wasn't a good idea.
She should leave. Put a hand to his chest, push him away and get out while she could still make her legs move.
His other hand came up to frame her face, his fingers running through the hair at her temple.
Move, legs, move.
But her legs didn't move. It was as though her entire body had turned to stone, every muscle statue-still.
"This is a bad idea," she told him, putting her thoughts into words and forcing them past stiff, dry lips. "I should go."
A hint of a grin played at the corners of his lips. "Or you could stay," he whispered, "and we can see about turning a bad idea into a good one."
Inside, she was shaking her head. No, no, no. Sticking around was only going to turn the bad that had already happened into much, much worse.
No, she needed to leave. And she would, just as soon as she could get her body to obey the commands of her brain.
But the connection between the two had obviously been blocked or severed or scrambled in some way. Because she didn't move. She didn't step back, or push him away, or voice further arguments against making any more monumental mistakes.
She simply stood there and watched his mouth descend once again. Stood there and let his lips cover hers, let his fingers dig into her hair and cradle her scalp. Let his tongue tease and taunt until she had no choice but to open her mouth and invite him inside.
Oh, this is a bad idea, she thought, as her own arms came up to wind around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape. A very, very bad …
His tongue twined with hers and she groaned, any semblance of rational thought flying right out the window. Good or bad, she was in it now, with very little might left to fight. She wasn't even sure she wanted to anymore.
Though they were already touching, he tugged her even closer, so that her brea**sts flattened against his chest and the evidence of his arousal pressed between her legs.
Being a woman kept her arousal from being as obvious, but it was there, without a doubt. Besides the fact that her heart was pounding and her temperature was slowly reaching the boiling point, inside the cups of her bra her nipp**les were turning into tight, sensitive pearls. Lower, her knees were weak and her panties were growing damp.
It wouldn't take much more of Marc's intense ministrations for him to know just how aroused she was, too. Already, his hands were wandering down her sides and over her hips, his fingers slowly rucking up the skirt of her dress until he could touch her stockinged thighs.
Her own fingers went to the buttons at the front of his shirt, slipping one after another through their holes. When she reached the bottom, she switched to unbuckling his belt and loosening the top button of his dress slacks, then tugging the shirt's tail free. Once both sides fell open, she slipped her hands under the expensive material and put her palms flat against the warm, smooth skin of his chest and stomach.
He groaned. She moaned. The sounds met and mingled, sending shivers from their locked lips all the way down her spine.
As though he felt them, too, Marc's hand went to the small of her back and followed the line of her vertebrae up, up, up. He kneaded her neck a short second before catching the clasp of her dress's zipper and tugging it down in one long ziiiiiiiiiip of sensation.
Curling her nails into his chest, she slumped into him as wave after wave of longing rolled through her. It was almost too much to bear, melting her bones and stealing the breath from her lungs. If he hadn't been holding her, she was sure she would have collapsed to the ground in a pile of skin and rumpled red fabric.
He released her mouth, allowing her to suck in some much-needed oxygen while he tugged at her dress, letting the flowy fabric pool at her feet. Hooking his thumbs into the waist of her pantyhose, he started to skim them down her legs, following them until he knelt in front of her on one knee.