Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(14)

Finished filling a tray with fresh squares of turtle brownies, Vanessa wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel. “What about your things?” she asked. “Don’t you need to go home and collect your personal items?”

Marc shrugged, and she couldn’t help but notice the shift of firm muscle beneath his white button-down shirt. She remembered only too well what lay beneath that shirt, and how much she’d once enjoyed knowing it belonged to her and her alone.

“I’m having some clothes and such shipped. Anything else I need, I’m sure I can purchase here.”

He hung his jacket on a hook near the door, where she and Helen kept their aprons when not in use, then crossed to the bassinet she’d dragged back out of the storeroom once Marc had figured out what was going on. Danny was sleeping inside, stretched out on his little belly, arms and legs all akimbo.

“The only question now,” Marc said, gazing down at his son, then reaching out to stroke a single finger over Danny’s soft cheek, “is where I’ll be staying while I’m in town.”

Vanessa opened her mouth, not even sure what she was about to say, only to be interrupted by Helen.

“Well, you’re not staying in my house,” her aunt announced in no uncertain terms. Her tight, blue-washed curls bobbed as she used the heels of her hands to beat the ball of bread dough into submission.

Though her aunt’s clear dislike of Marc brought an immediate stab of guilt and the sudden urge to apologize, Vanessa was unaccountably grateful that Helen had the nerve to blurt out what she’d been unable to find the courage to tell him herself.

“Thank you so much for the kind invitation,” Marc said, lips twisted with amusement, “but I really couldn’t impose.”

How typical of him to take Helen’s rudeness in stride. That sort of thing never had fazed him, mainly because Marc knew who he was, where he came from and what he could do.

Plus, Aunt Helen hadn’t always hated him. She didn’t hate him now, actually, she was just annoyed with him and took his treatment of Vanessa personally.

Which was at least partly Vanessa’s fault. She’d shown up on her aunt’s doorstep hurt, angry, broken and carrying her ex-husband’s child.

After spilling out the story of her rocky marriage, subsequent divorce, unexpected pregnancy and desperate need for a place to stay—with Marc filling the role of bad guy-slash-mean old ogre under the bridge at every turn—her aunt’s opinion of him had dropped like a stone. Ever since then, Aunt Helen’s only objective was to not see her niece hurt again.

Vanessa was still fighting the urge to make excuses for Helen when Marc said, “I thought maybe you could recommend a nice local hotel.”

Vanessa and Helen exchanged a look.

“Guess that would be the Harbor Inn just a couple streets over,” Helen told him. “It’s not much, but your only other option is Daisy’s Motel out on Route 12.”

“Harbor Inn,” Marc murmured, brows drawing together. “I didn’t realize there was a waterway around here large enough to necessitate a harbor.”

Vanessa and Helen exchanged another look, along with mutual ironic smiles.

“There isn’t,” Vanessa told him. “It’s one of those small town oddities that no one can really explain. There’s no harbor nearby. Not even a creek or stream worth mentioning. But the Harbor Inn is one of Summerville’s oldest hotels, and it’s decorated top to bottom with lighthouses, seagulls, fishing nets, starfish…”

She shook her head, hoping Marc wouldn’t think too badly of the town or its residents. Even though some parts were a little backward at times, this was her home now and she found herself feeling quite protective toward it.

“If nothing else, it’s an amusing place to stay,” she added by way of explanation.

He looked less than convinced, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved away from the bassinet and started to unbutton his cuffs, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.


“As long as it has a bed and a bathroom, I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll be spending most of my time here with you, anyway.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened at that. “You will?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Of course. This is where my son is. Besides, if your goal is to expand the bakery and possibly branch out into mail-order sales, we’ve got a lot to discuss, and possibly a lot to do.”

“Wait a minute.” She let the spatula in her hand drop to the countertop, feeling her breath catch. “I didn’t agree to let you have anything to do with The Sugar Shack.”

He flashed her a charming, confident grin. “That’s why we have so much to discuss. Now,” he said, flattening his palms on the edge of the counter, “are you going to show me to this Harbor-less Inn, or would you prefer to simply give me directions so you and your aunt can both stay here and talk about me after I leave?”

Oh, she wanted to stay behind and talk about him. The problem was, he knew it. And now that he’d tossed down the gauntlet by effectively telling her he knew that’s exactly what would happen the minute he left the room, she had no choice but to go with him.

Which was exactly why he’d done it.

Reaching behind her back, she untied the strings of her apron and pulled it off over her head.

“I’ll take you,” she said, then turned to her aunt. “Will you be okay on your own while we’re gone?”