Island Of Second Chances. Cara Lockwood
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nodded.
“Well.” Mark slapped his knee. “Can’t say that sounds too good for you.”
She remembered how Dean had been so disappointed to find out she was pregnant. She wasn’t sorry to lose Dean. He’d proven himself a liar and unworthy of her affection. She knew that on a base level. It wasn’t losing Dean that hurt so much.
“Well, I don’t want Dean. Dean was a prick.”
“Dean? His name is Dean? Well, with a name like that, of course he was a prick.” Mark chuckled low and Laura joined him.
It felt good to hear someone else bash Dean. Hell, it felt good to talk to someone other than her sister. How long had it been since she’d had a real conversation with someone? Ages. The secret of her affair with Dean had driven a wedge between her and all her friends, and she hadn’t been able to talk about it openly, not even the miscarriage. Her friends didn’t even know she’d been pregnant. But she wasn’t ready to tell Mark that. Not that. Not yet. Talking about losing her baby somehow made it even more real.
He leaned forward. “There’s something more, though, isn’t there?”
“What do you mean?” Laura suddenly felt defensive. Could he see right through her? How did he know there was more?
“I mean, there’s more to this story. You’ve lost more than Dean.” He seemed so certain, and yet, how did he know? Did he have ESP?
“I...” she began, alcohol swirling in her brain. “I don’t know if I want to talk about it. Besides, what about you? I can’t be the only one to spill my guts. If I’m talking about my no-good, horrible day, then you have to tell me why yours was so bad, too.”
Mark cocked his head to one side. “Fair enough.”
“What made your day so bad?”
“My older brother, the one who slept with my wife and stole our company from me, came back and asked me if I’d work for him.”
Laura coughed, nearly choking on her beer. That sounded like one winner of a sibling. “What did you say?”
Mark paused and studied the label on his beer. He began picking off the edges. “I said hell no.”
Laura laughed and offered her bottle up for another toast. “Here’s to the power of no.” They clinked their mostly empty bottles once more and she giggled. “I’m actually having more fun than I’d thought.”
He glanced at her and grinned. “Me, too.”
“You’re not as grumpy as I first thought, either.” She gave his bicep a playful shove. She felt the compact muscle there, the solidness of it.
“What? Me? Grumpy?” Mark laughed as he absorbed her jab. “I’m Mr. Sunshine over here.”
Now it was Laura’s turn to cackle. “You? Have you met you?” She relished quoting him now that the tables were turned. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, a gesture she’d meant to be purely platonic, but as her laughter died down, she realized she’d kept her hand there a beat too long.
Suddenly aware of the heat of his skin, the strength of the muscle beneath, she wondered what his arms might feel like around her, and she remembered the glisten of his muscles in the sunlight just that morning. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands down his bare arm.
As soon as the thought popped into her head, she squashed it. What was she doing? She hadn’t thought of a man like that...well, since Dean. And look where that got her. Was she really so eager to jump back into the fray? Was she even ready to have a man touch her again? She had lousy instincts about men. Dean had just proved that.
She pulled her hand away a bit too quickly, heat creeping up her neck. She glanced quickly at him, but he seemed not to notice, or at least not to register her touch.
Not that she should be surprised. As if he’d ever in a million years be interested in her. Miss Noise Pollution, he’d called her. Here she was, worried about sleeping with a man who probably had no intention of ever sleeping with her. Her head swam with alcohol and she knew she ought to stop before she truly made a fool of herself.
“Well.” She put down her now-empty beer bottle. “It’s late. I probably should be going.”
“Are you serious?” Mark asked, spinning in his chair and gawking at her. “This is what you call drowning your sorrows in alcohol? Honey, you’re a lightweight.”
“I am not.” Laura lifted her chin in defiance. She wasn’t exactly a heavyweight drinker, but she could hold her own.
“Then prove it.” He handed her another beer bottle.
What was this? College? Would he ask her to do a beer bong next? Please. “Come on. Don’t be silly. We’re not twenty.”
“Nope. We’re not. Thank God.” He grinned. “And I’m glad, because twenty-year-olds know nothing about the world. I’d rather have a seasoned woman any day of the week.”
Did he mean her? Was he...flirting? She glanced at the bottle in his hand, hesitating. What would one more round really hurt anyway? Mark seemed to sense her indecision. He waggled the beer in front of her.
“Come on. How miserable are you, really? Just two beers miserable? Because that’s hardly miserable at all.”
She had to laugh at that. She was far more than two beers miserable.
“Fine,” she said and grabbed the bottle from his hand. “You win.”
He chuckled and took another swig of his beer as she started on hers. She’d just stay for one more. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?
LAURA WOKE UP feeling like an elephant had stomped on her head and someone had filled her mouth with sand. Searing white light bashed her closed eyelids, and a pulsing, distant thud of pain thumped in her temples. She feared opening her eyes. The light would no doubt make her hangover ten times worse. All she wanted to do was lie here, very still, and hope to fall back asleep.
Flashes of the night before came to her. Beer, Mark, laughing...then more beer. She’d drunk her misery away, yes, she had, but she’d also brought more misery to her brain, which right now wanted to crawl out of her skull to get away from this crushing migraine. Her stomach roiled, too, and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Not good.
She’d have to open her eyes sometime. She cracked one eye open, expecting to see the palm-tree-decorated comforter on her rental condo bed, but instead found herself lying beneath a gray-striped blanket on a large king-size bed in a room she didn’t recognize.
Laura sat up in alarm, the sheets falling from her body, and then realized she was wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Laura covered her chest with her arms and realized with alarm she was sitting in Mark’s bed. In her underwear.
But where was Mark?
She listened frantically but heard nothing. Was she alone? What the hell had happened last night?
Frantically, she searched her memory of the night before. Beers on his deck. Lots of beers. Then... Oh, no. Tequila shots. Did that happen? Yes, she had a fuzzy memory of Mark slicing limes. Tequila was never good. She might as well just hit herself in the head with a rock. Why did she think tequila was a good idea? But then, nothing after that. Oh, Lord. What had she done? She couldn’t recall anything more.
God, she’d only ever blacked out once in her life in college. That was fourteen years ago. What the hell was wrong with her?
She heard the front door of the condo rattle open and swing shut. Mark? Was that Mark? Frantically she glanced around the room for her clothes. Where were they? And, more important, did Mark...take them off?
She