Island Of Second Chances. Cara Lockwood
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for a good twenty minutes more, shouting at the top of your lungs. I’m surprised the other neighbors didn’t call the police. But then I got you into bed.”
“So...uh...we didn’t...I mean...I don’t remember if we...” This might be the most embarrassing thing she’d ever asked a man in her life. “Did we have sex?”
Mark burst out laughing. “No, we didn’t, Miss Noise Pollution. Which I’m going to continue to call you but for entirely different reasons now.” He glanced at her. “I don’t take advantage of women who can’t consent.”
“Oh.” That was good then.
“And you were in no condition to consent.”
Laura felt searing humiliation. Why had she let herself go like that? She knew why. Because of Dean. Because of everything that happened. She’d wished for oblivion, and she’d gotten it all right.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t usually act like that. I swear. It’s not...me.”
Mark shrugged. “Well, all I can say is running after your half-naked ass on the beach beats the hell out of sitting by myself on the couch.”
Laura got a flash of a memory, but couldn’t quite bring it into focus. She strained to recollect it as she stared at him sitting across from her. The dark shadow of a memory formed. What was it? She couldn’t quite remember.
“You’re sure we didn’t... I mean, nothing happened?”
“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mark said. “But I didn’t say nothing happened.”
Oh, God. Something did happen! Ack.
“What did I do?” It had something to do with that couch. She had an inkling of a memory she couldn’t quite pull into the light.
“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?”
* * *
MARK LOVED TEASING LAURA. It just might be his new favorite pastime. He watched as all the color drained from her face as she imagined the worst-case scenarios from the night before.
The girl knew how to let loose, something he never would’ve expected from her. She also had an amazing body, one that he’d appreciated in the silver light of the moon as she’d jogged down the beach in her underwear. All firm thighs, small waist and jiggling in all the right places.
“Tell me,” she pleaded with him now, her face streaked with old mascara. She looked like a complete mess, but she also looked adorable.
“No,” he teased.
“Mark!” She playfully slapped his arm and he liked the contact.
“What? A gentleman never tells.” He couldn’t help but laugh as she growled, baring her teeth.
“That is not what that saying is supposed to mean.” She slapped at his arm again.
“Fair enough.” He grinned. Now she was getting mad, and her green eyes flashed with growing frustration even as her cheeks grew pinker. God, he loved seeing the passion in her. It reminded him of the woman from last night, the one who’d laid herself bare...emotionally and pretty much literally.
In truth, nothing happened, and yet, everything had at the same time. He’d finally caught her at the edge of the beach, corralling her back to his condo and wrapping her up in a towel as best he could. By then, she was hardly keeping her eyes open, and the fire had drained out of her. He’d been worried about her getting sick again, and that had been his main focus as he steered her to his bed. But before he could even get her to the bedroom, she’d resisted him.
“I wanna go back outshide,” she’d slurred and tried to change course. He’d resisted, and yet she’d forced him to stagger backward a little. Somehow he’d caught his foot on the rug and tripped back into the couch. She fell on top of him, the towel falling away. He still remembered the soft feel of her full, heavy breasts against his chest, the thin cotton fabric of her bra hardly putting up much of a barrier between them. The way he’d wanted her in that moment in a way he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long, long time.
Then she’d leaned in and he’d thought for sure she was going to kiss him.
But instead, she’d collapsed on his chest and begun snoring. Loudly.
“Nothing happened,” he said now. “I promise. Just lots of you yelling. And then you passed out.”
“Really?” she asked, looking uncertain.
“Really,” he confirmed. “By the way, you snore.”
Laura chuckled a little.
“Oh...my head.” Laura cradled her head in her hands.
“Want a little hair of the dog?” He offered her an unopened beer.
“No. Please no.” Laura held up her hands together as if trying to ward off any more alcohol. “That sounds like a terrible breakfast.”
“How about I cook you a real one then? I don’t know about you, but bacon always cures what ails me.”
She looked up at him and managed a weak grin.
“Bacon it is,” he said and got to work on whipping up something for them both.
It had been a long time since Mark had felt this relaxed in his own kitchen. Hell, in his own skin, for that matter. His world had been turned upside down since his boy had died.
God, that awful day. He wanted to shake it from his memory. He glanced outside, past his patio and to the shell of his father’s boat. He hadn’t even thought about the boat in more than twelve hours! The boat was usually the last thing he thought about when he went to sleep and the first thing he thought about when he woke up. Of course, he’d been busy chasing Laura down the beach half the night. Still. He needed to stay focused. He’d need to get to work soon if he wanted to have any hope of finishing it before the race.
“So, the boat? Want to tell me about it?” Laura asked, catching him staring.
“Oh. Well, I want to restore it and race. Every year, there’s a big sailboat race on the island. And the prize is a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Whoa.” She looked suitably impressed. “That’s a lot of money.”
He nodded. “Yep, and when I win it, I’m going to go sail around the world. I’ve got a team who will help me finish the boat and help me race it. And after that, I’m just going out to sea. It’s the only place I feel...okay.”
Laura frowned. “Why is that? I mean, why on the boat?”
Mark swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain this. “I’ve always loved to sail. But now...it’s really because it was my son’s favorite place to be. Before he died.”
Laura’s face went pale. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” Mark said, waving his hand as if it was a dismissable foul. He was so tired of people apologizing all the time if he ever brought up Timothy. It wasn’t her fault he’d died. And frankly, talking about him meant no one would forget him. “I’m naming the boat Timothy...after him. He wasn’t quite three when he died.”
“Mark.” Laura clutched her chest as if her own heart were breaking. “That’s just so awful. What happened?”
“Accident,” he said, curt, cutting off the word before it even left his mouth. Accident. That’s what they called that horrible day Timothy walked into the ocean and never came back. “My ex-wife was watching him on the beach one morning when I was away at work. She fell asleep. Timothy wandered into the water and never came out.”
It was the other reason Mark wanted to be out on the sea. That’s where his boy was.
“She fell asleep?” Laura sounded shocked. “But that’s horrible. The boy in