Island Of Second Chances. Cara Lockwood

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СКАЧАТЬ more. He was still grinning. The coffee machine beeped, signaling its ready brew, and Mark poured two cups. He handed her one, which she reluctantly took. She didn’t know how much her uneasy stomach could stand, but the coffee smelled good so she decided to give it a try.

      “I didn’t think you had it in you, Miss Noise Pollution, but let me tell you, you created a whole lot of noise last night,” he said. “You better be glad I’m president of the condo board.”

      “Ugh. No.”

      “Yes. Lots of shouting and squealing. And cursing. Lots of cursing about Dean.” Mark seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.

      Laura slumped into a nearby armchair and he followed her, taking a seat kitty-corner from her on the couch. He set his coffee mug on the glass table by his knees.

      “And I haven’t even told you the best part,” he said.

      “Do I want to hear it?” she groaned. She held the coffee cup in both hands and took a sip. It tasted remarkably good. She took another.

      “When I finally dragged you out of the surf, I told you we needed to go back to my house and get you into something dry and put you to bed, but you just stripped right on out of your clothes, threw them at me and then went running down the beach shouting, ‘I don’t wanna go to bed!’”

      “Ugh,” Laura groaned. “Really?”

      Mark chuckled and reached into his own back pocket, pulling out his smartphone. “’Fraid so. I got proof.” He drew up a video he’d taken on the moonlit beach the night before. Sure enough, there she was, running away from him and shouting, arms flailing in the air and dark hair bouncing. Laura almost couldn’t watch it, yet she couldn’t look away, either.

      “I want to die right now.”

      “That’s also what you said about a half beat later, when you ran out of steam and threw up all over the sand.”

      “No!” Laura smacked her face again, forgetting about her bruised nose. “Ow.”

      Mark chuckled as he leaned forward, tapping her knee. “You, Miss Straitlaced, are one helluva interesting time when you drink.”

      “I’m not usually. But tequila does weird things to me,” she admitted. She brought the coffee cup to her mouth and sipped at the strong brew. “In fact, now that I think about it, tequila was what I was drinking the last time I got in trouble...in college.”

      “Well, whatever it was, you put on quite a show.” Mark grabbed his own mug from the coffee table and took a sip.

      “So you didn’t take my clothes off?”

      Mark chuckled, nearly spitting out his coffee. “No, no. You were more than happy to take them off yourself. I had to encourage you not to take off your bra. You really, really wanted to.”

      She shook her head.

      “I finally persuaded you to come home with me, but only after you ran around 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.

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