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“Nope,” he said, taking a big drink. “Was cheated on, actually. My wife slept with my brother. They’re together now. They’re even...” He bit off the last of his sentence, as if regretting even bringing it up.
Laura felt the blood drain from her face. Now he’d hate her. He’d have to.
“Oh... I am so sorry. You must...must hate me. I’ve got to be the kind of person you hate the most. A cheater.”
“Why? You’re not my brother. Or my wife.” He shrugged one shoulder and took another long drag of beer. “They’re the ones who betrayed me.”
“But—”
“Look, your sins aren’t against everybody. I’m sure, Miss Noise Pollution, you had a very good reason for cheating.”
That was kind of him, she thought, not to plunk her in the category of horrible person automatically. She knew many people who would.
Laura thought about Dean’s silky words, about his gentle hands. “Not really. I mean, I thought...I guess I thought it was true love. I thought we were going to be together. But in the end, I’m not going to make excuses. I just wanted to, I guess.”
“I’m liking you more already,” Mark said, turning his head and grinning. “That’s more than my wife ever admitted.”
Still, Laura felt rotten. She felt as if she’d wronged him, too, somehow, just being in the camp of women who wore scarlet As on their chests.
“Come on. I don’t hate you. So what? You had an affair. I mean, I don’t think cheating is right, but at the same time, you’ve got a little bit of an edge to you. One I didn’t expect. I kind of like it.” Mark studied her in the dark and she felt a little unnerved by his gaze. Was he flirting with her? Surely not. Mr. Surly Boat Building Guy? “So did he leave his wife? What happened with Mr. Wrong?”
“No, he didn’t leave his wife. The opposite, actually.” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the sound of Dean’s harried voice on the phone, the almost casual way he’d delivered the earthshattering news. “He got her pregnant.”
Mark whistled low. “Well, that sucks.”
“Yeah. I just found out today.” She took a long swig of the bottle and found that she’d downed half of this one, too. At this rate, she was going to be drunk very soon. Somehow that thought didn’t seem to bother her in the least. On a day like today, she almost welcomed oblivion. Anything to make her mind stop looking backward.
“So he’s going to stay with his wife?” Mark leaned over his chair, moving closer to her. “Make a happy little family? Or at least happy until his wife figures out he’s been dipping his wick in other places.”
She 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?
Chapter Five (#u006139d2-6341-5940-af12-a354966c99ba)
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 heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Hello?” Mark called.
“Uh...yes?” Laura scrambled to pull the covers up to her chin. Granted, she was wearing a sturdy pair of cotton boy shorts and matching bra with more coverage than most bikinis, but still, she felt vulnerable and exposed.
“Morning, Drinking Beauty,” Mark teased. “I’ve got your clothes here. All laundered.” He backed into the room, not looking at the bed. Did he keep his head turned because he was being a gentleman?
He dropped them on the edge of the bed.
“Why did you wash my clothes?” she asked, stunned.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, back still turned.
“Remember what?”
Mark chuckled low. “Get dressed and come get coffee. Have I got a story to tell you.” He shut the bedroom door behind him, and Laura scrambled to get her clothes. What had she done? Had he...? Had they...? Did they have sex? Why couldn’t she remember?
She felt red flames of embarrassment lick her face. She wasn’t that kind of girl. But she had admitted to an affair. Had he thought she was easy? That she just jumped into bed with anybody? She didn’t, for the record.
Laura pulled on her shorts and her T-shirt, her head still throbbing and her tongue feeling like she’d spent the night sucking on sandpaper. She managed a quick glance in the mirror above his dresser and saw her hair in complete disarray. Her short dark bob stuck out in all directions and yet was completely flat on one side. Plus, a smudge of old mascara ringed her left eye. She looked awful.
Laura tried her best to tidy herself up, but she needed more than just water from the sink to really make a dent. She gave up easily, too hungover to do much about her frightening hair. The effort of putting on clothes exhausted her. Her stomach protested at every move, threatening to empty itself at every turn.
She opened the door, cautiously at first, and saw Mark, his back to her, making coffee in the kitchen. She shuffled out, unable to move faster, her head still in a vice.
“Hello?” Her voice came out as a croak, and Mark turned, a knowing grin on his face.
“Well, hello.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she worried then and there that they’d done it. And she had no memory. Not one single memory of them having sex. She tried to focus on what she did remember, but it all just felt like one white-hot headache.
“Uh, what, uh...happened last night?”
The coffee machine hummed, and the strong smell of some dark brew wafted through the air. Morning sunlight filtered in through the vertical blinds of his patio, striking her head like laser beams.
“You had a lot to drink.” Mark wore cargo shorts, flip-flops and a tight T-shirt over his muscled chest. He looked amazingly put together, not a hair out of place and freshly shaved. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his muscled forearms across his chest, dark hair slightly ruffled and that cocksure smile on his face. How could he roll out of bed looking so...sexy?
“I know that.” Laura’s head pounded. She pressed her hands against her temples, almost hoping to squeeze the headache out of her head. Also, oddly, her nose felt sore, she realized. “But...what else?”
“Well. You at one point yelped, ran down the beach and shouted at the ocean, ‘I don’t need you, Dean!’”
“Oh, I didn’t.” She suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
“You did. Then you started throwing handfuls of sand into the ocean.” Mark’s grin got bigger. He uncrossed his arms. “And cursing. A lot.”
A dark memory tried to wiggle its way to the forefront of her brain. Yes, that sounded actually right. The feel of the wet sand in her hands. The rush of anger. The release of her fury. Yep. That seemed about right.
“Then you face-planted.” Mark hit the counter for emphasis, showing her how she’d landed as his palm smacked on the granite.
Oh, no. Well, that explains the sore nose.
“Right in the sand.” Mark was having trouble not laughing at this point. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his dark eyes never left her. “I mean monumental face-plant. And you just lay there for a minute. Groaning.”
“I didn’t.” Could this get any worse?
“You did. I tried to help you up, but you told me you were just going to lie there. Let the sea take you somewhere. That maybe it was all better this way.”
Laura flinched. “That sounds dramatic.”
“You were very determined to lie there in the sand.”
“I’m...I’m so embarrassed.” She smacked her own forehead, but that just made her headache worse. She peeked at Mark between two fingers. “Then what?” She almost didn’t want to know.
“Then you tried swimming out to the ocean, even though you were on sand, so it was really less like a butterfly stroke and more like a belly crawl.” Mark did his best imitation with just his arms as he struggled against air. If she’d done that, she must’ve looked ridiculous. “You did make it to the water, though, and got yourself good and drenched.”
“My clothes... That’s why you washed them.”
Mark crossed his beefy arms once 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!’”
