by Mia Sosa
CHAPTER EIGHT
Karen shook her head as Mark led her toward the car. “A black sedan with windows? We’re going to the beach, Mark. To hang out. Everyone’s going to think we’re security detail for a VIP.”
As he held the car door open, Mark focused on Karen’s face, making sure his gaze didn’t land on her body. “Why won’t they assume we’re the VIPs?”
“Um. I’m wearing cut-off jeans and you’re wearing cargo shorts. I don’t look like a very important person.”
Now that she’d mentioned her shorts, he couldn’t help appreciating the way the frayed edges rested on her tanned thighs. Thighs he very easily pictured wrapped around his…Nope. He refused to go there.
“I beg to differ,” he said. “And these are board shorts, thank you very much. Anyway, I’ve hired the car service for the duration of the trip. Why would I let it go to waste?”
“Aren’t you worried about drawing attention to yourself?”
He peered at her behind his aviator sunglasses. “Should I be worried?”
“I have no idea. I don’t make a regular habit of hanging out with wealthy men.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Our driver has experience working security detail. I didn’t hire him for that purpose, but the guy is huge. I’m pretty sure he’d back me up if anything went down. Trust me on this. We’ll be fine.”
He lifted her chin and willed her to look at him. “Okay?” he asked.
His touch was more intimate than he’d intended, and more than she’d expected if her flushed cheeks were any guide.
“Okay,” she said without meeting his gaze, and then she scrambled into the car. Her cheeks burned.
After he’d settled in beside her, Mark signaled the driver, and the sedan eased into traffic.
“Okay. Fess up. How are you and Ethan spending his last evening of freedom?”
“I don’t think Ethan views marriage to Gracie as a loss of freedom. But to answer your question, nothing too exciting. We’re going to the casino at the Ritz.”
She didn’t hide the skepticism in her voice. “Really. That’s all?”
He lifted his eyebrows and lowered his sunglasses to stare at her. “Yes, that’s all. What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure what I expected, but the possibility of a guys’ night at the casino had never entered her mind. That sounds…civilized.”
“How fitting. We’re civilized men, after all.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”
“The sarcasm is noted, Ms. Ramirez. Anyway, I should ask you the same question. What are you, Gracie, and Mimi doing tonight?”
“Gracie has requested an in-room massage, in-room dining, and a movie marathon.”
“That sounds nice. I think I’ll ditch Ethan and join you.”
“That’s the plan at least, but Mimi’s been spending time with that Marine she met on the plane, so it might just be Gracie and me.”
“I don’t know Mimi well, but I highly doubt she’d miss your mini-bachelorette party. She strikes me as a loyal friend.”
“No, you’re right. She wouldn’t miss it. But I’ll admit that the idea of spending time alone with Gracie would be just as great. I mean, Mimi’s a blast, but it’s different when she’s around. She’s loud and likes to be the center of attention. My gut tells me Gracie’s going to be focused on a little introspection tonight. Mimi won’t necessarily be conducive to that.”
“Maybe she’ll surprise you.” He thought back to that uncomfortable moment between Mimi and Daniel at the pre-wedding dinner. “There’s a reason she and Gracie are so close, right? I doubt Mimi is always fun and games. No person can be like that one hundred percent of the time.”
She stared out the car window, her face suggesting she was lost in thought. “That’s a fair point.”
Minutes later, they arrived at the beach. With nowhere to park the car, Mark sent the driver on his way and promised to call him when they needed to be picked up again.
After he’d taken a few steps in the sand, Mark stopped and stared out at the clear and calm waters. “Wow. This is breathtaking.”
Beside him, Karen shielded her face against the sun and smiled. “Yeah. My earliest memories of visiting Puerto Rico begin here. Our family loved this beach. It’s where the locals go, far away from the touristy beaches in places like Condado.” She removed her sandals and held them in one hand. “Want to dip your feet in?”
He kicked off his sandals. “I do.”
They walked to the water’s edge. Karen stuck a toe in the water and sprang back. “Too cold.”
He whipped around and tried to splash her with his feet. “Nonsense. This is perfect.”
She returned to the water’s edge and tiptoed into the water. “Brrr. I don’t care what you say. It’s cold. But I’ll get used to it. C’mon. There’s a kiosk about a quarter mile down the beach. We can grab a snack there.”
They walked along the shore, their progress slowed by the wet sand and the occasional wave breaking at their feet. With one hand holding her hair back against the wind, Karen pointed out places she and her family had frequented during their summer vacations, and she divulged another secret: She’d learned to swim when she was nine, after a near-drowning incident at this very beach.
“Are you afraid of the water now?” he asked.
“A little. I’ll put my feet in the water, but I haven’t taken a swim in over a decade.”
“Maybe one day I’ll convince you to wade in with me.”
Without a hint of sarcasm in her voice, she rejected that idea out of hand. “Not going to happen.”
The kiosk came into view, the center of a social gathering the likes of which he’d never seen in a beach setting. Adults and children, some in swimwear and others casually dressed, ate and socialized in groups. To the right of the kiosk, employees of a makeshift produce market disassembled the display of fresh fruits and vegetables, carrying them away in large wooden crates. Dusky yellow lamplights turned on as the sun set in the distance. Several sets of multicolored bulbs, like the ones his dad had strung on their small Christmas tree each year, dotted the edges of the square. In one corner, a group of old men slammed down their dominoes with authority, chuckling as they tried to outdo one another’s performances. He could get used to this.
Karen trotted off to grab a few “snacks.” She returned to the table with a full smile. That smile eased the tension in his own body. His stomach didn’t get tied in knots at the sight of her. No, what she did to him was much worse. She soothed him. Made him calm. Calm enough to enjoy her company and relax in his own skin. A dangerous state given that he wanted to keep his distance.
They claimed a small cast-iron table near the kiosk. With a playful flourish, she handed him a piece of dough wrapped in a white paper napkin. “Here. Try an alcappuria.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a fritter.” She sank her teeth into her own alcapurria and dabbed her napkin across her chin. “Mmmm. Fried yummy goodness.”
He stared at her lips as he asked the next question. “What’s in it?”
“Ground beef. Green plantains. Yautia.”
“Yau-what?”
“Yautia. It’s a root vegetable.” She snapped her fingers, searching for the word in English. “Taro root.”
“The English translation means nothing to me.” He inspected it from several angles, as though he were examining a precious gem for flaws. “Huh. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but this looks incredibly phallic.”
She nudged his shoulder, a faint blush appearing on her sun-kissed cheeks. “C’mon, just eat it.”
He scrunched his nose and regarded the alcapurria with suspicion. “Now there’s an effective pitch for you. This thing that looks like your penis? Just eat it.”
“You’re stalling, Lansing.”
“You’re right. I am. Okay, here goes.” He bit into the fritter and raised his eyebrows. “It’s good,” he managed to say in between chews.
“Really good.”
“Told you. Now you have to wash it down with Malta.”
“Aaaaand that’s where you’ve lost me. I’ve tried Malta in the states. What’s the point of having a malted beverage without alcohol? None. Same reason I never drink decaf.”
She dropped her head in a show of good-natured exasperation. Then she straightened, her brown eyes twinkling. “Would you like me to order you a beer then?”
He took his last bite of the fritter, stood, and straightened his pants. “I’ll take care of it. Need anything?”
“Nope. I’m enjoying my Malta.”
The air clung to Mark’s skin as he strode to the counter. A guitarist perched on a wooden crate played a slow song, the lazy tune a perfect accompaniment to the island’s balmy weather. The server was busy attending to another patron, so Mark dropped onto a stool and watched the musician’s nimble fingers strum the guitar.
A light and desperately needed breeze shook the multicolored bulbs strung along the posts at the four corners of the small square. He fell back in time, the glint of the lights reminding him of the plastic Christmas tree his father had decorated each year. Not a single holiday season passed without Mark asking why they couldn’t have a live tree. And his father always gave the same answer: Because there was no point in investing in something that wasn’t going to last. The predictable exchange always ended with a look between them, one acknowledging that his father’s words referred not to the Christmas tree, but to an altogether different void in their lives.
A loud crash made him jump off the stool. To his right, the group of men who’d been playing dominoes shouted and surrounded a man who held his hands to his throat, a bluish tinge creeping up his puffy face. He’d upended his chair as he stood and gasped for air.
“Shit,” Mark murmured to himself, unsure what to do. “He’s choking.”
Karen ran to the man and shouted for everyone to give him space. The men scrambled backward and she took over. “Puedes hablar?” she asked the man. Based on Mark’s rudimentary command of the Spanish language, he guessed she’d asked the man whether he was able to speak.
The man shook his head and clutched at his throat. Karen stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his thick waist, centering her hands just below his belly button. Sweat trickled down his skin and panic set in his eyes. Karen pressed her hands against his abdomen, only the top of her head visible above the man’s shoulders. After several thrusts, the man coughed something up. Mark had never been so happy to see a piece of masticated meat. Gross? Certainly. But that mangled meat reminded him of the gravity of the situation: A few minutes more without oxygen and that man might have suffered brain damage.
Karen pointed a finger in the air and directed the man to follow it. After several questions and answers in Spanish, the man hugged Karen and repeated “Gracias” to her.
Did men swoon? Because that had been the hottest display of badassery he’d ever seen—and her command of the situation made his knees weak.
After chatting with a few of the bystanders, she hurried past him, her hands resting on her hips and her gait reminiscent of someone who’d just finished running a race. He trailed after her, sensing she needed time and space to regroup. She trudged through the sand with her head down. When she reached the water, she bent at the waist to catch her breath.
“What you did back there was amazing,” he said behind her.
She straightened and gulped in air. “Thanks.”
“I think you’ve found your calling.”
She lifted a brow. “I didn’t perform life-saving surgery on the man. I did the Heimlich. You don’t need a medical degree for that.”
“No, but you took control of the situation, and you comforted him after a bad scare. Not everyone has the ability to do those things. You did them as if they were second nature to you.”
“Yeah. I didn’t have time to think about the what-ifs. I was on autopilot.”
“I think we should celebrate your heroic efforts.”
She crinkled her nose in disbelief. “Oh, yeah. How?”
“By getting in the water.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “No.”
“C’mon. I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“Fine. Suit yourself.” He took off his shirt and dropped it on the sand. “Be right back.”
Manipulative? Sure it was. Would it work? He’d find out soon enough.
* * *
Wait. Hold the phone. He had a tattoo?
Karen’s eyes devoured the view of Mark’s back as he waded into the water. The tattoo sat in the center of his lower back, in the dip just above his impressive butt. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like an infinity symbol. Given Mark’s fascination with numbers, the choice didn’t surprise her. But the fact that he had one? That definitely surprised her.
His back muscles rippled as he swung his arms over his head and stretched. To make matters more torturous, he turned back and waved, a bright smile lighting up his face. After she returned his wave, he scooped a handful of water, drew it over his head, and released it onto his face and shoulders.
He was on a beach, in the water, his gorgeous body backlit by the sunset behind him. A freakin’ man-nymph. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, no matter how squeamish the sea made her. So she tamped down her nervousness and headed straight to him. And if she needed his shirtless body for support, he’d understand, right?
She waded in until the water covered her ankles. Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
Mark returned to shore and held out his hand. “Come on. You’re doing great. And we won’t go very far.”
“Oh, I know we won’t be going very far. And besides, unlike you, I didn’t come prepared for an evening swim.”
He splashed her legs. “You’ll have to get your thighs wet at least.”
“I’m dealing with long-repressed memories of a near-drowning, and this is the best you can come up with?”
Bent at the waist, he stopped splashing her and shook the water off his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He held out his arms. “Here. Hold on to me. I’ve got you.”
Teeth chattering, she burrowed into his chest. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but it’s so cold.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “You doing okay?”
She looked up at him then. “I’m fine.” And that was true. “Thanks for getting me in the water.”
“You’re welcome. To be honest, I don’t think there’s much you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she murmured against him.
Her lips grazed his chest, and he stopped rubbing her arms. She affected him. That much she knew. He affected her, too. But she couldn’t afford to be distracted by him, so she didn’t acknowledge the accidental touch and enjoyed the view of the ocean instead. The waves rose and fell in an even tempo that lulled her into a state of calm.
He loosened his hold on her. “Still okay?” he asked softly.
She looked up and stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the way the water had spiked his thick eyelashes. “Yes.”
His lips parted. Perhaps in silent invitation. She imagined her lips pressed against his and gathered the courage to ignore the consequences of what she was contemplating. The sand beneath her feet shifted as she rose on her toes. Just a kiss. That’s all she needed or wanted. But then she saw it: a wave that likely reached Mark’s shoulders, which meant it would certainly surpass hers. Karen’s heart raced, and her stomach knotted in protest. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. She turned and hightailed her ass out of the water, a graceless mess of flailing arms and legs.
She’d run so fast she could hardly catch her breath. Panting, she turned just in time to watch Mark emerge from the water. The wave had drenched him, but he didn’t seem put out by that fact.
He reached her in seconds. “Take a deep breath, Karen. You’re safe.”
She was safe, but she was
n’t well. She gulped in air, her frayed nerves refusing to settle down. Her stomach roiled as she tried to even out her breathing. It was no use, though. Unable to contain her nausea any longer, she bent at the waist and vomited at his feet.
Karen squeezed her eyes shut. I wish I were home. I wish I were home. If clicking her feet would have done any good, she’d have done that, too. Great. Just great. Cock-blocked by a freaking wave. But it was just as well. She had no business tempting herself with the likes of Mark Lansing.
CHAPTER NINE
For a solid ten minutes, Karen had considered wearing sunglasses to the wedding. She needed something—anything—to help her hide from the embarrassment of yesterday’s debacle. Mark had been a good sport about it, of course, but the odds of her being able to look him in the eye after she’d upchucked next to his Italian leather sandals looked bleak. Which made his arrival at the wedding venue bittersweet.
The man wore a suit well. He’d opted not to wear a tie, choosing instead to leave the top two buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. Even from here, she could see the outline of his thighs each time he took a step. And when he settled his frame next to Ethan on the lawn, he placed his hands in his pockets, causing the fabric of his pants to stretch across his crotch. Definitely a mountain. No molehill there.
She knew now that despite his impeccably groomed exterior, Mark could be playful, too. She imagined he’d be the kind of man who’d screw you against a wall with his intense eyes boring into yours and then joke with you about how you almost broke him the minute he pulled out. And this was not the most appropriate place for her to picture all that in her head. Damn. Just. Damn. Luckily, a quick glance at Abuela Marta rid her of her naughty thoughts.
Karen took her position at the edge of the gazebo. The wedding planners had staked out a grassy area several hundred feet away from the visitors’ entrance to Castillo de San Felipe del Morro, or El Morro as it was referred to by the islanders. The vast lawn generally provided no shade, but Gracie had arranged for the ceremony site to be covered by cream-colored canopies with ivy entwined around their posts.
