Question Mark Read Free Page B

one of our beach view bungalows.” She had Mark sign a few papers and then pulled together a packet of information, his room card, and a small map and slid them across the desk. “You’ll find the hours for recreational activities inside as well as the information you need to reserve a spot on any catamaran cruises or helicopter tours. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact us here at the desk. Please enjoy your stay.”
    Mark thanked her and grabbed his shoulder bag. Helicopter Tours? Seriously? He’d barf before they left the tarmac. The bellman was leading him out through a set of side doors and he was busy looking over the map so he didn’t notice the group of guests headed back inside. One second he was walking, and the next he was slamming into a very firm chest and bouncing backwards like a Warner Brothers animation.
    Scrambling to keep his footing, his arms flailed, but he had no need to worry. Hands with a strong grip caught him around the upper arms and steadied him.
    “Shit! I mean—excuse me—sorry! Didn’t mean to swear in your face,” a deep voice belted. “You alright? I wasn’t paying attention.”
    “No problem, man, it’s my—” Mark began but then he looked up and up and up a little more and found a pair of warm hazel eyes staring back down at him with concern. The eyes were framed by sun-bleached hair that was longer and fell over his brow in that rocker sort of way Mark secretly loved but didn’t like to admit—it seemed so edgy .
    Professional surfer, Mark thought. His libido voted a yes, yes, yes . This man looked as though he stepped off an ad for Ron Jon’s surf shop, complete with the board shorts, tank-top and tan. His lean arms were tatted from wrist to shoulder, the multi-colored designs disappearing beneath the tank and reappearing on his neck. His legs below the shorts were also inked up. Mark could go home a happy man today what with the combination of Whitlow and this dude. Hollywood heartthrob and tatted tough guy. Sigh .
    He cleared his throat and glanced between the Ron Jon model and his friends. “Uh…I was going to say that it was actually my fault. I was, you know, looking at the map.” Mark lifted the offending piece of paper slowly and shrugged. “I was in the zone.”
    Ew. He just said “in the zone.” Gay .
    Mr. Hazel Eyes leaned down so only Mark could hear and murmured, “If you’re that focused looking over a map, I’d love to see the way you focus on other things.” Then he patted him on the shoulder and moved away. “See you around.”
    Mark stared for a long moment, frozen in place. It took the bellman clearing his throat discreetly to snap him out of it. Flirting! The guy might be tall—six five at least—and lean, but he was young , and there he was flirting with a thirty-three year old. Mark knew he couldn’t handle that much concentrated oomph. He was no Stella getting her groove back.
    Two intense guys down… Maybe there was a mild-mannered newsman à la Brian Williams somewhere nearby. That seemed much closer to Mark’s speed.
    When he finally got to his bungalow, he tipped the bellman and wandered around, staring in wonder at his surroundings and the room’s amenities. Unbelievable. He had his own little swimming platform to hop off of right into the clear blue waters of Tahiti. He had what amounted to a luxury bathroom with a spa tub and shower, and there were panels through the floor there and in the living room so he could see right down into the water.
     He fell back onto his bed with a sigh that began in his toes and traveled all the way up his body. Free from the troubles on the job. Far from a man who had moved on to someone else. No expectations. And a dock he could jump right off of.
    With a huge grin, he opened his suitcase and dug out his board shorts. In less than thirty seconds he was changed and launching himself off of the dock with a gleeful yell that, of course, in retrospect was totally lame and