My jaw tightens. She's a virgin. I stalk toward her, wanting to do so much more. "We didn't fuck if that's what you're wondering. We didn't even kiss."
"No?" she asks, a question in her eyes that bruises my ego. She assumes I took advantage of her — what does that say about me? "No, Marley. We didn't. I'm a good guy, remember?"
Her eyes search mine, a flash of a memory. "And I'm a good girl," she says slowly. She licks her lips, calming down.
"Here," I say, handing her the half-filled bottle of water, “drink this."
"Thank you," she says, wrapping her hand around her throat. "I'm parched and starving."
"Then let's find ourselves some breakfast," I say.
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "No, you have to go. You have to…"
"What?" I ask, grinning. "You don't want to show up at breakfast with me by your side?"
“I didn't say that. I meant…" She looks down at herself. "I have to get dressed."
I smile. "I've already seen you undress."
"That's beside the point," Marley says. Her cheeks are pink and damn, it's cute.
"What's the point exactly, then?" I ask.
"I just think it would be best if you go to your yurt and I stay in mine and we get dressed and meet up later, so no one thinks anything."
"What don't you want them to think?" I press, knowing full well what she's thinking.
"I don't want people to think we hooked up when we didn't."
"All right," I say, realizing that her innocence is no act. She does have a reputation and she intends on keeping it. Hell, I can understand that much. My reputation for being a hard ass kept me from making any good decisions for a long ass time.
"Look," I tell her, "the last thing I want is for you to be upset with me, so I'll go clean up, you get yourself in some clean panties and I'll save you a seat next to me at breakfast."
She closes her eyes, presses a finger to her temple. "Oh my God, why are you being so nice to me?"
"Because, Marley Grove," I say with a grin, "last night I slept like a damn baby."
Her eyes open. "We really just slept together, right? We didn't do anything else?"
I shake my head. I know if I told her that she was whimpering my name in her sleep, if I let her know that I saw when she ran her fingers between her thighs, it would mortify her.
I have no intention of making her uncomfortable, not when I have so many plans of making her feel real damn good.
Marley
The entire time we're sitting at the post-wedding breakfast, I feel his eyes on me.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. I do. It feels intoxicating, incredible. My body is tingling in ways it never has before. He slept in my bed last night and when I woke, I was in complete shock. I don't remember anything after dancing with him, so maybe it was more than a few glasses of champagne and a few shots. Maybe I lost count, but he says he was a gentleman, and I woke up in my bra and panties and he had on his pants, which makes me think nothing happened.
He says he's a good guy, and I want to believe him, but I have absolutely no reason to. Everyone has warned me against him. I know Bellamy has good reason not to trust him and the way Wavy comments on him, not to mention Jemma, I know the three women sitting at this wedding breakfast are only being polite when they don't scowl at him.
Which makes me wonder why exactly I'm drawn to him, this guy with such a terrible reputation, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and apparently my heart wants him.
I pick up a piece of bacon, taking a crispy bite, washing it down with a sip of my mimosa, smiling at everyone around me. Pretending Maker isn't staring from the seat beside me.
Beam and Bellamy have planned a honeymoon. They're leaving tomorrow for Mexico. Hearing them laugh now, talking about being away for two weeks, makes my heart fill with happiness. They look so in love. So ridiculously right for one another. Both of them scarred from a lifetime of hurt. And as I look around the table, I realize everyone sitting here has come from a troubled past.
It's only me who's had an idyllic childhood, who has had an easy life in general, but instead of feeling lucky, I feel guilty. Why me? Why not them?
"You okay?" Maker asks, leaning in close as the other couples at the table get up, planning their mornings, discussing their routes home. Wavy and Walker have a sea plane, and so do Jameson and Jemma. I was hoping to radio in a boat from a charter service. Riverside is a three-hour journey from this island.
"I'm all right," I tell Maker, "I just, I need to figure out a ride home. I need to make a call."
"You ready to leave so soon?” he asks.
I shrug. "It was a great wedding, I admit, but honestly, I'm still getting to know everyone here and I don't want to outstay my welcome. I know everyone else has a lot more shared history than I do.”
Maker nods slowly. "I can take you home."
"Really?” I ask. "You don't have to."
"I have a boat. I was planning on leaving this afternoon. Figured I'd still get back to Riverside before night."
“You're going to Riverside?" I ask, not knowing where he lives exactly.
"I’m going there if it means I can take you home,” he says with a crooked smile. "Look, I'm not used to doing this."
"To doing what?” I ask. We're alone at the table now. Everyone else is off for the day.
"Not used to asking a woman out."
I smile. "Are you asking
