Page 20 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Mark ignored the impulse to look at his phone. Sam hadn’t answered one call the whole week or responded to one of Mark’s texts.

And I sent him some great jokes too.

By Thursday, Mark had given up trying to reach him. He couldn’t escape the feeling something was wrong, but there was damn all he could do about it.

If he needs me, he knows where I am.

That didn’t stop him worrying. After all these weeks of pub nights, bowling, and FaceTime calls, seven days of radio silence sent an uneasy ripple through him.

And here he was, less than ten minutes away from the end of his day, facing a Saturday night—and no Sam.

“God, I need a drink,” he muttered as he tidied up the mobile units containing hair curlers and assorted brushes. The salon was looking tidy once more, ready for Monday morning.

“I think you might have company for that drink,” Sonia murmured next to him. Mark gave her a puzzled glance, and she nudged him with her elbow. “Take a look out the window.”

He straightened and looked toward the window—and froze. Sam was waiting across the street, leaning against the whitewashed wall, his eyes trained on the salon.

Mark couldn’t help his reaction. Warmth radiated through him and he was suddenly conscious of his racing heartbeat. Then he looked more closely, squinting in the bright sunlight.

What the hell?

Sam had a blackened right eye. Except it wasn’t black and blue, more green and yellow.

“Has he been in a fight?” Sonia had obviously noticed, too.

“If he has, he didn’t say.”

And that would be a little difficult, don’t you think, seeing as he hasn’t been in touch?

Mark gave a cursory glance at the wall clock. Five minutes to go. He hurried into the little staff room to collect his jacket, his thoughts colliding.

What happened? Is that why he hasn’t been in touch?

If he’d known, Mark would have been over to Sam’s place—wherever that was—in a shot with an ice pack, alcohol…

And healing kisses?

Those too, except that wasn’t allowed.

Friends don’t kiss friends’ bruises away, remember?

The clock was ticking way too slowly, and Mark’s gaze was drawn continually to the tall, lean figure dressed in a plain sky-blue shirt and tight, dark blue jeans.

“Seeing as you seem to have a friend waiting for you, and you’ve finished your work, you can leave, Mark.”

Mark jerked his head back. Marie stood behind him, watching the scene.

OMG she’s smiling.

That was it. The Earth was about to end, and no one had told him.

“Really?” He cursed himself silently for his big fat mouth. Fortunately for him, Marie appeared to be in a good mood.

“Yes, off you go. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.”

Mark grinned impulsively. “Thanks, Marie.” To his amazement she returned his grin. Mark dashed over to Sonia and gave her a quick impulsive peck on the cheek before diving out the door.

Even from across the street, he saw Sam’s eyes light up as he walked over to Mark, smiling widely. Mark knew he wore a sappy grin, but he didn’t care.

“I wondered if you might like to go for a drink.” Sam’s brow furrowed. “And I’m buying. That’s the least I can do after not being in touch all week.”

Mark snorted. “You are a mind reader. I swear, one minute I’m thinking how much I need a drink and the next? I look up to see you standing there.” He grinned. “Lead on.”

His questions would wait.

They walked along the street and turned the corner onto Union Street.

Wetherspoons stood on the left-hand side of the road, and already the seats in the window area were filling up.

As they crossed over, Mark gave Sam a sideways glance.

“So… you gonna tell me what happened?” He gestured toward Sam’s eye.

Sam shrugged. “This happened a week ago, so I’ve almost forgotten about it.

I got up at some ungodly hour to go to the bathroom and walked into the door.

” He lifted his hand to touch the area around his eye gingerly.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact, it’ll probably be gone within a few days.

” He snickered. “Next time, I’ll put the light on. ”

Why aren’t you looking me in the eye, Sam?

Then he did, and to Mark’s relief, he smirked. “Anyway, don’t you think it makes me look… butch?”

Mark guffawed. “That wasn’t the first word that came to mind, I must admit.” They entered the pub and Sam headed straight for the bar.

Mark had to smile. After all these weeks, he knew Mark’s drinking habits.

Mark found the corner booth empty and quickly slid across the bench seat, claiming it.

This had become their corner. Sam appeared not long after, clutching two pints of Wight Gold.

Mark took several long swallows, trying not to gaze at Sam’s throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

God, he has a lovely neck.

Mark shook himself. Enough of the torture. That eye looked as though it had been sore. “Where’s Rebecca tonight? And why has she let you off the leash?”

As soon as the words escaped his lips, Mark cursed himself.

You keep doing this.

Sam tensed immediately. “She’s out with some of her girlfriends,” he said, his voice tight.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Mark lowered his voice. “That was wrong of me.” To his dismay, his apology did nothing to improve the situation. Sam seemed ill at ease all of a sudden. Mark concentrated on his pint, draining it quickly. Sam said nothing but stared sullenly at his glass.

Mark leaned closer. “I mean it, Sam. Please, forgive me.” He bit back a sigh of relief as Sam finally relaxed a little, giving a brisk nod of his head before downing his pint. “Look, do you want to go for a walk on the beach? It’s a lovely evening.”

Sam pursed his lips, as if considering his suggestion. September was still clinging valiantly onto the coattails of summer: the last few days had been warm, the evenings balmy.

“Sure,” Sam said at last. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the pub and began to walk down Union Street, which fell away steeply as it reached the pier. Automatically Mark headed toward East beach which was at the foot of his road.

The early evening sun was still warm on his shoulders.

Beside him, Sam walked in silence, his gaze focused on the ground.

As they passed the car park the two men went onto the beach, took off their trainers and carried them, the sand warm under foot as they strolled.

The sunlight sparkled on the water, and Mark watched the catamaran as it made its way deftly across the Solent, heading for Portsmouth.

He fought the urge to reach for Sam’s hand, but let himself relax, simply enjoying Sam’s presence beside him.

Just let me enjoy this a little longer , he pleaded with whoever was listening.

“This is nice,” Sam murmured contentedly. “It feels as if we’re in a world of our own here.”

Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest. My thoughts exactly .

He stopped walking and looked around. The wide beach was deserted, the tide already on its way out.

Mark dropped his trainers onto the sand and turned to Sam, his heart pounding.

Sam was staring at him, that familiar puzzled crease between his eyes.

The sunlight glinted on his hair, and the evening light lit up his face.

And suddenly Mark knew exactly what he wanted.

His heart pounding, he leaned in close and cupped Sam’s cheeks with both hands.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

Sam’s eyes widened, his breathing quickening. “For what?” He licked his lower lip nervously.

Mark stared at the beautiful face which was always in his thoughts.

“For this.”

Mark slid his hand slid around to grab Sam’s nape as he brought their faces together—and kissed him.

Sam froze, his trainers falling from his hands onto the soft sand.

Then he let out a soft whimper as he relaxed into the kiss, his tongue sliding deep to explore Mark’s mouth hungrily.

Mark claimed his mouth, sucking at Sam’s tongue, losing himself in the increasingly sensuous kiss.

He moved his hand down Sam’s back, skating along his spine, coming to rest just above the swell of his buttocks encased in those tight jeans, moulded around him like a second skin.

Sam groaned into the kiss, the sound full of urgent need as he clutched at Mark’s back. Mark pulled Sam against him, rocking into him, all too aware of Sam’s erection against his hip, his own rigid shaft pressing against the zipper of his jeans.

“God, I want you,” Mark moaned, reaching with both hands to cup Sam’s arse, pulling him tight against him.

When Sam froze, Mark’s heart gave a stutter.

He pushed Mark away with a low cry, his eyes full of misery.

“Why are you doing this? And why am I letting you? God, we must be mad.” Sam ran his fingers crazily through his hair. Sam’s eyes locked on him, and the sight took Mark’s breath away.

So much pain…

Sam took a step back. “We can’t do this, Mark.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Mark’s stomach roiled as Sam reached down and grabbed his trainers. “Sam?” Breathing was such a fucking chore . Sam backed even further away from him, trembling. “Please, Sam, don’t go.” His heart hammered. “I don’t want you to go. Come home with me. Please.”

Sam swallowed. “If you only knew how much I want to do that.”

And yet there was a chasm between them, an ever-widening strip of sand.

The haunted expression in Sam’s eyes threatened to unravel Mark.

“I said I’m sorry,” Mark blurted.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Mark wanted to say something, anything , that would turn back the clock and save their evening, but fear was thick in his throat. He could only watch in horror as Sam turned and fled, running to the road and heading toward the pier.

At last Mark found his voice.

“SAM !”

Sam didn’t turn back. Not once. Mark watched as Sam reached the corner of Union Street and turned.

“Sam.” The whisper slid out of him. “What the fuck have I done?”

He stood there on the sand, his limbs shaking, his gaze never leaving the corner where Sam had disappeared from view, as if keeping his eyes fixed on that spot would somehow bring Sam back.

It was a long time before he felt the inclination to move.