MARK WATCHED AMY raise her arms over her head, jumping up and down. He’d heard the song before, but he didn’t focus on the lyrics—only Amy—his gaze drifting to the rise and fall of her breasts. It was as if her beauty came alive when she was happy. And it went beyond pretty. Amy was hot and sexy in a way that made him want the things he’d spelled out for her.
Amy, her eyes shining bright, her smile wide and genuine, looked over at him. Raising one eyebrow, she held his gaze. Her words from earlier echoed in his mind. Amy wanted to pull him off the sidelines, but where did she want to take him? How far did she want to go?
Mark drained the rest of his beer. He should walk up to the house now and leave Amy to the impromptu party thrown in her honor. But he held back. The song ended, replaced by a classic dance number from their high school days. The ladies on the dance floor screamed with joy and flung themselves into another round of frenzied movement. Mark watched and waited. The way her hips moved—it was pure torture.
Four songs later, Amy rested her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.
“Guys, I’m afraid I have to call it a night. This was a great idea. Thank you. But we have a big day tomorrow.”
There was a chorus of good-nights. Eloise pulled Amy close for a hug as Gabe helped his brothers pack up.
“I’ll walk you up to the house,” Mark said.
Amy looped her arm through his, drawing him in against her side. He stilled, fighting the rising riptide of longing. If he wasn’t careful, the Benton brothers would take one look at him and know he wanted Amy in a way that had nothing to do with friendship.
Amy gave a tug, propelling him into motion. Side by side, they walked out of the tent and into the dark night. Jango fell in line at her other side as if he, too, had been waiting and watching Amy, unable to walk away.
Mark looked up at the house, focusing on their destination. She’d left the porch light on, and it glowed like a beacon, welcoming them home.
“Would you like a nightcap?” She released his arm at the front door to pull out her keys.
“What did you have in mind?” Mark asked, knowing it was a bad idea. He should say good-night and head straight for a cold shower.
She opened the door, holding it for Jango. “I have a bottle of whiskey that Eloise left here. But I was thinking of making hot cocoa.”
“With marshmallows?” Mark followed her inside, closing the door behind him and turning the bolt.
“Of course.” Amy led the way to the kitchen. “You can’t have hot cocoa without marshmallows.”
“I’m in.”
Mark rested his hip against the kitchen counter while she turned on the kettle and removed the ingredients from the cupboard.
Turning to him, she held up the box. “It’s a mix. Nothing fancy.”
“Works for me.” Right now, everything about her worked for him.
She smiled and went back to work, selecting mugs. The kettle whistled, and she filled the mugs, handing him a cup along with a bag of marshmallows. “Add as many as you want.”
Mark added several to his cup before settling into a chair at the kitchen table. Amy sat beside him, raising her mug to her lips.
“Perfect,” she said, staring at the melting marshmallows. “You know, in those first few months, I made a cup of cocoa every night. Then I’d sit here and email you.”
Mark took a long drink as he pictured her typing away, her eyes filled with the ever-present sorrow he’d seen during their Skype sessions back then. But slowly it had faded.
“You stopped sending memories,” he said. “About six months ago.”
“You noticed.” She lowered the mug, a line of hot chocolate on her upper lip.
His gaze locked on her mouth. He wanted to lean forward and kiss her lips clean.
She shrugged. “I guess I was done living in the past. What about you? Do you still write them down?”
“No.” He’d done so in the beginning only to help her. But the truth was he hated reliving his childhood. Thinking about all those days spent hiking with Darren, playing with the Benton family dogs or sitting down to dinner at their table, reminded him how much he’d wished for a family like theirs. Their lives and their happiness seemed so damn effortless. And the worst part was that Darren had understood. From the time they were six years old, right up until when they’d joined the military, each seeking his own path, Darren had tried to make Mark feel as if he belonged, as if he were part of the family.
Amy set her mug down and reached for his hand. “It was a good idea, Mark. It helped me find my way through it all.”
He stared at their joined hands. “Must have been, if you started a new list.”