Read Online Love's Last Chance by Jean C. Joachim - Free Book Online Page A

talk about it. Then, as quickly as he
grabbed her, he released her.
    Color reddened his cheeks. God, he’s
gorgeous. He trained his gaze to the floor, and she took the
opportunity to study him. His dark brown, curly hair was just the
right length. Her fingers itched to comb through it. With his
sunglasses off, his bittersweet chocolate eyes glistened with
mischief and something else. Affection, maybe? Is he glad to see
me?
    “Sorry,” he mumbled.
    She punched him lightly. “Hey, don’t
apologize for a hug. Never apologize for a hug.” He looked up, and
his grin dazzled her.
    “How’s the water?” she asked, changing the
subject.
    “Finally warming up. It’s been colder than
hell for the past month.”
    “Let’s go.” She put her empty bottle down on
the bar.
    “Got your suit on?” He chugged the little
bit remaining in his.
    “Would it matter?” She cocked an eyebrow at
him.
    “Not to me, but we won’t be alone this
time.” Then she saw it, plain as day. Raw desire glowed in his
eyes, making her shiver.
    “I’ll only be a minute.” Dorrie retreated to
the comfort of her room and stripped off her sundress. She slipped
the emerald green bikini up over her thighs and fastened the bra.
Suddenly, what seemed a sexy suit in the store, now seemed far too
revealing in front of Johnny. She swallowed and nabbed her
sky-blue, terry cover-up, throwing it over her shoulders as she
emerged.
    A low whistle drew her eye to Johnny,
leaning against the bar, giving her a serious once over.
    “What’s under there? Anything?” His eyebrows
rose, and his lips spread into a salacious grin.
    “A bathing suit. What did you think?” She
slipped her feet into flip-flops.
    “That’s it, burst my bubble.” He opened a
cupboard and took out two towels. He tossed one to her. She laughed
as she headed out the door with him right behind.
    This wooden slat walkway was wider than the
skinny one bayside. She and Johnny walked side-by-side. Scrub pines
flourished, hugging the property lines of the small houses,
providing shade for small animals and anchoring the sandy soil.
    Dorrie and Johnny walked the two blocks to
the beach, the only sound the slap, slap, slap of her flip-flops.
They fell right into an easy silence, as if five years had not
passed. Johnny went up the steep wooden steps first then extended
his hand to her. She slipped her hand into his warm, dry one,
allowing him to steady her ascent.
    “Still haven’t built a railing here?” she
commented.
    “How many times did Drake fall down these
stairs, drunk?”
    “Hundreds, I think,” she laughed.
    He let go when they reached the dunes. Each
year the dunes eroded some, becoming smaller. Dorrie remembered
them being big enough to shelter Johnny and her lying down for a
make-out session at sunset. Not anymore. You couldn’t hide a
skinny cat behind these dunes.
    “Fire Island shrinks when we have a bad
storm. Almost disappears after a hurricane.”
    “I noticed. The dunes aren’t even dunes
anymore. Just small hills.”
    “Yeah. Too small to be any good,” he
snickered, casting a quick glance her way.
    Dorrie smiled in spite of herself.
    “Last one in’s a rotten egg,” he called, as
he slipped out of his moccasins and ripped his T-shirt over his
head, dropping it and the towel on the sand.
    Dorrie made a face and tugged at her
cover-up. Damn thing! She finally got it off and raced to
the water’s edge. Johnny had a big head start and with his long
legs, she had no way to catch up. The waves were cresting close to
shore, but that didn’t stop him. He ran right in and dove headlong
into one.
    The water curled in a stunning combination
of white and dark aqua, a little more green than blue. It looked
cold, but she was burning up from the unrelenting, August sun and
the scrutiny of John Flanagan. Dorrie followed him in, taking a big
breath and plunging head first into the surf. When she surfaced,
Johnny was treading water just beyond where the waves break.