Chapter 2
HANNAH
My lips are buzzing, and my heart is doing something irregular against my ribs.
What the hell did I just do? Who is this woman who took over my body?
I don't grab strangers and kiss them on beaches. Impulsive makeout sessions with someone I essentially just met is something I never do. It's just not me.
"That was a hell of a thank you," Logan says, and his voice is rougher than it was before. That slow grin spreads across his face, but he's affected too—his breathing, the way his fingers dig into my waist.
God, he's so hot, and it didn't help matters that he was kind enough to help me from a douche who wouldn't have accepted 'no' for an answer. That guy paled beside Logan.
He's a full foot taller than me, with long-ish dark hair that kisses the tips of his ears. Even in nothing but shorts and a plain white tee, his body is the stuff of my fantasies—broad shoulders that taper to a small waist, muscled arms, and big hands. Veiny hands.
And then his eyes. Hazel brown while we were at his bar, but now, with the sunlight, it looks almost like molten gold.
"Something you should know about me, Logan. I'm thorough. When I commit to something, I really commit."
"Good to know." His thumb brushes across my hip bone where my top has ridden up, and heat shoots straight down my spine.
My core clenches because yes, Logan is the hottest guy I've ever seen, but he also kisses really, really well.
I almost forgot we're in a public place with lots of his staff milling about.
"Speaking of commitment—you still thinking about chickening out of the party tonight? "
Right. The surf party. I'd been noncommittal earlier because I'm super awkward at parties.
But I'm standing here with his hands on me and beach air in my lungs, and for the first time in months, I feel something other than the crushing weight of work, work, and more work.
It's probably the island or Logan himself, but I haven't breathed this clearly for so long. What the hell, I've been so out of character, I might as well go all in.
"I'll be there." No playing coy here. I want to see him again, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
"Perfect." He flashes his white teeth. "That polka dot bikini should fit right in with the theme."
Heat climbs up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. I'm not the most confident person, especially in a bikini, but for some odd reason, Logan makes me feel, well, sexy. Almost. "I'll try not to disappoint."
"Impossible." His gaze zeroes in on my mouth as he grazes a knuckle along my jaw. My breath catches, and I don't know if he does this to every tourist that grabs his attention, but God, he is so good at seduction.
I can't win at this game, not that I even want to.
We separate reluctantly, him heading back toward the bar, me walking toward my rental. Even as the distance between us grows, my lips still tingle with the memory of his kiss.
He knows how to kiss. I mean, I need to change panties because I just know mine are soaked. He hasn't even touched me like THAT yet.
What is happening to me? I came here to decompress.
To read books and drink margaritas and do absolutely nothing productive for seven straight days.
I've been on this island for less than twenty-four hours, and I've already kissed a stranger.
Some might say I molested a stranger, but it didn't feel like that to me. I don't think it did for Logan either.
I think about my cubicle back home. The beige walls. The way the fluorescent lights make everything look slightly green and hopeless and dying. I mean, it chipped at my soul every minute I spent there.
I booked this trip after calling in sick and realizing I'd rather not feel well than go to work. I'm still twenty-eight, and yet I looked in the mirror and saw someone close to sixty. I felt sixty.
In less than twenty-four hours, I've kissed a stranger who made my knees go weak. I close my eyes and high-five myself. Choosing this break was a gamble. Wish I could say I ran the numbers. Played the odds. But that would be a lie.
As for the job itself, I genuinely like being an accountant.
I enjoy numbers because numbers don't lie.
But the work environment, the bosses, the cutthroat colleagues—I hate those.
I always felt like if I dropped dead one day from exhaustion, they would just move my body to the side and find someone else to take my spot.
And now I'm walking down a beach with the ghost of Logan's kiss and my heart hammering against my ribs.
I feel more alive than I have in months. Or years. It's like waking up one day and seeing the sun shine for the first time.
It's a fling; I know that.
One week.
No strings attached, no expectations beyond right now. I'm allowed to have fun. I'm supposed to have fun. That's the whole point of a vacation, right?
So that's decided then.
I'm going to that party.
Getting ready takes longer than it should, mostly because I keep catching myself grinning at my reflection like an idiot.
The polka-dot bikini is perfect—high-waisted bottoms and a halter top that actually supports everything it needs to support.
I packed it on impulse because it reminded me of old movie stars, and now it's like I planned this whole thing.
Is this what they mean when they say the universe is sending you a message?
I look good, and I know it. The bikini hugs my curves in all the right places, and my skin already has the faintest hint of color from this afternoon. Just shy of looking like a lobster, but whatever. I twist half my hair up into a messy bun and call it retro.
There's a beat of nervous indecision as I grab my bag and head for the door. I'm going to a party alone where I know exactly one person and his best friend. This is either brave or pathetic, and I'm not sure which.
But Logan will be there. That's enough.
Shore Thing is transformed when I arrive. The name still makes me laugh, and it's partly why I went there earlier. I love bad puns. And after meeting Logan, even briefly, I have to say I reckon it's on-brand for him.
String lights crisscross overhead, casting everything in warm golden light. The music is pure 1960s: surf rock mixed with crackly oldies that make you want to dance. My grandpa's fave songs to play on weekends.
People are scattered across the patio in vintage swimwear and high-waisted everything, drinks in hand, laughing over the sound of waves.
The bar is packed and alive, and I scan the crowd looking for Logan's dark hair and broad shoulders.
I don't see him right away, and part of me is terrified I might spot him with someone else, because I'm pretty sure I'm not the first tourist to find him hot.
"You must be Hannah."
I turn toward the voice and find the bartender from earlier—Eli. Up close, he's even more striking. Green eyes, dark blonde hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed, and those full sleeve tattoos.
"And you're Eli. The one who watched Logan make a fool of himself earlier."
"Guilty." He slides a towel over his shoulder and leans against the bar. "Though to be fair, Logan doesn't make it a habit of making a fool of himself. That's why it was fun to watch. Plus, you enjoyed watching him too."
Heat inches up my neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Right. And I'm sure that kiss on the beach was just a friendly gesture."
"You saw that?"
"Half the island saw that. The only other woman Logan is often seen with is Delilah, and that's because she stocks his favorite beer." Eli's grin is infectious. "What can I get you? It's on the house."
"Shirley Temple for now, and when you say on the house, is Logan paying for that?"
"Yep." Eli reaches for the grenadine and starts building the drink. "He'd have my head if he found out I let you pay."
"But that's bad for business."
"He won't go bankrupt, I promise you." Eli slides the drink across the bar, complete with a cherry and everything. "So, accountant, right? Logan mentioned it."
"Among other things." I take a sip, and it's perfect—not too sweet, not too tart. "What else did Logan mention?"
"That you're funny, beautiful, and leaving in a week." Eli's expression shifts slightly, more serious but still warm. "Two out of three ain't bad odds for my boy."
"He said that?"
"Not in those words, no, but he kept stammering when I asked about you, and when I said you were beautiful, he stared daggers at me until I was sure he would slam me to the floor."
"No way."
"Yes way. But yeah, the only actual words he said were accountant and leaving in a week."
There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more carefully. He's vetting me, I realize, but not in a hostile way. I can't exactly blame him. He's Logan's best friend, and maybe he just wants to make sure I'm not going to break his heart and disappear into the sunset.
The thing is, I probably am going to disappear into the sunset. That's what happens when your vacation ends. But I don't think Logan is expecting anything different. He knows the deal upfront.
"He seems like he can handle himself."
"Oh, he can. Doesn't mean I don't worry." Eli wipes down a glass, still watching me. "He's a good guy. Probably the best guy I know, actually. Just ... don't make him fall in love with you unless you plan on sticking around."
"I think you're giving me too much credit. Way too much."
"Am I?" Eli raises an eyebrow. "Because the way he was looking at you earlier?
The way he's been pacing around this bar for the last hour, waiting for you to show up?
I've never seen Logan nervous about anything in his life, and he once had a presentation in front of the dean and our school president. "
This is dangerous territory. I was already resigned to the fact that I might hook up with him, but staying here at the island? I don't think so. I'm a city girl, through and through.
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Probably changing out of his work clothes. He'll be down in" —Eli's eyes shift to something behind me, and his grin turns wicked— "Speak of the devil."