Chapter 3
LOGAN
Iwake up with sand in places sand shouldn't be and the taste of Hannah still on my tongue.
My cock stirs under the sheets, already half-hard just thinking about her pussy.
Fuck.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, but even the cold water can't wash away the vivid replay of last night. I need coffee and distance from my own thoughts before I do something stupid like show up at her rental with flowers and a marriage proposal.
Twenty minutes later, I'm walking into Shore Thing, keys jangling, expecting the usual morning quiet. Instead, Eli's already behind the bar, grinning and polishing glasses.
"Well, well, well." He doesn't even look up from the glass. "If it isn't Romeo himself."
"Morning to you, too."
"Oh, it's definitely a good morning. You're practically glowing, man."
I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, ignoring him completely. "Don't you have inventory to do?"
"Already done. Had to get here early since somebody was too busy getting laid to help with closing last night." He leans against the bar. "Speaking of which, how was the beach? Sandy? Uncomfortable? Worth the inevitable rash you're going to get in uncomfortable places?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't. That's why you've got that post-orgasm swagger, and you keep touching your mouth as if you can still taste her."
I wasn't touching my mouth. Was I touching my mouth?
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? Because you're standing there looking like you just conquered Mount Everest. Either you finally grew a pair and made a move, or you discovered masturbation, and frankly, I don't think you're that good with your own hands."
"Jesus Christ, Eli. You're fired."
"What? I'm happy for you! It's about time you got some action. This one's different. I could tell from the way she almost snorted that Shirley Temple. Quality woman right there."
Despite myself, I smile. "She laughed at your jokes, asshole. That should tell you something about her judgment."
"Ouch, man." He starts stacking glasses, but his eyes never leave me. "So when are you seeing her again? Please tell me you didn't do the whole 'this was fun, see you around' thing. Because I will personally throw you off the pier and find employment with Delilah."
I check my watch. "Actually, I should get going. I'm picking her up in thirty."
"Picking her up for what?"
"Island tour."
Eli stops mid-stack. "Island tour?" He laughs and jabs a glass at me. "Oh, you are so fucked, brother."
"It's just a tour."
"Right. And I'm just a bartender." Eli sighs and dramatically rests a hand on his chest. "Face it, man. You're gone. Completely, utterly gone. I haven't seen you this twisted up since—well, ever actually."
He's wrong. This is just ... I'm being a good host. Showing a visitor around. The fact that she happens to be gorgeous and funny and made sounds last night that I want to hear again has nothing to do with it.
"I'm gone," I say, grabbing my keys. "And ... you are a bartender, Eli. Not a good one, definitely a nosy one, but hey..."
Eli's laughter follows me out the door.
Hannah's waiting outside her rental when I pull up on the Vespa. She's wearing denim shorts that show off those freckled legs and a thin sleeveless top that hugs her curves, dark hair kept off her face with a headband.
"Your chariot awaits," I call out, patting the seat behind me.
She approaches the Vespa with mock skepticism. "This thing looks like it could fall apart if I sneeze too hard."
"She's got character. Like her owner."
Hannah smiles as she climbs on behind me, her arms sliding around my waist. "Is that supposed to be reassuring? Or are you finally admitting you're old?"
"Sweetheart, I'm thirty-five. I haven't even reached my prime."
"Is it too late to back out now?"
"Yes."
The moment her chest presses against my back, her thighs bracketing mine, I have to take a steadying breath.
Her warmth , the way she holds me tight—it's distracting as hell.
Her hands rest just above my belly button, fingers splayed across my stomach, and I'm already uncomfortably hard as a crowbar before I've even started the engine.
Honestly, I don't think my cock has calmed down from the second I woke up.
Should I be worried?
"Ready?" I ask.
"As I'll ever be."
I kick the Vespa to life and pull away from the curb, trying to focus on the road instead of the way she moves with me on every turn.
"So where are we going first?" she calls over the engine.
"Surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"No, you don't. You just think you do."
Her laugh vibrates against my back. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because yesterday you kissed a stranger after knowing him for an hour. Someone who hates surprises doesn't do that."
Her arms tighten around me. "Maybe I was just really grateful."
"Yeah? What are you going to do when I show you the best view on the island?"
"Guess we'll find out."
Ten minutes later, I pull off the main road onto a narrow path that winds up through the trees. The Vespa bounces over roots and rocks, and Hannah's grip on me tightens with every bump.
"Please tell me this leads somewhere that isn't a ravine," she says. "And please promise me you won't sacrifice me to the local gods."
"Just trust me."
"Famous last words. Also, you didn't say no."
We break through the tree line, and the path opens onto a clifftop overlook, and Hannah goes quiet behind me.
I cut the engine. She climbs off, walking to the edge where the whole island spreads out below us—beaches and coves, the town clustered around the harbor, Shore Thing a tiny speck on the far beach.
Hannah's hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Holy shit."
"Language," I say, coming up beside her.
"This is incredible. How did you find this place?"
"Got lost on a hike about six years ago. Ended up here by accident." I point toward the harbor. "See that cluster of buildings by the water? That's downtown, such as it is. Population: three hundred and twelve."
"Three hundred and twelve exactly?"
"Addie Patterson had twins last month. I'm still adjusting to the new math."
"What about before the island? Where did you come from originally?"
"Mainland. Different life." I lean against a boulder, studying her profile as she takes in the view. How is it possible that she's even more beautiful today than yesterday? "Nothing interesting. What about you? Besides the accounting that's slowly killing your soul."
"God, did I really say it like that?" She covers her face with her hands. "I sound like such a cliché."
"You sound honest."
She drops her hands, looking at me sideways. "I used to paint. Watercolors, mostly. Haven't touched a brush in two years."
"Why not?"
"No time. No space. No ... I don't know.
No point, I guess." She shrugs. "Before I got sucked into the corporate machine, I divided my time between work and painting.
My grandparents, who raised me, by the way, were so proud.
I mean, are, as in present tense. They still have my paintings around their house. "
"What if you try again?"
"Easy for you to say."
"You're on an island that's basically one giant watercolor. Light changes every five minutes. If you can't find inspiration here, you're not looking."
She studies me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. "You're kind of intense, you know that?"
"You're kind of talented, you know that?"
"How would you know? You've never seen my work."
"Then show me... when you're ready." I push off the boulder. "Come on. There's more to see."
She follows me back to the Vespa, but before she climbs on, she stops and looks back at the view one more time.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For showing me this."
"We're just getting started."
The second stop is the market in town—a handful of vendors set up in the harbor square selling everything from fish caught that morning to jewelry made from sea glass. It's not tourist season yet, so it's mostly locals, which means Hannah gets the full island experience.
Kara trying to convince her to buy a hand-knitted sweater in ninety-degree heat, old Jake arguing with the vegetable vendor about fishing regulations, kids running between the stalls with ice cream already melting down their arms.
"It's like stepping into a postcard," Hannah says, watching a woman arrange shells on a blanket.
"Wait till you meet Dolores. She's been selling the same twelve bracelets for fifteen years. Never sold one, never makes new ones. Just shows up every day and rearranges them."
"That's weirdly adorable."
We wander between the stalls, and I watch Hannah take it all in—the way she stops to really look at things, asks the vendors questions about their work, laughs when Kara starts telling her about her grandson who's "very handsome and single and only lives on the mainland three days a week."
At the produce stand, she picks up a mango and brings it to her nose, scrunching her eyes closed as she inhales.
"God, this smells incredible. We don't get fruit like this back home."
"Can she try it?" I ask the vendor, who immediately slices off a piece.
Hannah hesitates. "I don't usually eat random fruit from strangers."
"Good thing Tommy's not a stranger. He's been growing mangoes here for thirty years." I take the slice and hold it out to her. "Live a little."
She takes the slice from my fingers, brushing my palm as she does, and bites into it. Juice runs down her chin, and she makes a soft sound of pleasure that awakens my cock from slumber. Again!
Ah, fuck. Not here.
"Oh my God, that's amazing."
"Told you." I buy a whole bag of mangoes, ignoring her protests that she can't possibly eat them all.
For our last stop, I take her somewhere I'm sure will take her breath away.
The sea cave is tucked into the north side of the island, accessible only by a path that's more suggestion than actual trail. I've been coming here for years—when I need to think, when the bar gets too crowded, when I want to remember why I chose this life.
I've never brought anyone else here.