Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 85(@200wpm)___ 68(@250wpm)___ 57(@300wpm)
"You're talking to me."
"You rescued me from a weirdo. That's different."
"Fair point. But you should come. The island throws a good party."
Hannah checks her phone. "I should go. I promised myself a walk on the beach before sunset."
"South or north?"
"Which do you recommend?"
"South. Less crowded, better shells. There's a tide pool about half a mile down that's worth the walk."
She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder. The movement makes her shorts ride up, and I get a flash of more skin and the curve of her ass. Fuck me. I want to sink my teeth into those globes.
Instead, I grip the arms of my chair to keep from reaching for her.
"Thanks for the rescue, Logan."
My name sounds so different on her lips.
"Anytime, Hannah."
She heads for the beach, and I watch her go until she's just a pink dot in the distance. I'm still recovering from the whiplash that is my entire conversation with her.
"Well, that was painful to watch."
Eli crosses his arms over his chest and doesn't even bother trying to hide his amusement.
"What?"
"You, trying to play it cool. It was like watching someone pretend they're not on fire."
"I was being friendly."
"You were practically panting. I thought you were going to follow her down the beach like a lost dog."
The thought occurs to me that I still could. Make some excuse about checking on the tide pools. Accidentally run into her while she's walking. You know, customer service.
But I've got work to do, and Hannah is a tourist. I've always felt bad about any islander falling for a tourist. It rarely works because they always leave. Always.
It's the same thing with Hannah. In a few days, she'll go back to her life, and I'll be nothing more than a fun but distant memory. I really should just save myself from the heartbreak.
I try to work and go over last-minute details for the surf party, standing on the beach outside Shore Thing, supposedly checking on the patio setup even though my mind is somewhere else entirely.
"Logan!"
The voice comes from behind me. I turn, and Hannah walks toward me with purpose. Jaw set, hair flying, eyes bright. She looks like one of those movie actresses in freeze-frames—devastatingly beautiful. So beautiful it knocks my breath out of me, and I'm not even doing anything.
"Hi." Hannah reaches me and grabs the front of my shirt.
Then her mouth is on mine.
Soft lips, warm tongue, the taste of rum and something sweet. Salt air clings to her skin too. Waves crash a few yards behind us, but all I hear is the way she sighs into me, that breathy moan vibrating against my mouth and shooting straight to my cock.
God, she's soft everywhere. Those full curves press flush against my chest, her hips slotting against mine, her fingers twisting tighter in my shirt.
My own hands find her waist, sliding over the warm fabric of her top to feel the heat of her body underneath. I tighten my grip, pull her closer, deeper, until there's no space left between us, and the beach around Shore Thing might as well not exist.
Hannah whimpers, and my control slips. One hand slides up to tangle in her hair, that black mass already half-wild from the humidity, and I angle her head just right to deepen the kiss. My tongue sweeps against hers, tasting every inch while my other palm stays firm at the small of her back, holding her right where I want her.
Fuck, I shouldn't be doing this. But her body fits against my longer frame like she was made for it, all soft heat and freckled skin, and I can't stop thinking about how she'd feel under me, how she'd sound if I'm buried to the hilt inside her.
When she finally pulls back, we're both breathing as if we've just run a marathon.
I have never been so hard in my life.
"I changed my mind about the thank you," she says and kisses me again.
Softer, this time.
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.