Page 7 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

“Thanks—I always had a flair for poetry.”

Jesus Christ, his self-deprecation was disarming. Might be just another act, though. “Show us your certificate,” I said. “Then we’ll take you to the Champagne Reef and wherever else you’d like to go.”

“Great. I’ll join for the morning dive tomorrow, if that’s all right. A friend might come as well.” He paused to set down his gear, handling the weight of the tank with practiced ease. “Our butler can handle the paperwork, right?”

Their butler, yeah. Every cabin came with one, and it was a reminder that he was filthy rich and likely here on his parents’ dime. Must be nice to live in the unbroken belief that the world is at your fingertips.

It sounded bitter even in my own head, and I reminded myself that I wasn’t some lost little boy who cried himself to sleep at night. I’d made my way.

“That’s fine,” I told Logan, perhaps a hint too coldly.

Brief silence fell as I shrugged out of my dive vest and peeled off the wetsuit, Logan doing the same next to me. The clouds had thickened, all signs pointing to a heavy downpour within the next half hour. Too bad for Nia, who’d be on her way back with the snorkeling group. Me, I planned to be cozied up with a book by the time the skies opened.

I slung my wetsuit over my shoulder and held out a hand for Logan’s. He shot me a cautious smile. “Nah, I can carry my own stuff.”

“That’s new.” Yeah, I really should watch my tone. His quick, slightly tentative laugh told me he wasn’t easily offended, though.

“On a scale of one to murder fantasies,” he asked, “how much did you want to punch me?”

I glanced at the sharp cut of his jawline. “You’re far from the worst we’ve had.”

The woman who’d kept treating Nia like a servant came to mind, and we’d both dealt with our share of handsy guests—Nia more than me, of course. Most people didn’t immediately peg me as gay, but there’d been that one dude who was here with his family and still grabbed my ass any chance he got, then complained about my attitude when I finally drew a line.

“Not an answer.” Logan winked, and yeah, okay, he wastrying. I just wasn’t convinced. “But also, sounds like you got some stories.”

No gossiping about guests with other guests—it was an ironclad rule. I lifted a shoulder before I hoisted up my gear. Presumably, Logan had implied he’d carry his own wetsuit, not that he’d lug his tank up what felt like a million steps—the sooner I got started, the sooner I’d be done.

“We don’t kiss and tell.” I glanced over just in time to catch him ogling my ass. He snatched his gaze away.

Okay. So that was—huh.

I waited for our eyes to meet before I raised a brow. A beat passed, measured by the gentle swell of a wave, by the mildly drunken lurch of my pulse. God, this was stupid. I wouldn’t risk my job just because the hottest guy I’d ever met might be less of a dick than he’d seemed initially. But I wouldn’t look away first either.

It was Logan who did. “Good to know,” he murmured, his voice like a secret I hadn’t been meant to hear. My pulse twisted, then steadied. Yeah, not happening.

When he shouldered his dive vest and moved to collect the rest of his gear, I shook my head. “Hey, don’t bother. It’s a lot of steps up to the shop—trust me, I know. If you can just carry your wetsuit, fins, and mask, I’ll handle the tank and all.”

“If you and Nia can do it, I don’t see why I can’t.” He made nomove to set down his gear, and I appreciated the sentiment, but Richard would blow a gasket if he saw a guest schlepping his own stuff. I could do without the lecture.

“The reason you shouldn’t is that you’re paying good money for your stay. As some dude recently reminded me.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a lopsided upwards curve. “Yeah, but that was me being a douche. I can carry my own gear.”

He sure could—the curves of his biceps were a sculptor’s wet dream. Not the point, though. “It would make me look bad,” I said.

“Why?”

I hesitated for a second, but we were way past paradise pretenses. “What you said about the staff not twisting themselves out of shape for the guests? Yeah, we’re expected to do that here.”

He frowned. “Says who?”

“Management.”

His frown deepened. “That’s bullshit.”

I shrugged. “Well,youtell them. I kind of like having a job.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, and oh myGod, I didn’t need a knight in shiny red shorts to fight my battles.

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