Page 1 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

PROLOGUE

The first time we met was through the lens of a camera.

It was my last chance to capture the dazzling glow of the beach at night, tiny sea creatures stirred up by the waves. Distant laughter and music drifted over from the beachfront bar. Torches were arranged in a string of bright pearls that lined the wooden walkway leading along the resort’s shoreline.

As I swung my camera around, I happened upon a guy—dark-haired and tall, his skin tanned bronze in the shimmering torchlight. His head was thrown back in wild laughter, gripping a blond guy’s shoulder as he sketched out stories with his free hand. He seemed a couple of years older than me, eighteen or so, and I was instantly fascinated by the unrestrained happiness that shone on his face.

One picture, and I moved on.

It turned out grainy, dark, and smudged. I deleted it.

1

“Another.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“No.”

Nia tightened her leg muscles, thigh jumping under my cheek. She was a spectacularly useless pillow. “Come on, Milo. You fucking love my jokes.”

“Now that?” I pinched her hip. “Was hilarious.”

“The Grinch called—you’re ruining his good mood.” She slapped my hand away, then tugged lightly on my hair. Bleached to a honeyed blond by a combination of sun and saltwater, it had sailed past artfully messy and was now residing somewhere around sunscreen-smelling surfer dude with a vocabulary of ‘hang ten’, ‘gnarly’, and ‘totally’. I needed to drop by the resort’s on-site hairdresser before Richard got on my case.

Nia exhaled with a drawn-out sigh. I empathized—it was hot and humid, the air like a leaden cloak that slowed down all movement. A nap sounded like the epitome of bliss. Too bad our lunch break was drawing to a close.

Ah, well. Dive guests to pamper, weight belts to assemble, tanks tolug about. Yay. Only the promise of jumping into the water kept me from melting on the spot.

Ten more minutes, though. Closing my eyes, I resolved to spend them dozing just like this, stretched out on a shaded bench with my head on Nia’s thigh. The midday heat turned the resort’s usual hustle into a lazy symphony of distant bar music and the gentle lapping of waves. The jungle’s sounds took center stage—crickets chirped in hidden corners, a solitary bird hooted its call on an endless loop, and gravel crunched underfoot.

Huh?

I opened one eye and caught a glimpse of red swim shorts and tanned legs. Opened the other eye.

So, yeah, the guy lost points for cutting our lunch break short. He did win a couple back for being easy on the eyes, though. Tall with the body of a Greek god, chest bare, dark brown hair just long enough to curl into gentle waves around his ears. A little older than Nia and me—late twenties or so. His bluish hazel eyes shifted color with the light, his wide mouth twisting into a slight scowl as he drew closer.

A fleeting sense of déjà vu washed over me. Eh, nah. Face and body like that? I’d remember if we’d met before.

“Bonjou!” Nia’s greeting ran counter to the sluggish afternoon. “You here for diving?”

I sat up in a token attempt at professionalism while the guy tilted his head. “Well, yeah.” He had a voice like melted chocolate, the effect sadly impaired by a mocking edge. “I hear that’s what one does at a dive center.”

Ass.

“That’s right.” Nia grinned like he’d made a joke, gesturing at the bench across the table from ours. “Have a seat, please. I’m Nia, and this is Milo.”

A pause followed as the guy took in the table and benches that I’d painted in splashes of red and yellow. From there, his attention moved to our cabin—an open, airy construction of weathered wood tucked into a gap between two breadfruit trees. The upper floor helda small apartment that Nia and I shared while the dive center took up the ground level, a notice board encouraging everyone to‘Dive long and prosper!’ in Nia’s tidy handwriting. It was simple, but it was the closest I had to a home.

There was something analytical in the way the guy’s gaze swept over it all. His expression turned visibly unimpressed as he sat down. Oh, hey, fuck him and his rich-kid condescension. “I’m Logan,” he supplied with all the enthusiasm of someone about to undergo dental surgery. Funny how quickly he’d dropped from ‘smoking hot’ to ‘not if he was the last fucking guy on the planet’.

“Hello and welcome toDown Under, Logan.” My voice was cotton candy. “Pleasure to meet you. Can we offer you some water or iced tea?”

“No, thanks. Just here for a dive.” Briefly, Logan’s gaze tangled with mine. Here in the shade, his eyes looked more blue than hazel, shaped like almonds.

“Is this your first time?” Nia asked, smile persisting as she knocked our knees together in warning. And fine, yeah—his attitude could be the result of nerves. But my money was on him being a jerk. He’d be a dime a dozen. Working for a luxury resort came with a considerable portion of entitled dive guests who’d rather drop dead than carry their own equipment.

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