Page 4 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

Since attitudes remained conservative, I wouldn’t stroll about in rainbow shirts and pink booty shorts anytime soon. No loss—it wasn’t my style anyway.

“If you say so.” I shrugged my shoulders in pointed indifference. “Not in the market, personally. Got enough of my own shit to deal with, you know?”

“Ah, my lad.” Luis gave me a chummy clap on the shoulder. “That’s no way to live your life. Guys like us, Milo—we need a good girl to keep us steady.”

“I thought that was Esme’s pepper sauce?” I asked with a straight face. The stuff, homemade by Luis’s wife, was famed for being both delicious and potent. For a while, the resort had offered it as part of its authentic island food selection, but a few months ago, Richard had done away with what he called farm-to-table fakery dressed up as local charm.

“That, too.” Luis nodded, my sarcasm dripping off him likemorning dew pearling on a wrinkled blossom. “She’s still miffed about your bossman taking it off the menu, just sayin’.”

She wasn’t the only one—relations with the local community had taken a hit. While Nia and our head chef Janelle had tried hard to soothe the sting, there was precious little they could do as long as Richard and his profit-over-people philosophy stuck around.

I shook my head, glancing at Luis’s little shack and its assortment of items that ranged from practical to peculiar. The machete he used to hack open coconuts had sure seen better days. “Nothing I can do about it, Luis.”

“Right, right. Hard to tell the boss how to run the show.” Luis removed the fuel nozzle and replaced the cap, then had me sign the slip that charged it to our account. I grabbed a greasy pastry to go, then started the engine and steered theBlueberry Seasback towards the resort.

Just past eight. Enough time to doze for ten minutes before I got things ready for Logan.

Oh joy—even if his abs might serve as a visual apology for his mouth. Silver linings and all that.

2

Sunlight filtered through the open front of the dive shop and shone on glittering specks of dust. Back here among the rows of wetsuits, a play of shadows softened Logan’s striking features, his high cheekbones catching the light just so.

“Feels too loose,” he said.

No shit, Sherlock.

I took a step back and blessed him with a patient smile. “You don’t want your wetsuit to be too tight or you might feel constricted. Especially since it’ll be unusual at first to breathe through your regulator. So it’s important that you’re comfortable moving.”

True. It didn’t mean the wetsuit should bequitethis big—bunching around his chest and legs, creases blooming from his crotch. Even the warm Caribbean sea wouldn’t keep him toasty in a shorty that was more like a sieve. With some luck, it would cool his temper.

He assessed me with a quick look that I couldn’t decipher. Amused, almost? Nah, that didn’t make sense. He’d breezed in fifteen minutes late without a hint of apology because clearly, my time was his to command, and then had proceeded to grump his way through my intro spiel about the gear and how we’d do thedive. Attitude like that, I’d bet he’d grown up coasting on his parents’ money, used to people bending over backwards to please him.

Catering to his spoiled ass might be my job, but I’d be damned if I let him turn me into his personal doormat. Been there, done that, never again.

“Fine,” he said after what seemed like a slight delay. He unzipped the front of the shorty and peeled it down his body, dropping it to the floor in a careless heap. Pro: he actually remembered me saying we’d change just before we went into the water so we wouldn’t overheat. Con: this fucker expected me to pick up after him.

“All right,” I said brightly. “I already carried our gear down to the beach. You wanna grab your wetsuit and we go?”

Logan raised a slow, disdainful brow. “I’m supposed to carry my own stuff?”

Oh, wow. If only there was a way to introduce him to Katie, the friend and dive instructor who’d taught me most of what I knew. She’d kick his entitled ass out of her dive shop so quickly there’d be scorch marks.

“Only your wetsuit.” My smile remained attached by a thin thread. “It’s part of the experience.”

“So the five-star service—that’s just the resort, not the diving?” Logan asked, and fucking hell, he seemed like the type to escalate his complaints. If he went running to Richard… Me, I didn’t matter enough to warrant special treatment. But Nia was popular, and ever since she’d finished her remote business degree, Richard had tapped her as competition. He’d jump at the chance to fault her leadership.

I gritted my teeth. “Look, if you insist—no problem. Happy to carry the wetsuit for you.”

Brief surprise flashed in Logan’s eyes, only to make room for a satisfied smirk. “Thanks.” It sounded more smug than grateful. GoodGod, Nia owed me for taking this one off her hands.

Out of sheer fucking principle, I refused to break eye contact as I bent down just enough to scoop up the wetsuit at his feet. Which—fuck.Think before you act, idiot.Because it brought me up nice andclose to him, mouth just about level with his crotch, my eyes fixed on his well-trimmed happy trail. Andwhenhad I dropped my gaze?

The subtle scent of sunscreen clung to him, dim light glinting off his irritatingly sculpted abs. I glanced back up and found him staring at me, face completely still in the half-light. Jesus. What if he was a homophobe?

Abort.

I snagged the wetsuit, straightened, and rolled to the balls of my feet. Logan’s attention still clung to me like the slow drip of honey, flecks of gray swirling in the shadow-muted blue of his eyes. My cheeks felt hot, and seriously, what the fuck? I didn’t evenlikehim. Hot, yes. But his personality? Not the kind of dick I was into. Plus,plus, hooking up with guests was strongly discouraged.

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