Page 48 of Hot Saltwater Kisses

“Sleep in first,” I told Logan. “Then coffee. Then sex.”

“Excellent plan.” He kicked the day cover off the bed and tugged the thin sheet over his naked body, lifting one corner to invite me in. Nothing about this felt casual.

Well. No point worrying about the future when there was none.

I exhaled around the weight and settled in next to him, close enough to sense his warmth but not close enough to touch. It was how we’d fallen asleep the night before, only for me to wake up alone.

Logan made a disgruntled noise.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you allergic to cuddling?”

“Uh.” I glanced at him. “No?”

“Good.” He leaned over me, stretching to flick off the light, and since his collarbone wasrightthere, I raised my head for a quick,gentle nip of teeth. He ducked to turn it into a kiss instead, then dropped down with one hand flat against my chest, his head on my shoulder.

Okay. This was… new.

My mind skimmed across memories of Michael—how with him, I’d been the one who was held, not the one doing the holding. Logan was older than me, taller too, but he didn’t seem to care about assigning static roles. Was this what true confidence looked like?

Tentatively, I draped an arm around his back. He shifted into it with a small, happy sound, and oh, hell, I liked him really quite a lot.

I closed my eyes and decided to stop thinking. This, now, was enough.

10

The midday heat turned the boat into a floating oven. We’d anchored in the shade of a secluded cove, its turquoise water shimmering like rippling silk, the only respite a gentle wind that carried the scent of sun-warmed seaweed.

“My kingdom for air conditioning,” Tom mumbled.

“If you can’t stand the heat...” Yet Logan sounded just as sleepy, his hair still damp and curling at the tips. Eyes closed, he was lying on a towel, his feet propped up on the railing. My attention stuttered over the thin stretch of pale skin where his trunks had inched low.

“Never was one for the kitchen anyway,” Tom said.

Logan snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

I got up to grab some water from the fridge and passed by the honeymooning couple in the front of the boat. They were lost in their own bubble, barely even offering me a glance and a thanks when they accepted their chilled bottles. It seemed more blissful oblivion than snooty dismissal, so I shrugged it off.

Grabbing more water, I made it back to Logan and Tom, Nia joining us a moment later with lunch wraps for everyone. She plopped down next to me, her toes nudging up against Tom’s calf. He fumbled with his wrap as he shot her a smile.

“Aww,” I said, deliberately saccharine.

Nia slid me an unimpressed look. “Glass houses, Milo.”

I glanced down at where Logan’s hand was loosely wrapped around my ankle, and yeah, all right. We were all quiet for a minute, loose-limbed from the heat and the peaceful lapping of water against the boat’s hull.

“Seriously, though.” Tom shifted, suppressing a half-formed yawn, before he nudged Nia. “Ever thought of trading tropical paradise for... I don’t know. A temperate office with regular work hours?”

Was he fishing for some kind of future? I kept my gaze on the water and told myself it didn’t matter that Logan had yet to hint at anything like that. Blinding sunlight sparked on the waves like scattered diamonds.

“God, no.” Nia exhaled a long breath and tipped her head back, slouching against the side of a tank. “I’ddieif I had to spend eight hours inside, tapping away at some document. Fresh air is a lifestyle.”

“Not sure ninety percent humidity counts as fresh,” Logan put in. “But potayto, potahto.”

“At least you’ve got the degree to do something else,” I told Nia. “Means it’s a choice. Me, I’ll be schlepping tanks until my back gives out.”

“You don’t know that.” Logan’s tone was surprisingly serious when I’d been joking. Kind of. “Maybe five years from now, you’ll be traveling the world and taking award-winning pictures forNational Geographicor something.”

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