Heat Wave(31)

Logan jerks his head back to the hotel. “Bosses orders, mate. Get going.”

I half expect Charlie to stand his ground, but he folds quickly, grumbling as he marches off to the hotel like a petulant child.

“You don’t have to teach me,” I quickly tell Logan, trying to gather up my board. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Oh, I’m teaching you,” he says gruffly. “The kid doesn’t know shit; he’s from Colorado. You need an Aussie to show you how things are really done on the water.”

Then he takes a step back from me and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the beach behind him.

Oh.

My.

God.

And Christ on a cracker.

Logan Shephard has his shirt off.

And Logan Shephard is absolutely ripped, a beast of epic proportions.

I mean, I knew he was tall and burly and his chest and shoulders were always hard to overlook under the tee shirts he’s been wearing, but I guess I was doing my best these last two weeks to ignore all that because now that he’s bare-chested in front of me, I feel all words and thoughts drain out of my brain.

All that is left is acute amazement and a coil of heat building in my core. And maybe a bit of drool coming out of the corner of my mouth. From the sharp Vs of his torso and the thin treasure-trail of hair leading from his stomach and disappearing beneath the band of his board shorts, to the six-pack abs and wide, firm chest speckled with chest hair, he has the kind of upper body some mythical hero would have (or Jason Momoa). Logan is all man and then some.

And he’s staring at me with the cockiest smirk on his lips, dark brows raised. “Never seen a real man before?” he asks.

I glare at him. “You think pretty highly of yourself if you’re calling yourself a man.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you call me?”

“Something that belongs in a museum, next to the woolly mammoth exhibit.”

To my surprise he laughs. It sounds strange coming from him, and yet causes my stomach to flip. “Fair enough, Freckles.”

“Freckles?”

He nods at my nose where I know my freckles have sprouted up after the weeks in the sun. “I can call you something else.”

“How about Ronnie?”

“All right. Let’s go, Freckles. Forget everything Charlie taught you.”

“That shouldn’t be that hard,” I mumble under my breath as Logan effortlessly takes the board from me and props it up over his head, carrying it into the surf.

“Hurry up,” he says. “I don’t have all day.”

I run into the water after him, rolling my eyes, which keeps them from staring at his ass as the waves crash around him. I mean, just look at his back…it’s a giant wall of rippled muscle, something you’d see Tom Cruise hanging off of by his fingertips.

Keep it together, I scold myself. Remember who this is.

And I do remember. No matter how juvenile my hormones are acting, he’s still the man who belonged to my sister before he threw it all away.

I’m not sure if it’s because having Logan out here with me is throwing my world upside down, but it seems like the waves have somehow gotten bigger in the last five minutes. I dive under the break, my head bursting through the surface.

“You’re learning,” he notes as the water streams off my face, the salt water burning my skin. He brings the board around. “Here, get on.”

Oh boy. This is going to be a lot more awkward with him than it was with Charlie. With Charlie, I didn’t mind the fact that he was face to face with my ass when I was climbing on and getting into position. Charlie and I have been pretty flirty, but I know it’s not going anywhere. If anything, he’s like a brother to me and whatever innuendo he throws my way, I’m quick to crush it.

Logan’s staring at me with a mix of amusement and impatience as he keeps the board steady, the muscles on his arms taught. It’s hard to believe the man is pushing forty with the way his damn body looks.

“Freckles,” he warns, jerking his chin at the board.

I make a noise of disgust under my breath and quickly get on the board as gracefully as I can.

I fail at it. I’m half on, trying to pull myself over and my fucking bikini bottoms are sliding half off my ass by the time I manage to hook my leg over the edge. I let out a string of grunts and expletives before I’m on and I know my cheeks are going red because I can feel his gaze on my half-covered ass, lingering there.

“Need some help there, Beach Bum?” He sounds way too amused.

I practically growl while I reach back and yank the bottoms up. I’m throwing this goddamn bikini away after this.