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.
“All right, let’s get you into the line here,” he says, moving me and the board forward until he stops, scanning the horizon behind him.
“Aren’t you going to let go?” I ask.
He looks back at me, frowning. His eyes look extra luminous with the water reflecting against them. “I’m not letting go until you’re ready.”
So far this is already wildly different than the way Charlie was teaching me. He was more trial by error. Logan seems to want to take his time, which surprises me. I thought I would be the first person he would willingly chuck into the deep end.
“Okay,” I manage to say, completely aware of his arm across the back of my legs as he holds the board.
“What’s your favorite song?”
I frown, the water rising beneath me as another wave passes. “What?”
“Tell me what your favorite song is.”
“What’s your favorite song?” I can’t help but fire back.
“‘Purple Rain,’” he says without hesitation.
“Prince?”
“Do you know anyone else with the song ‘Purple Rain?’”
“No,” I admit. I guess I never pegged him as a Prince fan. “Must have been a tough year for you.”
“Well I’m a Bowie fan too, so yeah. Bloody awful.” He pauses and I feel him adjust the board, his arm brushing higher against the back of my legs. “Was a fan of your sister too, so the last couple of years have been pretty shitty when it comes to people I love dying.”
Holy fuck. That was pretty much the last thing I expected him to say.
“So what’s your favorite song,” he goes on, like nothing has happened.
I lick my lips, trying to think. They taste like salt. “Uh. Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir.’”
It was the first thing that popped into my head. My brain is still trying to reel over what he said about Juliet. He loved her. How could I even take that as truth?