Cherished by the SEAL (Hot Caribbean Nights Book 4)

by Zoe York

  It was a total Logan thing to say, and she’d heard variations on it many times before. Tonight, though, the sexual overtones were more obvious.

  How had she missed how hot he was? How casually dirty at every turn?

  Although, no, she hadn’t missed that. But she’d never had first-hand knowledge of how accurate his bold statements could be. She’d always assumed he was just another player.

  She frowned.

  He frowned, too. “What?”

  “When was the last time you dated someone?”

  His mouth tightened. “Dated?”

  Ew. “Don’t answer that if it was more than ten random hook-ups ago.”

  “Jesus, Tori.”

  And she’d ruined a perfectly good dinner in less than a minute. Her face heated up and she ducked her head. “Sorry.”

  “Do we need to talk about what happened this afternoon?”

  “Nope.” She speared another bite of her fish. “I was out of line.”

  “The answer’s gonna surprise you. But it’s also opening Pandora’s box, too.”

  She couldn’t look up at him. “I was supposed to get married two days ago.”

  “I know.”

  “This is my honeymoon.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not appropriate—”

  “Fuck what’s appropriate,” he growled. “We can just be friends, Tor. One hundred percent we can. Doesn’t matter if we kiss or anything else. I’m always gonna love you. I’m always going to be the guy who was there when you went over your handlebars when you were ten, and I cleaned gravel out of your palms and your knee. The guy who held your hair when you got piss drunk after prom. Who videotaped your graduations—all of them—and showed up to be the dude of honor at your damn wedding even though it tore me up inside. I’m that guy. Nothing can change that. So if friendship is all you want, that’s what we’ll do. But if you can’t stop think about our kiss…I think our history gives us a pass on what’s appropriate.”

  She jerked her head up as he spoke, and now she was gaping at him. She swallowed hard. “It tore you up inside?”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek as he stared right back. Eventually, he changed the subject. “Eat your dinner.”

  She rolled her eyes. So damn bossy. And unnecessarily so. She took a bite—then returned to the question. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Because I’m not the right guy for you.” He stabbed his steak and cut off another piece.

  “Says who?”

  He dropped his fork and knife with a clatter and glared at her. “You.”

  Chapter Eight

  Her heated embarrassment turned into icy dread. “What?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” She grabbed her wineglass, then pushed it out of the way. Water. She needed water, and a lot of it. Her mouth was suddenly very dry.

  He waited for her to take a desperate swallow of water that did nothing, then he nudged her plate closer to her. “Seriously. Finish eating. Then we can take a walk on the beach.”

  “I don’t think I have an appetite anymore.”

  “We did a serious amount of hiking today. You need to refuel.”

  “Logan!” She darted out her hand and grabbed his fingers. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

  “It always matters.” He twisted his wrist around so he was holding her hand. Always had to be in charge. Always had to take care of her.

  Damn him. Tears pricked behind her eyelashes and she closed her eyes.

  The gentle rub of his thumb against the inside of her wrist had her slowly blinking them open again. He gave her a rueful smile. “Please eat.”

  How could she? But he wanted them to be okay. And if they were okay, they wouldn’t let a fancy meal go to waste. Her smile in return was more watery, but she pasted it on. “You too.”

  “Yeah.”

  They finished a bit more of their meal in silence. Neither cleared their plate, but they both stopped eating at the same time, and Logan gestured for the waiter, who brought a slip for him to sign the meal back to their room.

  When she pushed her chair back, he was out of his and around to pull out her chair before she could stand up.

  She murmured her thanks as he pressed his palm into the small of her back, guiding her out of the restaurant. Questions and nerves jockeyed for top position as he steered her directly onto the small path heading down to the beach.

  His hand didn’t leave her body, not even when she paused to kick off her heels. He toed out of his dress shoes and flicked off his socks with one hand.

  A breeze picked up as they crested the dunes, making her shiver. Logan was behind her in a flash, his arms wrapping around her as their shoes clattered to the sand.

  “This okay?”

  That he had to keep asking meant that it almost certainly wasn’t. But it felt more than okay. It felt right. She nodded and leaned back against him, hoping the warmth of his body would transfer to her, and melt the fear frozen around her heart. “What are we doing?”

  “Watching the ocean.”

  She stared at the inky blackness in front of them. Listened to the churning, crashing waves. Imagined the man behind her silently wading out off that in his scuba gear and disappearing into the scruffy brush, off to save the world on behalf of their country. “I’m proud of you,” she said abruptly. “You’re the bravest, smartest man I’ve ever known. If I ever gave you the impression otherwise, I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t.” He rubbed his face against her hair.

  “Then what did I say to you?” She couldn’t remember ever telling him he wasn’t good enough. He’d always been her selfless hero. Always would be.

  “Ahh, Tor.” He groaned and his hands slid lower around her waist, his arms circling her hips now.

  The urge to rock back against him was overwhelming.

  There was something effed up about this island, clearly. It had messed with their pheromones.

  “It wasn’t one thing,” he finally said, his voice cracking. “But everything, really. When your parents split and your mom took off for New Mexico, and you told me—”

  She groaned. Yep, she remembered the conversation. “I’d never leave my dad. I’d never be so selfish to run away from Atlanta like that.” They’d been lying under the magnolia tree in the park. He’d blocked them off from the world with their bikes set up as a barrier around them, and given her all the tissues he could stuff in his pockets. She still got snot on his shirt. “But I was twelve! And I don’t even like my dad anymore. Most of the time.”

  “Yeah, but you still won’t leave him.”

  The truth of that stabbed her right in the heart. No, probably not. “He has golf. He doesn’t need daughters.”

  “Too bad he was blessed with three. A fact you strangely feel guilty for, even though you’re amazing and he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Let’s not fight about my dad.”

  He laughed quietly in her ear. “Let’s not fight about anything.”

  “Deal.” She twisted out of his arms and paced toward the water. When she turned around, he was just watching her, his hands tucked into his pockets. She licked her lips, tasting the salt in the air. “What else?”

  “Home Ec, sophomore year.”

  She rolled her eyes. Was all his evidence from when she was a stupid teenager? “What did I say?”

  He shrugged, and she could tell even in the moonlight he looked a little embarrassed. “More of what you wrote.”

  She was totally confused. “Oh, for goodness sake, Logan, just tell me!”

  “When we had the flour sack baby. In your parenting journal, you wrote—”

  “You read my parenting journal?” No wonder he was embarrassed, the rat fink bastard. “That was private!”

  “Well, you were such a good fake-baby mom, and I didn’t know what to put in my journal, so I thought I’d just get an idea or two.”

  Instead, he’d read…her cheeks flushed at t
he memory. She’d loved that stupid nylon-covered weighted sack. And she’d written a lot about how the experiment was preparing her for adulthood and motherhood, something she couldn’t wait to experience. How mortifying that must have been for a fifteen-year-old boy to read about his best friend. “Those were just the fantasy musings of a teenage girl,” she said tightly. “And apparently, they made you run screaming for the hills.”

  “I wasn’t the guy for you.”

  “Made that decision all by yourself, huh?” Hot tears welled unexpectedly in her eyes. “Well, I ended up going a totally different path anyway.”

  “It wasn’t just that. It was…everything. You were smart and ambitious. And you wanted the same in a partner, even in high school. You didn’t give a guy a second glance if he wasn’t college-bound. And that never changed, did it? You’ve got a type. Well-educated, professional, family-oriented—”

  “Loyal to a fault. Clever. Capable. Strong. You don’t think all of those would be desirable traits?”

  “I wasn’t any of those things back then.” His voice cracked, and with it went her heart. Oh, Logan.

  “You didn’t have to leave.”

  “You didn’t have to stay.”

  There it was. Because she had thought about following him—and when she didn’t, she’d sealed their fate. Would her choice have been any different if she’d known he loved her as more than a friend? “I didn’t know how you felt.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. Ever.”

  “Then why did you kiss me today?”

  “Because I was weak.”

  Oh, that was the wrong answer. Fury filled her. Again, she wasn’t enough. And too much at the same time. Too tempting, when that had never been her intention. But even then, even when he gave in some base desire, she wasn’t enough for anything else. The tears were gonna fall any second, and she was not going to give him that as well.

  No, she’d given him enough for one day.

  And she’d given men in general more than enough for an entire lifetime.

  Tori was done with a capital d. Done.

  With an outraged growl, she stormed past him and grabbed her high heels from the top of the dune. Then she took off at a run, adrenaline pushing her faster and faster as she flew up the dark path, heading anywhere but where Logan was.

  Chapter Nine

  There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting her run into the night without giving chase. Swearing under his breath, Logan grabbed his shoes and took off after her. The sand gave way to a wooden boardwalk, then a smooth cement path. He didn’t run on concrete in his bare feet that often—he wasn’t an idiot—but his dress shoes weren’t meant for running in either, and he wasn’t slowing down to put them on.

  He caught up to her as they passed the first resort building, but he didn’t close the gap.

  Sometimes a hard run was just the cathartic release someone needed.

  She was pumping her arms, her heels dangling from one hand, as she rounded the corner toward their villa, and then the hypnotic pattern was broken as she lifted her other hand and swiped at her face.

  He slowed down.

  Shit. She was crying.

  He’d made Tori cry.

  That realization tore his chest open more efficiently than any military-grade weaponry ever could. His steps faltered further, and he stopped twenty feet short of the villa.

  But he had the key.

  So when she sagged against the door to their private, shared vacation space, he had to go to her, even though he was a total shit.

  “Maybe it was a mistake, me coming along this week,” he said roughly as he stopped again behind her.

  She lifted her head and squared her body with a rough inhale. She didn’t look back over her shoulder. “Just let me in.”

  He reached past her, unable to stop himself from breathing in the sweet scent of her skin as he used his keycard to open the door. “I’ll go find another room for myself.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. You have another room in here.”

  “But—”

  “I may not want to talk to you right now, but you’re still my Logan and I’m going to want to have breakfast with you in the morning. So shut up with that bullshit.”

  He shut up.

  She headed straight to her room and closed the door. He went to the fridge and found a six-pack of premium beer.

  Those would get him buzzed as good as anything else.

  He grabbed them, and what remained of the fruit tray, and threw himself onto the sofa. So much for fine. So much for keeping shit to himself.

  So much for being her best friend.

  He needed a new plan. One that would get them through the week without breaking her heart.

  His?

  That was a different story.

  You’re still my Logan.

  She had no idea how much he wanted those words to mean something different. He groaned and downed the rest of his first bottle of beer as he re-hashed the conversation on the beach.

  Why did you kiss me?

  Because I was weak.

  And she wasn’t interested in that. Feelings had no place in this week. Experience. Exhilaration. Ecstasy. That was all Tori wanted, and he’d ruined it with the truth. She didn’t need him to interject his emo-longing for her into this week of escape.

  But could he do that?

  He would need to. Or he’d have to step aside and be gracious as she got her groove back with someone else.

  It took ages for Tori to fall asleep. A dozen times, she thought about getting up and going to talk to Logan, but it would be easier in the morning.

  And there was a solid chance if she went to find him in the middle of the night, she’d find a way to kiss him again, and that was…probably a mistake.

  Almost certainly.

  It still gave her a weird, fluttery feeling in the lowest parts of her belly. A good kind of weird. Hot, angsty, yes-please kind of weird.

  Kissing Logan was the best mistake she’d made all week. It put all the truly awful mistakes in perspective. Trusting Stephen, spending way too much money on a party that didn’t happen, getting mad at her best friend for defending her honor…

  That one hurt.

  She winced as she remembered turning on him in rage. He’d only ever had her best interests at heart, and he’d seen through Stephen’s character.

  Except Logan had never said anything. That made her feel weird inside, too. Shouldn’t he have? Wasn’t that a best friend code of honor or something?

  That troubled thought was the last she had before she fell asleep.

  It was still on her mind when she woke up late the next morning, the sunny Caribbean heat finally rousing her from the dead.

  No, it wasn’t the heat.

  It was Logan.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Extra gentle knocks.

  “I’m up,” she said, her voice rough. “Morning.”

  “Can I come in?” he asked through the door.

  She pulled her sheet up higher and cleared her throat. “Yep.”

  The door swung open and his head appeared, then his body. Big, broad. Already dressed for the day, in a worn t-shirt and board shorts. And in his hands was a breakfast tray.

  “I’ve got coffee,” he said with a soft smile, his eyes worried. “And zero bullshit, as ordered.”

  She sighed. “About last night…”

  “Yeah.” He sat at the foot of the bed and pushed the tray toward her. “I need to make something crystal clear.”

  “Okay.”

  “This doesn’t need to be complicated between us. It shouldn’t be complicated. I will always be your best friend. That’s locked in, right? Nothing will ever touch that. And what happens this week…that’s a free pass. No strings attached. I shouldn’t have brought up that bullshit about not being the right guy for you. Right now, no guy is right for you. You’re on the rebound, and this week has to be all about healing. And dancing. Maybe some rum. Nothing else.”


  “Oh.” She was stunned.

  That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all.

  She frowned.

  Then she grabbed a croissant and shoved it in her mouth.

  “You okay?”

  Tori chewed. Mmm. That was better. She finished that bite, then swallowed. “Pour me some coffee and I will be,” she finally said. “And then let’s discuss what we should do today. Project Rebound, Day Two. Start at the pool?”

  He’d done this to himself.

  And she looked amazing.

  More to the point, she felt amazing, and it showed.

  But as Logan watched Tori wiggle her hips toward him on her way back to the pool from the bar—her third trip—he wondered if it would have been easier to just castrate himself.

  Because the curve of her thighs disappearing under that little bikini skirt, and the slight jiggle of her belly above it, was enough to make a man stupid.

  Logan wasn’t alone in noticing, either. She’d made friends on her way to the bar the first time. Lingered for a few laughs on the return trip.

  And each time, she eventually returned to his side, stretched out on her lounge chair, and made a happy sound that make it all worth it. The sharp, irrational spike of jealousy, the half-chubby in his shorts, the relentless itch in his fingertips to explore the shadows beneath that skirt… It was all secondary to her having a day of feeling gorgeous and desirable.

  “Bière for you,” she said, holding out a cold bottle. “Et c’est moi.”

  Her French was terrible. And adorable. “Thanks.”

  “Ah, mais non, mister. Merci.”

  Mister. He chuckled. “Merci.”

  She beamed as she sat down, then took a sip of her own beer before reaching for the sunscreen. “What next?”

  He was going to watch her apply cream to her skin like a perv. “Whatever you want.”

  Her fingers slicked down her calves, curved around her ankles, then pulled back up her legs. His gaze followed to mid-thigh, then jerked back to her face. She was looking across the pool, oblivious to his observation. “Mmm…” She moved the sunscreen application to her arms. “Let’s go into town. Find amazing souvenirs. And would it be crass to want to post some pictures online that show that I’m having the time of my life? Too soon?”