“We’ve been friends a long time.” Logan wound a wet strand of her hair around his finger. “You sure you want to cross that line, Escarlata?”
Oh, boy. He’d used her old nickname. The one he’d given her when she’d gotten teased in Spanish class for the color of her hair. Red, carrot, rhubarb—none of those were anything Brooke cared to be called in either language. Logan had come to her rescue, calling her the Spanish version of Scarlet. It’d sounded both pretty and romantic, along with flip-flopping her heart every time he used it.
It still did.
“Desperately.”
“Thank God,” he said fervently. Logan surged through the water to capture her waist and pull her flush against him. Then, in a fantasy come true, he kissed her. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t soft. Which was fine, because Brooke didn’t want either of those things. She wanted an onslaught of sensation and feeling to push away the numbness. To help her forget, if only for a little while, the ever-present sadness.
So Logan’s kiss was perfect. Exactly what she needed. A hard, fast exploration of her lips, nipping and biting and licking for the whole maybe minute that Brooke lasted before opening to him. Then his tongue slipped inside.
While he devoured her, while the slip and slide of his tongue woke up nerve endings not just in her mouth but in her entire body, his hands moved. They grabbed at her. Just as hard and fast and full of need as the kisses. Like Logan was trying to learn her body, memorize it through touch alone.
Those big, work-roughened hands moved up and down her sides, up her back to curl around her nape, then back down her spine to fan wide around her hips. Every inch of skin that he moved across woke up. There was no other way to put it.
Brooke felt awake. Alive. So sensitive to everything. The coolness left behind when his hand moved, the breeze bringing out goosebumps. The ultra-soft mist of the falls coating them both. The amazing friction of the line of hair bisecting his abdomen rubbing against her. Yet she wanted so much more.
Impatient to get it, she boosted herself off the bottom of the pool to wrap her arms up and around his broad shoulders. Feeling all of Logan’s muscles was just as seductive, just as much of a turn-on as all the things he was doing to her. There was so much of him to caress. Like a blank canvas she wanted to color in completely with her touch.
Logan’s hands slid around to her butt. Water slapped up between their bodies in a cool contrast to the heat of his skin. Brooke wrapped her legs around his waist so that there’d be no slipping away. Once she’d latched on, he slipped one hand underneath her suit bottom. It shocked her how much more intimate his touch felt without that thin layer of spandex between them. It both shocked and delighted her. And when he reached up to trace a line from between her butt cheeks to the small of her back, Brooke almost fell apart. Not quite. But it did race electricity through her in a stunning surge that had her hips thrusting against him.
Her head fell back. Logan greedily took advantage of the move, lapping at the pulse point in her throat. She raked her nails down his chest, delighting in the light covering of hair across his pecs. Logan let her fall back until she was floating, but still connected at his waist. Then he dropped his head. He latched onto her nipple through her bikini top and sucked. Hard.
Brooke’s eyes flew open. And she was caught off guard by the utter blackness of the afternoon sky. Then with a splash, she pulled herself back up. “Uh-oh.” Pointing upward until Logan looked at the ominous clouds, Brooke said, “We should head back. The storm’s coming.”
With a final, bruising kiss that had her tightening every muscle from toes to neck, Logan growled, “You’d better believe it.”
Chapter 3
Brooke wiped damp palms on the gauzy outer layer of her maxi-dress. Yes, she knew she’d been stumbling around in a shocked daze for far too long. Yes, she knew Katrina was right to urge her to start dating again. Dating—that was one thing. A couple of palomas on the El Centro roof deck during happy hour. That was how to ease back into dating.
A romantic island dinner with a man you’d fantasized over since making the JV cheerleading squad was not it. It was the dating equivalent of jackknifing off the Olympic platform before ever doing a cannonball from the side of the pool. Brooke wasn’t just nervous. She wasn’t ready.
Embracing the moment in the Emerald Pool had been easy. But then they’d had the long hike back, the last of it through spitting rain. It gave her plenty of time to think—and rethink—as she showered and changed for dinner. Brooke didn’t do hookups. She did relationships. She liked to know a person before stripping for them. No hang-up about it. Just a level of comfort required to get intimate.
On the other hand, she did know Logan. All her concerns about his turning into someone different as an adult were silly. If anything, he’d just morphed into a better version of the boy she’d known. Maybe she didn’t know his favorite drink…or if he had a pet…or if he did the crossword in pencil or ink or not at all. Brooke did know who Logan was on the inside. That ought to be enough to get to know his outsides really, really well.
That logic, however, did nothing to calm her racing heart. She stared out into the darkness, no longer able to distinguish the crashing surf a hundred feet below from the driving rain lashing at the hillside.
“Hey.” The low bass voice had her whipping around. Fast enough to twine her hair around her face and neck, thanks to the probably seventy-miles-an-hour wind cutting across the side of the balcony. With a chuckle, Logan gently smoothed each long strand off her cheeks and into a single fat tail. “People usually head indoors to wait out a hurricane.”
“It’s not full strength yet. I just wanted to be in its wildness, even if only a little. I wanted to feel it.” Brooke’s desire to feel things had more than rebounded since Logan flicked some unknown switch in her back to the on position. She wanted to feel everything.
Not just all the parts of life she’d checked out of recently. Brooke wondered if she’d been on autopilot for quite some time. Taking things for granted. Not appreciating enough, not striving for enough. It wouldn’t be solved before dinner, but she was excited to have that idea tickling its way through her brain.
“Well, I want to feel dinner in my belly.” He tugged on her hair. “Let’s take a break from the wildness and eat.”
That’s exactly what it felt like. Dinner was a calm break between the wildness of their coming together in the pool and…whatever wildness might happen between them after dinner. She let him lead her off the wide, covered balcony into the main room of Beau Rive. Tables and chairs from outside had been added to the green padded banquettes lining the walls to accommodate what few dinner guests there were.
They sat at a table by the staircase, set off from the rest of the room. It was as private as two people could get with all the rest of the hotel’s inhabitants and workers jammed into the same place with them. But the only person Brooke looked at was Logan.
He’d told her that none of the clothes in his duffel had been washed in weeks. Eww. So the hotel had provided resort wear from their boutique. Resort wear made her think of horny divorcées on cruises. But the linen pants and loose coral shirt hung off of him as though he were ready for a photo shoot. So darn handsome. So darn comfortable in his own skin. That adaptability probably came in handy in his travels.
Logan jumped up as soon as the waiter started to fill their water glasses. “Hang on.”
Staff were shutting all the doors against the storm and mopping up the puddles that had already accumulated on the dark wooden floor. Large hurricane globes flickered on each table, thanks to the ceiling fans slowly stirring the air. Yup. The setting was the epitome of tropical romance. If she’d been here all alone, as planned, Brooke would’ve been miserable. As it stood, though, she was looking forward to the best night she’d had in ages. Guilt-free. Which was a big step for her.
“Here.” Brooke caught a glimpse of a white, fuchsia, and yellow–streaked plumeria blossom before Logan hooked it behin
d her ear. “Now you’re decked out for an island dinner.”
The hotel staff needed to come right to their table to mop up the puddle of Brooke’s heart. “Logan, that’s so sweet.”
“It matches your dress.” He waved his hand up and down at the oversized watercolors of flowers printed on her white maxi-dress. “The hurricane would’ve blown it off, anyway.”
No matter how much Logan tried to downplay it, Brooke would never forget the simple gesture. “Thank you.”
The waiter set down two cocktails with what looked like half of a fruit salad hanging off the rims. “On the house. All night. To make up for a limited menu due to the storm. I’ll be back in a minute with fried conch to start.”
“I’m liking how this hurricane’s shaping up.” Logan lifted his glass in a toast. “To the silver lining of being stranded.”
Brooke hesitated before clinking. “You mean the free alcohol?”
A bark of surprise turned into a laugh. “I mean you, Brooke. Reconnecting again.” He extended his arm to touch his glass to hers. “I can pay for my own drinks. Can’t conjure a friend out of thin air, though. I’m grateful for the company. You’re the best distraction I could’ve dreamed up, Escarlata.”
Another little thrill at his use of her nickname. That would never get old. But his comment did ignite her curiosity. “Why do you need a distraction?”
His glass hit the table with a thump hard enough to spill some rum punch over the side. “Long story.”
Perfect. His long story meant she wouldn’t have to share hers. “C’mon. Tell me.”
“How about I tell you that the candlelight makes your hair look like flames streaming down your back? That I can’t wait to feel it burning all over me?”
His words alone sent a burst of heat through her. But her curiosity was piqued. “Feel free to elaborate on that anytime. Although we’re at dinner,” she said unnecessarily as the waiter dropped off their appetizer. “You don’t want to get us both worked up when we can’t do anything about it for at least another hour.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe it’ll be like phone sex—but across the table from each other. Make a bet as to who gets hotter first and cries uncle?” With an exaggerated leer, he pushed a piece of conch between her lips. Then swiped his thumb along her lower lip with a light touch that sent flutters up and down her spine.
Oh, no question. He’d win by a mile. But just to show that she had some game, Brooke kicked off her wedge sandal and ran her toes up his leg to his inner thigh. And grinned with satisfaction when he jumped and scooted his seat back.
“Hey. You can’t go for the goods before the salad course.”
“Exactly my point. Dinner’s barely begun.” Brooke placed her hand on top of his. “Logan. We’re in a hurricane. No television. No Internet. There’s no better time for a long story.”
His hand moved restlessly back and forth but didn’t shake hers off. “I don’t…I’m not sure…I don’t know how to talk about it yet. The last time I tried, I fucked it up royally.”
“I’m moving to North Carolina, remember? I’m the safest person in the world for you to confide in.” Plus, now Brooke wanted to know more than ever. “It’ll be our tropical island secret. Just start at the beginning.”
“The beginning. That’s funny.” His laugh was so harsh that it didn’t sound funny at all. It sounded…bitter. “The beginning is the part I didn’t know jack shit about. It all started twenty-four years ago, when apparently a sister I never knew about was born.”
Brooke hadn’t known what to expect. And his tone and guarded expression certainly hadn’t prepared her for an enormous secret-sister revelation.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Logan knocked back about half of his rum punch in a single gulp.
She had to know more. She had to know everything. Leaning forward, palms flat on the table, she asked, “When did you find out?”
“A few days ago.”
Her jaw fell open. “Seriously?” Brooke knew she was repeating herself, but it was so hard to believe. This was more suited to the soap operas she’d binged on in college than the real life of a guy who rebuilt villages with his bare hands. A guy who’d gone to the best prep school in the Mid-Atlantic, then off to Cornell for the cachet of an Ivy League business degree.
“I’ve got a decent sense of humor. Trust me, this isn’t a joke I’d play on my worst enemy.” He popped three pieces of conch into his mouth and chewed grimly.
“I don’t know if I should say I’m sorry…or congratulations?”
“The jury’s still out.”
So, so many questions. “How’d you find out?”
“That’s the kicker. Knox told me.”
Logan’s best friend? How would he discover this fact in particular before Logan? Brooke nibbled at her orange wedge. “How’d he find out?”
“Through a twisted stroke of Fate, he’s screwing my new sister.” There went the last of Logan’s drink, again consumed in a single, long swig.
Brooke didn’t know if she should laugh or commiserate. Because Logan’s best friend had quite the reputation in the District…as well as in all the states within driving distance. “That certainly sounds like Knox’s M.O. If she’s in D.C., she was sure to fall onto his radar sooner or later.” The import of what she’d just said fully registered. Brooke waved her fork across the middle of the white tablecloth. “Wait. Back up. She lives in D.C.? She’s been right beneath your nose your whole life? How’d your dad pull that off?”
“Apparently she grew up in Alaska.”
“Boy, when your dad wants something covered up, he really goes for broke.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Madison got a job at the Library of Congress. She just moved to D.C. Tracking me down was the first thing she did.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“No clue.”
Brooke had at least four emotions spring to mind immediately, and she wasn’t even involved in this big reveal. Maybe he was still processing. Maybe, being a guy and all, he just needed some coaxing to pinpoint his emotions. “Are you excited?”
“To discover that my father lied to me my entire life? No.”
“Right. Of course not.” On the other hand, Logan’s tight-lipped, bitten-out response certainly gave her a clue as to his emotional state. In a softer, more coaxing tone she asked, “Have you talked to your dad yet?”
“Kazakhstan, remember? I’m usually off the grid on a site. The local police had to drag me to the station when Knox called to share the so-called good news. I wasn’t going to tie up an official government line to have it out with my dad.”
“But you are mad at him?”
“I don’t know.” A big sigh. Coupled with the same bone-weary sadness dragging at the corners of his eyes that she’d first seen. “I don’t know why he did it. I mean, yeah, I’m pissed. But I can’t even get into being mad before I at least hear his side of it.”
Good point. Logan had always been fair-minded. It still impressed her, though, that with something of this magnitude he could maintain his equilibrium. “Okay. I get that. So you rushed home to confront him?”
“No. I left the site early—something I’ve never done—because I’d been a total douche bag to my surprise sister.”
Brooke snort-laughed. Not sexy or flirty at all, but he’d heard it before from her. “That’s impossible. You’re the dictionary definition of a good guy. You open doors for women and help old ladies with their groceries. What could you possibly have done?”
Logan slowly dragged a piece of conch back and forth through the sauce. “Knox tracked me down. Stuck her on the phone. Totally blindsided me. I didn’t have time to do anything but react. At first I assumed she was lying just to get close, because, well…” His voice trailed off.
It seemed important to inject a little bit of humor into the charged moment. Brooke couldn’t make the facts any easier to take, but she could at least make the telling of them less painful. “Because you
’re super hot?” she teased.
“Yeah. That’s what a woman always looks for in a new brother,” he said dryly. But the tightness around his golden-brown eyes relaxed a little bit. “The family trust fund has had more than a few fortune hunters aimed my direction. Our wealth isn’t exactly a secret in the D.C. social scene. The fact that I spend more than six months a year hip deep in mud without a toilet to be seen for miles usually scares them off pretty quickly.”
Roosevelt Prep was the most exclusive—and expensive—high school in the area. All of them dealt with—or ignored—their family money to a certain extent. Kids from other schools used to do anything to get an invite to their prom, which was the nicest by far and usually held someplace cool like the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. Nothing like snaring a hot date and having him ignore you to go hang with friends from his school by the Apollo 11.
“I, too, far prefer conventional toilet facilities to roughing it. No vast personal fortune required from my dates, but I do have the very low bar of expecting toilet paper in their bathroom.”
He didn’t even crack a smile at her admittedly weak joke. At this point Logan had made a trough in the center of the dipping sauce. Whatever emotion he wasn’t fessing up to was sure getting taken out on that poor piece of shellfish. “Plus, assuming Madison was telling the truth meant accepting that my dad had been lying to me my entire life, so that was a giant pill to swallow. I wasn’t nice about it.”
Brooke snatched the saturated conch from his hand and popped it in her mouth. “How’d you decide she was the real deal?”
“Knox vouched for her.” He leaned back in the rattan chair and ground the heel of his palm over one eye. “On top of that, the surprise wore off, and I finally pulled my head out of my ass.”
Biting back a giggle at his self-deprecation, Brooke said, “She’s got to forgive you. Maybe give you a do-over when you meet in person for the first time.”
“I’m hoping so.” Shifting again, Logan planted his elbows on the table. Clearly he’d rather be up and pacing as he got this all out. “I tried to make it up to her. Offered to take her on a three-month trip to get to know each other. I figured we could start to catch up on lost time. Missed memories.” He chopped the air with his right hand, emphasizing each point. “Because if I have a sister, I damn well want it to matter. It should matter. It should be important. We should be important to each other. Does that make sense?”
Giving It All Page 4
