"Seemed like the fastest way to get him to leave."
She tilts her head, that smirk widening into a smile. "What if I'd wanted him to stay?"
"Did you?"
"God, no. I see enough of those types where I'm from."
I pull out the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit? Since I'm apparently your boyfriend now. But if you say no, it's fine."
She gestures to the chair. "Please. I should probably know your name if we're dating."
"Logan." I settle into the chair, and up close, she's even more dangerous. Those freckles are everywhere—scattered across her nose, her cheekbones, trailing down her neck, and her lips look so pillowy soft. "Logan Collins. I own this place."
"Hannah Hewitt. I'm renting a house up the beach for the week."
Hannah extends a hand to me, and I take it because it's the polite thing to do. What's not polite is the rush of blood down south. I dig my heels into the floor because I'm wearing shorts, and the moment I stand, everyone within twenty feet will see my erection. "Vacation?"
"More like emergency escape from my job before I set something on fire."
"What kind of job makes you want to commit arson?"
"Accounting." She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Spreadsheets, fluorescent lights, and the same beige walls for the past five years. I booked this trip after staring at a pivot table for three hours and realizing I couldn't remember the last time I felt excited about anything."
"Pivot tables will do that to you."
She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know what a pivot table is?"
"I own a business. I've been tortured by spreadsheets, too."
"But you escaped."
"Built my own prison instead. Better view, though."
Hannah glances around the bar, taking in the bamboo railings, curtains of bead strings by the kitchen, and boats past the shoreline. "Not much of a prison."
"The island knows me now. I can't get away with anything. Delilah from the grocery store still tells me to eat more vegetables, like I'm twelve. The mechanic's kid heard me curse after stubbing my toe, and the next thing I knew, he gave me a lecture about knowing how to regulate my emotions."
"How terrible. Must be so hard being surrounded by people who care."
"It's a nightmare. No one will let me drink myself to death in peace."
Hannah grins. "So if the island knows you, that means no one will mess with me now, right? Since I'm your girl and all."
"Exactly. You're under my protection now. Very official. If Delilah ever approaches you and starts talking about vegetables, just tell her I eat French fries every day. That should count for something."
Hannah smacks a hand on the table. "Wait, that is actually clever."
"I am a clever man, Hannah, if you haven't noticed yet."
"Pretty humble too." She finishes her drink and smiles at me, and I just know, with every fiber of my being, this smile is burned into my retinas. It's the last thing I'll think about before I sleep tonight. "How should I thank you?"
So many inappropriate thoughts spring to my mind—things between her moaning my name or being buried inside her, but I don't say any of those. My own staff will kick me out if I do. Nevertheless, I can't resist a bit of teasing and see if she bites. "Preferably with a kiss. But no pressure."
Hannah almost chokes on her drink. Actually, almost snorts it. The laugh that follows is full and loud and completely unselfconscious.
That laugh is going to kill me.
"You don't waste time."
