Chapter 2

“Some people would call us crazy for doing this,” Brooke said as her sneakers thudded against the dirt footpath.

“For what? Hiking to a waterfall with a hurricane about to hit? Or spending time with someone you haven’t seen since high school?” Logan ended the question with an exaggerated shudder.

Good thing she was behind him, thanks to the hairpin turn around a moss-covered tree trunk. It meant Logan couldn’t see the happy smile that split her face at his words. Because she was sooo darned happy about reconnecting with him. With Logan Marsh. The boy she’d crushed on all through high school. The super popular boy with the arresting, golden-brown eyes that popped in contrast to his dark brown hair.

Strike all that. Because Logan was now one hundred percent man. The leanness of a teenager had morphed into muscles galore. She didn’t know what he did for a living, but it had to be something physical. Muscles like that didn’t pop from hitting the gym a few times a week. In deference to the stultifying humidity, he’d changed into a tank. The deep armholes showed off the cut of his biceps, the rounded bulk of his shoulders and traps. Not to mention the tuft of dark chest hair that curled over the edge of the neckline. Logan’s body was a thing of beauty. A thing of hotness. A thing she very, very much wanted to see even more of and rub up against.

Then Brooke realized she’d been staring instead of answering his question. “Both, probably.” She took a few skipping steps to catch up to his long-legged lope. And to hide the fact she’d stopped walking entirely just to ogle his ass. Geez, her friend Katrina would be so proud of her for that ogle! Brooke hadn’t drooled over anyone in months. Heck, Brooke hadn’t even thought about sex in months. One look at Logan, though, and her lust levels surged right back to normal and then some. “But I meant the hike. We haven’t passed a single person on this trail.”

“Look up.” Logan pointed at the slices of bright blue sky visible through the thick canopy of rain forest. “The sun is shining. Not a cloud to be seen. The hurricane will come fast, but not before dinner, at least. We’re safe. Everyone else is just chicken.”

That’s what the manager at their hotel had said when he mapped out their route to the waterfall. Brooke assumed he wouldn’t knowingly send off paying guests to drown in a storm. Right? “I guess. It feels strange, though. Like we really are marooned on a tropical island. Like we’re the only two people here. The quiet’s eerie, you know?”

Logan took a few more steps; listening, she supposed. She hoped. Or maybe he was already regretting being stuck with her for the next few hours. Maybe he was a completely different man now.

He’d always been even-tempered. The peacekeeper in a group. The guy who stopped fights before they started. The guy who stood up for the nerds and didn’t let them get stuffed into lockers. A little on the quiet side. Or maybe it just seemed that way next to his BFFs Josh and Knox, who never stopped talking for a second. What if that Logan was gone? Who was she really hiking with, deep into a foreign rain forest?

Logan paused at the top of the shallow steps. Looked up at the trees intertwined above the path. “I spend most of my life in places like this. I’m used to them, so I don’t hear the quiet.” Raising an arm, he pointed at the flash of brown fur in the greenery. “I hear the chitter of monkeys. The incessant hum of bugs. The birds yapping.”

Spoilsport. “Are you trying to suck all the romance out of my deserted-island theory?”

Putting a hand at the small of her back—where hopefully he didn’t notice her shirt sticking to her—Logan leaned close to growl in her ear, “Honey, when I start sucking on something, you’ll be the first to know.”

Brooke grabbed blindly for the wooden handrail. Because a statement like that made a girl’s knees all wobbly. But she was too out of practice to lob the lust ball back at Logan. Way out of practice. She blanked trying to come up with a sultry retort. Forget sultry. Not even a flirty retort.

Katrina had warned her, over and over again. Use it or lose it. Brooke hadn’t flexed those flirting muscles in so long. Sex had been off her radar. Heck, everything had been off her radar for a while. Since the tragedy. Utter depression and a serious re-evaluation of her entire life had a way of displacing the simple pleasures.

She’d managed to do some very basic flirting in the airport with Logan. This, however, was several levels deeper. This wasn’t just flirting. It was a promise. One she wanted him to deliver on.

Instead, she flailed. The first thing Brooke told her students was: if you made a mistake, don’t stop and alert the world. Just keep going. So she did. Grabbed at his random comments like a lifeline and reeled them out of the repartee rapids into safer conversational waters. “Um, why do you spend your life in places like this? How are you so lucky?” Batting at an oversized fern by her eyes, she said, “No, wait. Let me guess.”

Logan winced. “Don’t guess.”

She pointed at the curving path. Right now they had a clear view across the densely green mountains and over the treetops. The switchbacks quickly disappeared into the foliage. It had to be a long climb down to the base of the falls. “We’ve got about a zillion steps ahead of us. Let me distract myself from the burn in my thighs.”

“You’ll never get it.”

“Again, you persist in trying to suck the fun out of my imagination.”

“Because I don’t want you to feel like an idiot.”

“That’s a guaranteed way to awaken my competitive spirit. Which, when you inevitably look back on this,” she said teasingly, “was your big mistake. I’m nothing if not competitive. I have an entire case of trophies at work to prove it.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The rhythmic plod of their steps fell into an easy unison. He’d claimed she’d feel like an idiot, for which she’d make him pay later. So it wasn’t something obvious. Not that there was anything obvious about a job that took you to the middle of a rain forest. “Professional sunblock tester?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that was just a warm-up guess. One to make you smile. Obviously, from your rocking tan, you and the sun have an understanding.” A very good understanding. Beneath the even sprinkling of dark hair, his skin was the color of not-quite-finished toast. Golden brown. Something Brooke wanted beneath her lips.

“You want to quit?” Logan flipped the tip of one of her long pigtails. “Or are you stalling while you try to come up with another guess?”

“Undercover resort reviewer?”

“Nope.”

“Taker of botanical samples to discover the next miracle antibiotic?”

He paused, foot in midair. “Okay, you’ve got some guessing game after all. But no.”

She’d gotten his attention, and a little bit of respect. What Brooke really wanted was a hint. “You’re the one who spritzes down models with oil when they do beach photo shoots in bikinis.”

At least that got a bark of a laugh out of him. “No, but if you could hook me up with that job, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“I’ll bet,” Brooke muttered under her breath. Enormous ferns in her face; humidity, sweat—both dripping down her back; and Logan was now thinking about supermodels, thanks to her. This wasn’t working at all. “I’m going to blame jet lag and say that I’m out of guesses.”

“Pretty sure we’re on Atlantic Standard Time here. Which is the same as D.C. But I’ll let you keep your pride and go with it.” The teasing condescension in his voice sounded just like the old days. When they’d used to give each other a hard time about everything. In private.

To the rest of the world, they were each other’s staunch supporters. The cheerleader and the star soccer player, who always had the other’s back. People thought it was weird for a boy and a girl to be friends. They made it work. And Logan never found out that Brooke desperately wanted to be more than friends with him, if only the timing had ever worked out.

She threw up her hands. “Go ahead. Tell me. What’s your mystery job that keeps you in rain forests, on tropical islands, or both?”

“I’m a disaster recovery specialist for my family’s foundation. We help out around the world at the smaller disasters that don’t receive international aid.”

This time it was Brooke who froze, one foot in midair. Felt her jaw practically unhinge like a cobra’s as she gaped at him. Good thing her mouth had opened, because she’d jammed her foot in there so far it was probably down by her belly button. No, she sure hadn’t come close to guessing it.

When she didn’t say anything, Logan kept going, tugging her wrist to keep her moving down the steps. “We dig out. Clean off. Rebuild. I just left Kazakhstan. A village was broken by an earthquake, and then buried by a subsequent rock slide. Well, rock and mudslide. People dead. Homes destroyed. No clean water to drink. Basically starting from scratch.”

So many thoughts whirled through her brain. That he had to be one of the most selfless people she knew. That he sure did come by all those muscles the hard way. That she was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that she coached cheerleaders for a living, and he gave people their lives back, after helping to save them.

Brooke knew all too well that she didn’t save lives. Her inability to save a single life had haunted her now for months. It was the reason behind this trip to the tropics, to try to shake her out of endless self-doubt, self-loathing, and guilt.

All of that was too much to start with, so Brooke blurted out, “It sounds dangerous.”

“It can be.” A shoulder shrug. “But so is driving on the Beltway in rush hour.”

Selfless and self-deprecating. And sexy. Plus a sense of humor. This man was the whole package. The real deal. Everything a woman could possibly want wrapped in a lickable shell. Too bad Brooke wasn’t in the market for the perfect man. Or any man, for that matter. “Don’t dismiss the danger. You put your life on the line for strangers.”

“Somebody has to. Why not me?”

Yep. Wholly selfless and unaware of just how special that made him. “Um, because you don’t have to? Because these strangers live half a world away. They don’t speak your language. They aren’t your responsibility.”

“Sounds like you disapprove.”

She clutched at his forearm. “Oh my gosh, no. No! I think what you do is wonderful. I was just trying to express all the reasons you don’t have to do it…which makes the fact that you do all the more honorable and amazing.”

Logan didn’t shake her off. But he did readjust so that her hand moved from by his wrist to being enveloped in his. “Don’t build me up that far. I’m not a superhero. I schlep rocks and dig trenches for latrines. I’m just a guy doing a job.”

“A job lots of other people wouldn’t do.” God, when was the last time she’d held hands with a man? He had big hands. Logan’s more than six feet of solid sexiness towered over her five feet, three inches. Brooke bet he was big everywhere.

Geez, what was wrong with her? It was like seeing Logan again flipped a switch activating all the dormant parts of her brain. The part that noticed the deep green glossiness of the leaves. The part that enjoyed the woodsy, earthy scent to the air. And the part of her that really, truly wanted and needed to have sex with this man.

Logan sucked in a long breath. He held it for a second, and then whooshed it all out before responding. “I think that’s part of why I do it. Because I learned a long time ago that when everyone else won’t make the effort, just one person can still make a difference.”

Brooke wanted to know more. She’d bet her favorite pair of date jeans—the ones that made her ass look great—that it had to do with the legendary story of when Logan rescued his best friends from imminent death back in high school.

“Hey, look at that.” Logan pointed at the break in the trees. The single column of water was easily visible. It arced over a high rock shelf, then fell straight down. As Brooke looked at it, she noticed the dull patter as the droplets hit the pool below. Their conversation had completely distracted her from their surroundings.

“We’re almost there. Come on!” Picking up the pace was easy. She just let gravity have its way as they ran down the steps. As they got closer, the temperature dropped discernibly. Dampness clung to the dirt and the wooden railings, and moisture dripped off the trees onto their heads.

With a cry of delight, Brooke skidded to a stop at the thick, exposed roots of a tree whose leaves reached past the top of the waterfall. A carpet of moss in all sorts of varieties covered the rocks and the tree trunks along the edge of the uniquely emerald-colored pool. Long, stringy vines caged around the sides of the sparkling shaft of water.

“It’s so beautiful,” she sighed.

“Yeah, it is.”

Logan stared intently at the idyllic setting for a long time. Long enough that Brooke started to wonder if something was wrong. On the other hand, she was loath to break the spell that held him in place, not knowing what caused it. Finally, he shook his head. Grabbed the back of his tank and yanked it over his head. He dropped it onto the exposed roots.

Holy guacamole. Thick traps. Defined lats that whittled down the amazing breadth of his back to a trim waist. Logan was gorgeous. Mouthwatering. Sheer sexy perfection. She’d totally wasted her time eyeing him on the beach when they were kids. The body he’d sculpted now, through selflessness and hard work, that was worth a crush. Not to mention the rush of desire for him that flowed through her like…well, much like the waterfall in front of them. Strong. Powerful. Unceasing.

In a crouch, untying his boots, Logan said, “Get with it, Gallagher.”

“What?”

“I’m going in. You coming?”

Well, yes. That was the plan. She’d layered her red bikini beneath her shorts and tee. But right now she’d far rather stand here and watch the show. Which wasn’t polite. Or fair. Probably borderline creepy. So Brooke peeled off her clothes.

In short order he stripped to a pair of black boxer briefs. Without waiting for her, Logan rushed right into the pool. And kept going. He stopped directly underneath the pounding water. Head bowed, he let it break onto his neck. Shoulders rolled forward, hands hanging limply at his side, Logan looked like the weight of the entire world was sluicing off of him, drip by drip.

Which, yes, meant that Brooke had stopped everything to stare at him. Again. Much more mindful of the slippery slime on the rock steps, Brooke slowly descended into the pool. Its emerald waters were cool and refreshing. Not cold. Just a welcome relief from the sticky, hot air.

Mud squelched beneath her toes. It was a weird sensation after years of the sandy bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Hopefully the constant flow of fresh water kept squishy, slimy, swimming things away from her. Because they were in a rain forest. And if there was a snake in the water, Brooke would hightail it out screaming like a little girl, no matter how hard Logan laughed.

The water almost covered her boobs, so Brooke used her arms to pull herself more easily through the water. She stopped in front of Logan. Far enough away that the barrage of water didn’t splatter her with more than a mist. It’d be impossible for him to hear over the water pounding around them.

Lifting her feet, she waited in a relaxing float. It seemed the thing to do in a tropical pool. Her parents had ordered her to stop thinking down here. To get out of her head. The peace and beauty of this spot filled her up so much that thought was impossible. Just sensation.

When she felt a wave in the water, Brooke shifted her gaze from the iridescence of the waterfall down to the man walking out of it. The tightness around his eyes and mouth was gone. His shoulders were lower and pulled back. “You look better.”

“Is that a nice way of saying I looked like crap before?”

Logan Marsh was one of the most spectacular-looking men Brooke had ever seen…in real life. That caveat existed because of her deep and abiding love for unmeetable royalty (Prince Carl Philip of Sweden and her fellow redhead, Prince Harry) and ungettable movie stars (any incarnation of James Bond and any human version of a werewolf).

Still, when she’d seen him in the airport, he’d looked beyond tired. Beaten down. At the end of his rope. Telling him that, however, wouldn’t be right. Brooke let her legs drift vertically to support her. “Ah—”

A rumble of laughter cut her off. Thankfully. “Don’t sweat it. I know I did. When I leave a site, I usually try to stay away from…well, everyone. It takes me a while to shake off everything I’ve seen. Done. Buried.” His eyes darkened again. Then he shook his head like a dog and sent water spraying onto her. “This is great, though. Being here. Way better than my original plan to drink enough beer to fill a bathtub.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a plan for tonight. I’m sorry—”

He cut her off again. This time, by pressing a finger to her lips. “Don’t apologize. And don’t pay attention to my stupid attempt at a joke, either. It isn’t just being here that’s good for me. It’s being here with you.” Logan shifted his hand to thumb a caress along her jawline. “It’s been way too long, Brooke.”

His touch, his tone, the look in his eyes. It all promised something. Or at least hinted at something. Something that Brooke hadn’t cared about at all since her world turned upside down. Sex hadn’t just been off the table. It had been off her radar completely. But now Brooke knew, without a doubt, it was exactly what she needed to finally jump-start her life.

“I’m moving to North Carolina,” she blurted out.

He dropped his hand to the water. “Okay?” His voice lifted up in a question. Basically asking, What’s with the random?

Hopefully he’d see the logic in it. Soon. “My parents are retiring there. I wanted a change of pace. So I took a job in North Carolina. I’ll need to move down there in the next two weeks.”

“Okay?”

Darn it. Logan wasn’t making the gigantic leap she’d hoped. So she’d have to go ahead and peel off the last vestige of pride and just say it. “We can have a fling. A marooned-on-an-island fling. With no repercussions. Because we won’t be running into each other when you’re back in town.”

“You want to have a no-strings fling?”

“Yes. I really think I do.” Not with just anyone, though. Only with Logan. Right here. Right now.

“Was this your plan for tonight?”

“When I got on the plane this morning? No.” Then, her plan had been to mope and be generally as blah as she’d been back home. “But it’s been percolating ever since I saw you in the airport.”

The coolness in Logan’s expression was replaced with a sudden flare of heat. As if a candle flame burned behind those golden-brown eyes, bringing out the gold flecks and simultaneously darkening the rest to a molten chocolate. “For me, too.”

Whew. She’d been right about the signals. One hurdle crossed. But he still wasn’t moving any closer. They were all alone in paradise. How much more prodding did he need? “So…ah…can we?”

Logan looked at her. Then he twisted his head to look up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves, as though he was thinking. Uh-oh. Thinking was generally an impediment to sex. Brooke didn’t want to think. She’d been locked in a vicious circle of thinking and rethinking for too long. All she wanted to do was feel.

And, darn it, a man who’d been in a disaster site for the last three months ought to be pretty horny by now, too. This wasn’t like she’d asked him to help her move, or take her to Dulles at dawn. It was barely even a favor. More along the lines of agreeing to split a piece of cheesecake. Mutually beneficial to both of them.

“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.”