good thing , I remind myself, eyeing his hand until it drops away.
“That was quite the wipeout,” Charlie says with a laugh as he comes up toward me, dragging the rest of my board on the beach. “You need to work on your reflexes a bit more.”
I open my mouth to say something but Logan is beating me to it.
“Don’t blame all that on her reflexes,” Logan says, raising his chin as he peers down at Charlie. “She’s not the problem. You’re the problem.”
Charlie’s scoffs, annoyed, and runs his hand through his hair. “Me? Dude, no offense, but you know I’m one of the best on the north shore.”
“Sure you are, kid,” Logan says. “Why don’t you run along. I’ve got a shuttle bus full of people who want to head to Princeville in the next ten minutes. I’ll take over from here.”
Wait, what?
“What?” Charlie asks, obviously as taken aback as I am. “ You’re going to teach her?” Charlie glances uneasily at me and I give him a pleading look that says help me, Jesus .
“That’s right,” Logan says smoothly, folding his arms across his chest. “By the time you come back, she’ll be a bloody Gidget.”
I’m not even sure who—or what—a bloody Gidget is, but I have a feeling it involves me learning how to surf in a short amount of time.
“Seriously Shephard?” Charlie asks.
Logan jerks his head back to the hotel. “Bosses orders, mate. Get going.”
I half expect Charlie to stand his ground, but he folds quickly, grumbling as he marches off to the hotel like a petulant child.
“You don’t have to teach me,” I quickly tell Logan, trying to gather up my board. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Oh, I’m teaching you,” he says gruffly. “The kid doesn’t know shit; he’s from Colorado. You need an Aussie to show you how things are really done on the water.”
Then he takes a step back from me and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the beach behind him.
Oh.
My.
God.
And Christ on a cracker.
Logan Shephard has his shirt off.
And Logan Shephard is absolutely ripped , a beast of epic proportions.
I mean, I knew he was tall and burly and his chest and shoulders were always hard to overlook under the tee shirts he’s been wearing, but I guess I was doing my best these last two weeks to ignore all that because now that he’s bare-chested in front of me, I feel all words and thoughts drain out of my brain.
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,
“That was quite the wipeout,” Charlie says with a laugh as he comes up toward me, dragging the rest of my board on the beach. “You need to work on your reflexes a bit more.”
I open my mouth to say something but Logan is beating me to it.
“Don’t blame all that on her reflexes,” Logan says, raising his chin as he peers down at Charlie. “She’s not the problem. You’re the problem.”
Charlie’s scoffs, annoyed, and runs his hand through his hair. “Me? Dude, no offense, but you know I’m one of the best on the north shore.”
“Sure you are, kid,” Logan says. “Why don’t you run along. I’ve got a shuttle bus full of people who want to head to Princeville in the next ten minutes. I’ll take over from here.”
Wait, what?
“What?” Charlie asks, obviously as taken aback as I am. “ You’re going to teach her?” Charlie glances uneasily at me and I give him a pleading look that says help me, Jesus .
“That’s right,” Logan says smoothly, folding his arms across his chest. “By the time you come back, she’ll be a bloody Gidget.”
I’m not even sure who—or what—a bloody Gidget is, but I have a feeling it involves me learning how to surf in a short amount of time.
“Seriously Shephard?” Charlie asks.
Logan jerks his head back to the hotel. “Bosses orders, mate. Get going.”
I half expect Charlie to stand his ground, but he folds quickly, grumbling as he marches off to the hotel like a petulant child.
“You don’t have to teach me,” I quickly tell Logan, trying to gather up my board. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Oh, I’m teaching you,” he says gruffly. “The kid doesn’t know shit; he’s from Colorado. You need an Aussie to show you how things are really done on the water.”
Then he takes a step back from me and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it on the beach behind him.
Oh.
My.
God.
And Christ on a cracker.
Logan Shephard has his shirt off.
And Logan Shephard is absolutely ripped , a beast of epic proportions.
I mean, I knew he was tall and burly and his chest and shoulders were always hard to overlook under the tee shirts he’s been wearing, but I guess I was doing my best these last two weeks to ignore all that because now that he’s bare-chested in front of me, I feel all words and thoughts drain out of my brain.
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,
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