Chapter 2

2

S unlight filtered through the open front of the dive shop and shone on glittering specks of dust. Back here among the rows of wetsuits, a play of shadows softened Logan’s striking features, his high cheekbones catching the light just so.

“Feels too loose,” he said.

No shit, Sherlock.

I took a step back and blessed him with a patient smile. “You don’t want your wetsuit to be too tight or you might feel constricted. Especially since it’ll be unusual at first to breathe through your regulator. So it’s important that you’re comfortable moving.”

True. It didn’t mean the wetsuit should be quite this big—bunching around his chest and legs, creases blooming from his crotch. Even the warm Caribbean sea wouldn’t keep him toasty in a shorty that was more like a sieve. With some luck, it would cool his temper.

He assessed me with a quick look that I couldn’t decipher. Amused, almost? Nah, that didn’t make sense. He’d breezed in fifteen minutes late without a hint of apology because clearly, my time was his to command, and then had proceeded to grump his way through my intro spiel about the gear and how we’d do the dive. Attitude like that, I’d bet he’d grown up coasting on his parents’ money, used to people bending over backwards to please him.

Catering to his spoiled ass might be my job, but I’d be damned if I let him turn me into his personal doormat. Been there, done that, never again.

“Fine,” he said after what seemed like a slight delay. He unzipped the front of the shorty and peeled it down his body, dropping it to the floor in a careless heap. Pro: he actually remembered me saying we’d change just before we went into the water so we wouldn’t overheat. Con: this fucker expected me to pick up after him.

“All right,” I said brightly. “I already carried our gear down to the beach. You wanna grab your wetsuit and we go?”

Logan raised a slow, disdainful brow. “I’m supposed to carry my own stuff?”

Oh, wow. If only there was a way to introduce him to Katie, the friend and dive instructor who’d taught me most of what I knew. She’d kick his entitled ass out of her dive shop so quickly there’d be scorch marks.

“Only your wetsuit.” My smile remained attached by a thin thread. “It’s part of the experience.”

“So the five-star service—that’s just the resort, not the diving?” Logan asked, and fucking hell, he seemed like the type to escalate his complaints. If he went running to Richard… Me, I didn’t matter enough to warrant special treatment. But Nia was popular, and ever since she’d finished her remote business degree, Richard had tapped her as competition. He’d jump at the chance to fault her leadership.

I gritted my teeth. “Look, if you insist—no problem. Happy to carry the wetsuit for you.”

Brief surprise flashed in Logan’s eyes, only to make room for a satisfied smirk. “Thanks.” It sounded more smug than grateful. Good God , Nia owed me for taking this one off her hands.

Out of sheer fucking principle, I refused to break eye contact as I bent down just enough to scoop up the wetsuit at his feet. Which—fuck. Think before you act, idiot. Because it brought me up nice and close to him, mouth just about level with his crotch, my eyes fixed on his well-trimmed happy trail. And when had I dropped my gaze?

The subtle scent of sunscreen clung to him, dim light glinting off his irritatingly sculpted abs. I glanced back up and found him staring at me, face completely still in the half-light. Jesus. What if he was a homophobe?

Abort .

I snagged the wetsuit, straightened, and rolled to the balls of my feet. Logan’s attention still clung to me like the slow drip of honey, flecks of gray swirling in the shadow-muted blue of his eyes. My cheeks felt hot, and seriously, what the fuck? I didn’t even like him. Hot, yes. But his personality? Not the kind of dick I was into. Plus, plus , hooking up with guests was strongly discouraged.

Sure, that rule had been bent in the past, but some of the others could get away with far more than me. I was just a tiny fish in this big pond, and Richard would gladly replace me with someone a little less gay and a little more loyal to him. For all his claims about how difficult it was to find a competent third person to support us—that was just him trying to make our lives harder. The reality was that if my spot was up for grabs, there’d be a lineup of willing, qualified dive instructors all the way around the island.

I needed this job more than it needed me.

“Let’s go,” I said, voice even. I turned without waiting for a reply.

Logan was quiet as he followed me out into the golden glow of the morning—hopefully, that didn’t mean he was silently rehearsing complaints about me ogling him. I shook off the thought and let the new day settle around my shoulders.

Just past nine, the resort was waking up, most guests still asleep in their villas or enjoying breakfast on private terraces that overlooked the sea or rolling hills. They were covered in lush forest fostered by volcanic earth and frequent, heavy rains. Slight humidity weighed down the air, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the lingering scent of hibiscus flowers.

The first few months after I’d arrived, I’d wake with the phantom taste of exhaust in my throat, still half-expecting Michael to be next to me, his breathing slow and steady. But I’d long since left that life behind—Miami and its steady hum of traffic, bars spilling music into the streets, people rushing, shouting into their phones. Some things I missed, like the mad riot of spring break and the diffuse glow of yachts docked in the port, the smell of tobacco wafting from a cigar store in Little Havana.

Dinners with my parents. Katie and her dive center.

But I didn’t miss life on fast-forward—always late, always chasing something. That wasn’t me anymore. If Miami was a highway, Dominica was an overgrown forest path that became impassable for some of the rainy season. Time here flowed more like a sluggish river than a wild stream, its passing measured by the steady rhythm of the waves, push and pull, advance and retreat.

I led the way down weathered limestone steps that wound to the sea, the rhythmic slap of Logan’s flip-flops trailing me. Clouds chased across the sky and cast their patterns on the turquoise water.

Our gear was waiting for us on the beach. With introductory dives, I usually kept the theory to a minimum—that could wait until a first-timer decided to do a course. It turned out Logan had questions , though. What did that mean—compressed air? How did it work? How deep would we go, and how would that impact his body? Why did we need to go slow when coming up? What if he needed to pee ?

That last one pulled me up short.

I took a moment to study him—the slope of his mouth and the ocean color of his eyes, his strong features softened by a hint of boyish charm. Was he messing with me?

“By all means.” I quirked a brow. “But you pee in it, you buy it.”

A sudden grin washed across his face. It pressed a dimple into his left cheek, deep enough to hold a shot of bourbon. Dammit . “No refunds?” he asked with a dramatic widening of his eyes.

“Nope—golden rule, I’m sure you understand. Consider it a liquid asset.”

“Right, yeah.” He pursed his mouth, bright humor etched into its corners. “But with an added splash of personality. ”

I bit down on an actual smile—so maybe he wasn’t all bad. “One of a kind, for sure. Now, any more questions?”

“Eh. Think I’ll hold them.” Still grinning, he raised his arms for a leisurely stretch that drew attention to the flat expanse of his stomach and the subtle shift of muscle. I looked away.

“See that you do,” I said, crouching down by our gear for a final check. It’d be good to finally get into the water—a cooldown for Logan even more than for me. He still deserved it.

Our dive started as an unscripted buoyancy battle.

Logan paddled wildly and inflated his vest at random. He would have shot up like a rocket if I hadn’t grabbed him in time. His flailing nearly knocked off my mask, and even though I’d told him it wasn’t a race, he seemed intent on trying to cover as much ground as possible, his fins kicking sand in my face. Thanks, dude.

After several minutes of this madness, I grabbed him by the shoulders, forced him to stop and look at me. I expected wide-eyed discomfort. Instead, he was grinning around his mouthpiece.

Odd.

I motioned for him to time his breathing to mine. In. And out. In. And out.

Look around you.

Everything here flowed with languid grace, its peace marred only by the rare shadow of a predator. Steep sunbeams slanted into the water, broken into visible strings of light that sparked off a silvery school of bass. Sponges and corals formed a colorful maze, a lionfish drifting through in all its splendor—red and white bands marking its body, its showy fins splayed like palm fronds. Each of our exhales sent up a cascade of bubbles, the loudest sound in this tranquil underwater world.

Logan’s breathing had slowed considerably. I squeezed his shoulder, and he gave me a quick, happy nod. Well—we’d see.

Except I was diving with a different person after that. He floated easily, no need for me to interfere, and when I glanced at his pressure gauge some thirty minutes in, his remaining air made me do a double take.

This was not his first dive.

What the fuck, though? Why would he lie?

There was still a dive to finish before I could question him. I tried to practice what I preached by focusing on our surroundings. This world was my peace of mind. Beautiful and serene, it had been there for me when the rest of my life was falling apart. We came upon a school of young barracuda gathered above an old fishing boat that had been sunk as a tourist gimmick, the light shifting with a mix of sun and clouds.

Logan was beaming when we came up, pulling off his mask to reveal the happy gleam in his eyes. What kind of game was he playing? I didn’t even stop to remove my fins before I faced him, water up to my waist, throat a little tight. “This wasn’t your first dive.”

“Ah.” A sheepish look crossed his features, tanned skin marked by the mask’s panda imprint. “Yeah. I did my advanced course last year.”

Okay, so. What the hell?

“And you still made me go through the whole beginner spiel?” I frowned. “ Why ?”

Uncertainty clouded his features. “Right, it’s like… See, I study Hospitality Management, and right now, my focus is on resort management and staff interactions.”

“Aren’t you a little old for that?” I cut in. Which... rude. But he’d acted like an ass and used me for comic relief—I was in no mood to roll out the red carpet.

He ducked his head and rubbed a hand through his wet hair, long fingers tangling in the dark strands. “Kinda. I’m almost done, but yeah, I got a late start. Wasn’t sure what I wanted to do for a while.”

Meaning he’d sat around with his thumb up his ass, most likely. Rich kid.

I leveled him with a flat stare. “And that explains you lying to me… how?”

“Technically, I didn’t lie .” He tilted his head with a winning smile, and oh, he thought he was cute, didn’t he? “I just let you assume certain things.”

“Let’s skip the debate about how lying by omission is still a lie, shall we?”

“Fair enough.” His brows pulled together. “Well, the thing is that because of my studies, I’m always curious to see how a place is managed. How does the staff deal with problems or challenging guests?” He gestured at himself. “Case in point.”

“You were”— a dick —“difficult on purpose?”

He grinned. “Yeah. For the record, I like how you and Nia handled it—professional but not subservient. And you refused to bend the rules for me. That’s appropriate. If I ever run my own place, I wouldn’t want the staff to twist themselves out of shape, don’t think that’s good for morale.”

Logan in charge? I’d paddleboard my way out of there in record time.

“How very progressive of you,” I said, dripping sarcasm. “Caring about the little people and all.”

For a beat, he watched me. “You still think I’m a jerk, huh?”

I shrugged. “First impressions, you know?”

Shit, I needed to tone down the acid. He was still a guest, and yeah, he’d made me feel… small. Manipulated. But I could admit that I was perhaps a little more sensitive than most.

“Okay, yeah. Valid.” He hesitated, mouth pursing in thought. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Honestly, I thought you might find it kind of funny.”

The fucking nerve of him. I wrestled off my fins and started wading for the shore. “What’s funny about being made to feel like a gullible fool?”

“Hey, no.” He sounded genuinely baffled, following. “That’s not—that wasn’t the point, I swear. And you already got your revenge, didn’t you? What with my wetsuit being way too big. You’re no fool.”

Like I’d admit to giving him the wrong size on purpose.

My narrow smile was faker than the candid selfie of an influencer. “Oh, was there a problem with your wetsuit? ”

Logan laughed , dimples and all. “Even tropical waters can get chilly if it’s pretty much open house. It was a nice, subtle touch, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” I told him, dry as the desert.

“Of course.” He nodded quite seriously, an impish twist to his mouth, wet hair sticking up in little tufts. “But just so you know, my balls have shriveled to the size of Tic Tacs.”

Ha.

“Nice imagery,” I said.

“Thanks—I always had a flair for poetry.”

Jesus Christ, his self-deprecation was disarming. Might be just another act, though. “Show us your certificate,” I said. “Then we’ll take you to the Champagne Reef and wherever else you’d like to go.”

“Great. I’ll join for the morning dive tomorrow, if that’s all right. A friend might come as well.” He paused to set down his gear, handling the weight of the tank with practiced ease. “Our butler can handle the paperwork, right?”

Their butler, yeah. Every cabin came with one, and it was a reminder that he was filthy rich and likely here on his parents’ dime. Must be nice to live in the unbroken belief that the world is at your fingertips.

It sounded bitter even in my own head, and I reminded myself that I wasn’t some lost little boy who cried himself to sleep at night. I’d made my way.

“That’s fine,” I told Logan, perhaps a hint too coldly.

Brief silence fell as I shrugged out of my dive vest and peeled off the wetsuit, Logan doing the same next to me. The clouds had thickened, all signs pointing to a heavy downpour within the next half hour. Too bad for Nia, who’d be on her way back with the snorkeling group. Me, I planned to be cozied up with a book by the time the skies opened.

I slung my wetsuit over my shoulder and held out a hand for Logan’s. He shot me a cautious smile. “Nah, I can carry my own stuff. ”

“That’s new.” Yeah, I really should watch my tone. His quick, slightly tentative laugh told me he wasn’t easily offended, though.

“On a scale of one to murder fantasies,” he asked, “how much did you want to punch me?”

I glanced at the sharp cut of his jawline. “You’re far from the worst we’ve had.”

The woman who’d kept treating Nia like a servant came to mind, and we’d both dealt with our share of handsy guests—Nia more than me, of course. Most people didn’t immediately peg me as gay, but there’d been that one dude who was here with his family and still grabbed my ass any chance he got, then complained about my attitude when I finally drew a line.

“Not an answer.” Logan winked, and yeah, okay, he was trying . I just wasn’t convinced. “But also, sounds like you got some stories.”

No gossiping about guests with other guests—it was an ironclad rule. I lifted a shoulder before I hoisted up my gear. Presumably, Logan had implied he’d carry his own wetsuit, not that he’d lug his tank up what felt like a million steps—the sooner I got started, the sooner I’d be done.

“We don’t kiss and tell.” I glanced over just in time to catch him ogling my ass. He snatched his gaze away.

Okay. So that was—huh.

I waited for our eyes to meet before I raised a brow. A beat passed, measured by the gentle swell of a wave, by the mildly drunken lurch of my pulse. God, this was stupid. I wouldn’t risk my job just because the hottest guy I’d ever met might be less of a dick than he’d seemed initially. But I wouldn’t look away first either.

It was Logan who did. “Good to know,” he murmured, his voice like a secret I hadn’t been meant to hear. My pulse twisted, then steadied. Yeah, not happening.

When he shouldered his dive vest and moved to collect the rest of his gear, I shook my head. “Hey, don’t bother. It’s a lot of steps up to the shop—trust me, I know. If you can just carry your wetsuit, fins, and mask, I’ll handle the tank and all.”

“If you and Nia can do it, I don’t see why I can’t.” He made no move to set down his gear, and I appreciated the sentiment, but Richard would blow a gasket if he saw a guest schlepping his own stuff. I could do without the lecture.

“The reason you shouldn’t is that you’re paying good money for your stay. As some dude recently reminded me.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a lopsided upwards curve. “Yeah, but that was me being a douche. I can carry my own gear.”

He sure could—the curves of his biceps were a sculptor’s wet dream. Not the point, though. “It would make me look bad,” I said.

“Why?”

I hesitated for a second, but we were way past paradise pretenses. “What you said about the staff not twisting themselves out of shape for the guests? Yeah, we’re expected to do that here.”

He frowned. “Says who?”

“Management.”

His frown deepened. “That’s bullshit.”

I shrugged. “Well, you tell them. I kind of like having a job.”

“Maybe I will,” he said, and oh my God , I didn’t need a knight in shiny red shorts to fight my battles.

“Please don’t,” I told him, just enough of a bite to show I meant business.

He squinted at me before his gaze slid away, chin dipping in acquiescence. “I’ll still carry my own stuff,” he said. “If anyone asks, tell them I insisted.”

“Suit yourself.” I paused, then sighed. “And thanks, I guess.”

A smile danced in his eyes. “Sound less grateful, I dare you.”

I shot him a tiny grin in response. Yes, I appreciated him saving me a trip up the stairs; no, it didn’t equal instant forgiveness.

We didn’t speak as we made our trudging way up to the dive shop—seventy-eight steps, to be precise. I’d counted them many, many times. The wind had picked up, rustling in the trees and making pink and purple hibiscus blossoms dance. I was used to the exercise, yet Logan seemed hardly more out of breath than me when we arrived at the shop. Probably worked with a personal trainer, daily exercise in his home gym, that sort of thing .

Just another rich kid.

Nia found the whole thing hilarious. Of course she did.

I told her the story while we carried the snorkeling equipment up to the shop. Her guests had all dashed to their respective cabins as soon as the boat had docked, rain pouring down in thick, silvery strings. It had eased up by now, but I was still blinking water out of my eyes, clothes dripping a trail to the basins we used to wash equipment.

“Come on, it’s a tiny bit funny,” Nia said. She lined a parade of fins up to dry while I hung the wetsuits her group had used. “No harm done, right?”

“Other than making me feel like an idiot, you mean?” I kept my voice flat, but something in it caught her attention anyway.

“Oh, Milo .” Sympathy coated my name. “I’m sure that wasn’t his intention. Look at it from his perspective—he didn’t know us from Adam when he walked up, so it sure wasn’t personal. Just a bored bloke with too much time and money on his hands, who thought it’d be a fun thing to do.”

I let the words settle as rain whispered against the cabin. “You think I’m overreacting.”

“I think you’ve been burned by a self-serving, manipulative bastard , and it’s made you extremely sensitive to certain things. Which is understandable.”

“So I am overreacting.”

Nia moved her hand in a seesawing gesture. “Let’s give Logan the benefit of the doubt, is all I’m saying. I ran into Des earlier—he’s been assigned to Logan’s cabin. Apparently, he’ll be here for a full month while he’s working on his master’s thesis. Sharing with a friend.”

I snorted. “Living the student life, huh? Drink all the booze, write all the papers, stay at a five-star resort in the Caribbean while you do it... Just your average college experience.”

“Seems like.” Nia started hooking snorkels over a line so they’d dry. “Anyway, Des told me to go the extra mile for Logan. Says he’s a good lad.”

Des didn’t commonly sing a guest’s praises, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. As Logan’s personal butler, he had a vested interest in making Logan’s stay exceptionally pleasant—it would directly relate to how big a tip Des could expect at the end.

Compared to the rest of us, butlers were raking it in. I still wouldn’t want to trade places. While juggling four or five cabins at once didn’t sound like a whole lot, the reality was that people like Des had to be available to guests’ whims at all hours and respond to requests within minutes, never far from their phones. A bottle of champagne at two in the morning? Why, of course! Pickup by shuttle cart because it’s raining? Be there in five! Run a bath with water imported from the Alps? Nothing easier than that!

I’d rather carve my eyeballs out of their sockets. With a rusty spoon .

“One,” I said, “Des benefits from us going the extra mile for Logan. And two—‘a good lad’? Did you just step fresh out of Downton Abbey?”

“Just quoting Des. Personally, I’d describe Logan as fit like a butcher’s dog.” Nia’s smirk was softened by a touch of lingering concern in her eyes. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crisps, that’s for sure.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle a laugh. “You need to get laid, woman.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“I’m fine.” Yeah, it had been a while, but I didn’t get out of the resort much—a few undercover hookups with tourists I’d met at the bar summed up my escapades. My right hand was a sure thing, though.

“Of course you are,” Nia said, and if there was just a hint of doubt woven into her reassurance, I chose to ignore it.