An Innocent in Paradise

After a moment, she straightened up, then noticed him and waved. He grinned and aimed the board in her direction and sailed to within a few feet of the beach.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Same to you.” Logan folded the rigging and secured it to the board with a Velcro strap. Then he pulled the board onto the sand far enough to insure that it wouldn’t slip back into the water.

“Hunting for more spores?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Have you been out long?”

“About an hour,” he said.

She stared at the board, then back at him. “How in the world do you stay upright on that thing?”

Logan ran both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “It’s magic.”

“It would have to be,” she mused. Her gaze slipped down to his wet, bare chest. “Would you like my towel?”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

She held it out for him. “But you’re so wet and, um, well, it’s your towel, actually, since I took it from my hotel room.”

“Well, since it’s mine,” he said, chuckling as he took the towel. Maybe she hadn’t seen many dripping-wet men in swim trunks back at her research lab because she seemed awfully flustered. He hoped like hell that he made her uncomfortable. It would serve her right for manipulating and lying to him.

He took his time drying himself off as he studied her. She’d been on the island four days now and true to her word, she spent each morning hunting for spores, then worked the cocktail lounge in the afternoons and evenings. And she hadn’t dropped a single glass since the first day’s fiasco.

He noticed her cheeks had a rosy pink glow from her mornings in the sun. He liked the glow almost as much as he liked her fabulous legs and perfect rear end. Even knowing the woman was a liar and not to be trusted, Logan found her incredibly appealing. He wanted her in his bed with an urgency that was going to reveal itself any second now if he didn’t get the hell out of here.

“I’ve got work to do,” he muttered finally, and handed her the towel as he walked away.

Grace clutched the damp towel as she stared at Logan’s backside until he disappeared through a door into the hotel. Then she pressed the towel to her face to cool herself off. She was certain she’d never met such a formidable man. Certainly not one with a body like that. Or eyes like that. Or hair, so adorably short and blond and spiky when wet.

But for goodness’ sake, did that mean she had to practically drool in front of him? And could she possibly have thought of anything dumber to say to him? How in the world do you stay upright on that thing? What was wrong with her?

She blamed it on his smile. This was the first time he’d smiled at her without showing his sarcastic or ironic side. The sweetness of it had nearly blinded her. And talk about upper-body strength. The man was built. She’d wondered what he looked like under his business suit and now she knew. The knowledge was life affirming, to say the least.

She turned back to her task but was still trying to shake off the effects of Logan’s smile ten minutes later. She silently recited the periodic table of elements, an effective trick she used whenever she was having trouble concentrating. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working today. She feared that smile of his might have a half-life of more than several hours because she was still caught up in its spell.

With a sigh, she walked away from the beach and deeper into the forest of vegetation. Despite the heat, she appreciated the extra layer of humidity, knowing it was the best breeding ground for her beloved spores.

“Beloved spores,” she uttered aloud, shaking her head. Did that sound pathetic or what? But the truth was, sometimes she felt closer to the tiny, one-celled meiotic organisms than she did to people. Well, except for Phillippa, of course. Her lab partner and mentor had been her friend for years and right now, she could use someone to talk to. One thing she loved about Phillippa was that she always had an opinion about everything. Grace wondered what her friend would think of Logan Sutherland.

Grace was certain Phillippa would declare him “hawt.”

Okay, he was hot, all right. But as she pushed past a giant fern, Grace gave herself a good talking-to. It didn’t matter whether Logan was hot or not. He was her boss and Grace had no business thinking of him that way. All she needed from Logan Sutherland was his approval of her work in the cocktail lounge, nothing more.

She forced all thoughts of Logan away and got to work, backtracking to the palm trees where she’d found spores yesterday. Close to the base of each tree, she pounded a discreet wooden marker into the sand so she would know the trees from which she’d already extracted specimens. She planned to remove the stakes on her last day here; but, until then, they would provide a handy map for her to follow.

An hour later, she left the palm trees behind and headed back to the hotel. After running into the staff commissary to grab a sandwich, she returned to her room to document her findings and refrigerate several more petri dishes filled with fresh specimens. She showered and dressed for work, happy she’d been assigned to the swing shift from two o’clock to ten. The bar stayed open until three in the morning and the servers on the late shift got the best tips, but Grace preferred to wake up early and go to bed relatively early.

As she walked through the lobby toward the cocktail lounge, she passed a pretty young woman sitting on one of the smooth rocks that surrounded the tropical waterfall, crying. Grace paused, wondering if she should say something. Would the management frown on a cocktail waitress approaching a hotel guest? Did it matter? The woman was clearly distressed, so Grace went with her instincts and walked over to the woman.