“Pretty much.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Because I’m thinking you pretty much made her day. And night, apparently.”

“Yes, well.” She brushed her hair off her forehead, then fiddled with her sunglasses. “I didn’t do anything she couldn’t have… Well, I just…” She glanced up at the sky. “It’s late. I really should get to my spores.”

“Wait.”

She froze and he took immediate advantage, stepping closer, invading her personal space.

“What is it, Logan? Is something wrong?” Her pink tongue slid across her lush lips again and he almost groaned.

“If you lick your lips again,” he warned, “I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and take you to my room.”

She swallowed slowly. “I-I can’t help it. You make me nervous.”

“Do I?”

She glared at him. “You know you do. And I think you do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” He skimmed his fingers across her shoulder and was gratified when she shivered. “That was a nice thing you did for her.”

She tilted her head, clearly baffled. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” His smile grew. “Do you often go around explaining the G-spot to clueless women?”

“Um, no.” She shook her head slowly. “That was definitely a first.”

He studied her, taking notice of the small scar over her left eyebrow, another smattering of pale freckles on the upper ridges of her cheeks, the perfect cupid’s bow of her upper lip. “What the hell makes you tick, Grace Farrell?”

Puzzled, she said, “I might ask the same of you.”

“Hey, I’m an open book.”

A frown line marred her brow. “Not to me.”

“The thing is,” he said, “I’m usually a pretty easygoing guy. But ever since you showed up, I’ve been feeling a little edgy.”

“That’s not my fault,” she said heatedly, poking her finger at his chest. “And I’m not leaving the island.”

He grabbed her finger to stop the jabs. “It’s not that kind of edgy.” He kept hold of her hand, rubbing his palm against hers, shaping it and molding it to his.