Page 18 of Sapphire Sunset

“Yeah, duty calls.” Connor’s words, however official insubstance, sounded weak coming on a voice still thick with desire.

And for a minute, he thought about not answering the call.

For a minute, he even thought about chucking this jobaltogether so he’d have the freedom to fan the explosive little fire he andConnor Harcourt had started down here in the sea-spray misted dark.

But then he remembered the dad who was waiting for him athome, prone on the sofa before bad reality television, the crutches he refused touse resting on the wall beside him. The doctor’s bills that were weeks overdue.The physical therapist’s bills that would come due if his dad ever wanted towalk again without a limp. He remembered all sorts of things that made his skingo suddenly cold against Connor’s delicious, inviting warmth.

“You need to go,” Connor whispered into his ear. “Iunderstand.”

But I don’t.I don’t understand how I couldhave found someone so perfect in the worst of circumstances.

Slowly, he pulled himself free. Rested their noses together,saw Connor’s eyes were as open as his. Good. He could see Logan’s anger andagony and how much he didn’t want to leave this cave. But maybe he could alsosee how this interruption had brought the awareness of all the consequences backin a flood.

“Go.” Connor pecked him on the lips. “The next time I seeyou, I’ll be sure to have some chocolate and peanut butter.”

“Jarhead. Come in, Jarhead. The GM is ourbossin case you don’t know the lingo.”

Logan hit the earpiece. “Copy that. I’m on my way.”

“You better go, Lethal Weapon. My uncle’s been on a teartonight.”

Logan nodded and started for the cave entrance, but as soonas he was within steps of the ocean air, he spun, drawn back to Connor as if bymagnetic force. He kissed him wildly and without warning, half expecting theconnection between them to have evaporated in the face of the interruption andall the unpleasant reminders it brought. But it was still there, yielding andhot and hungry.

“Phone,” Logan said.

Connor reached into his pocket and pulled it free.

“Give it to me,” Logan said.

Connor punched in his code and complied, and in another fewseconds Logan had left a new entry in his address book.Logan—your hero.He passed the phone back to Connor. “Lethal Weapon’s fine and all, but I putmyself in there with the nickname I really want.”

Connor smiled, chewed his bottom lip. Looked down at thephone Logan had handed back to him as if a delicious treasure was now concealedwithin. Logan allowed himself one more kiss, a long, powerful one as he grippedthe back of Connor’s neck. Then, checking to make sure there was enough hungerstill in Connor’s eyes for Logan to come back to, Logan turned and left.

3

“Talk about a trial by fire.” Logan’s bossflashed him a menacing smile and settled into his squeaking leather chair. Themassive cherrywood desk between them was about two sizes too large for thiswindowless office.

Apparently Rodney had posed for a picture with every celebritywho’d walked through the entrance of Sapphire Cove, and then quickly hung theframed result somewhere on his walls. So far, Logan had spotted several RealHousewives of Orange CountyandBeverly Hills, along with some popstars he didn’t much care for and a few aging stars of old TV shows his dadstreamed every night before bed. His celebrity search distracted him from thefact that he still smelled like Connor’s citrusy cologne, even though he’dstopped in the employee bathroom to wash his hands and take some deep breathsuntil the tent in his khakis went down.

“Excuse me, sir?” Logan asked.

“Connor’s party. Kind of a trial by fire.”

“With all due respect, I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Rodney grinned like he was modeling tooth whitener. Toothwhitener that burned his gums. He opened a deep desk drawer and pulled out acrystal decanter and two rock glasses. “You a scotch man?”

“Sure, but no drink for me sir. I’m still on the clock.”

“Ah, you’ve barely got an hour left. Kick back and join me.”

Rodney poured a glass and pushed it across his desk. “To newbeginnings.”

Logan accepted the drink and clinked it with Rodney’s whenthe man raised his in a toast. But he only pretended to take a tiny sip. Hehated scotch.

“So”—Rodney took a hearty slug—“tell me what happened at theparty.”

Logan did, relieved that it gave him the chance to lower theglass to his lap without taking a sip. He tried to sound neutral, professional,even as he was sure not to give the party crashers a free pass. Rodneylistened, leaning back in his chair, shiny loafers crossed on the desk in frontof him, but Logan felt like his boss was less interested in the content of hisaccount and more interested in how Logan was delivering it.

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