Stranded with a Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #1)(14)

“You don’t think we’re going to see any bodies, do you?”

“I hope not.” He sounded grim. “If we’re lucky, everyone else was evacuated.”

“Should we check the rest of the hotel? Just in case anyone else was stranded?”

“We will,” he told her, and tugged her hand, urging her forward. “After we resupply ourselves. It won’t do us any good if you’re fainting with hunger.”

“Me? You make it sound like I’m some weak flower on my last leg. What about you?”

“I don’t faint.”

She snorted. “‘Nothing has more strength than dire necessity,’ right?”

“Another famous Plato gem?”

“Euripides.”

“Of course. That was going to be my next guess.”

“Naturally. You’re a big fan of Euripides?”

“Who isn’t?”

She laughed, shaking her head at his comeback.

They trudged through the massive lobby of the hotel, the weak streams of moonlight brighter the more destroyed the area was. The lobby was dark, but it seemed bright in comparison to the pitch-black elevator. Logan examined the ceiling as they walked, steering them clear of what seemed to be more dangerous areas. “The entire ceiling could collapse,” he told her. “We have to be careful.”

“Now who’s Suzy Sunshine?” she teased, but stayed close.

In the blue darkness, they spotted the gift shop, and Bront? sucked in a breath of disappointment. The security gate was down over the front of it. The glass behind the gate had been destroyed, but the gate itself was intact, with pieces of broken plants and other bits clinging to the metal. There was a large window to the right with a display of toppled mannequins in swimsuits, and through a miracle, it hadn’t shattered in the storm.

“Just our luck,” she told him. “Do you have the key?”

“No,” he told her crisply, and dropped her hand, walking away. “Stay there.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to be patient and failing. “What are you doing?”

He returned a moment later, carrying a broken lobby chair. “Getting something better than a key.”

“What about the alarm?”

“Either it’s not working or we’re going to need to hope that the gift shop has earplugs,” he told her, and then gestured in her direction. “Stand back.”

She sloshed backward a few feet and waited.

Logan heaved the chair up, and she felt that curious flutter in her belly at the sight of his muscles flexing. He had big, broad shoulders that seemed to ripple with strength in the moonlight. And mercy, she liked looking at him.

He swung the broken chair against the glass like a baseball player up at bat. Part of her expected it to bounce backward, as if maybe the glass were too thick to be broken by a chair if it had withstood the hurricane. But it crashed and tinkled into the water in a shower of glittering pieces.

She shielded her eyes out of instinct, glancing over when the damage was done. Logan stood there looking rather pleased with himself, his body illuminated in moonlight. He looked . . . gorgeous. His hair was tousled, falling over his forehead, and his tall frame seemed all muscles and shadow from this angle. He was definitely easy on the eyes. Too easy. She felt her pulse flutter when he gave her a boyish grin.

“Alarm’s dead. Come on.”

But she hesitated, trying not to smile at his expression of pride. “What about all the glass? We’ll cut our feet.”

He glanced down at the glittering shards. “You’re right. Stay there.”

Again? She did as told, crossing her arms and waiting impatiently as he tossed his broken chair down, then knocked the mannequins into a messy sort of bridge, and disappeared inside. A moment later, he returned and laid a Styrofoam surfboard over the floor of the window front and extended a hand toward her. “Come on.”

Stepping carefully forward in the calf-high water, she placed her hand in his warm one, ignoring that funny little jolt that ran through her at his touch. He was just being courteous, she told herself. Nothing to get excited about. She wobbled precariously on the board as it shifted and moved under her feet. “I think I’m going to—”

Her feet slipped out from under her, and she pitched forward.

Strong arms were there to catch her. Logan held her close, her br**sts pressed to his chest.

“—fall,” she finished lamely.

If she tilted her face up, she’d be within kissing distance, and the thought made her feel flushed with heat.

He helped her strand upright. “You okay?”

“Just feel stupid is all.” She pushed away from him, straightening herself and trying to look casual. Bront? glanced around inside the gift shop. “Shoes? We really should have brought ours.”

Logan glanced around, then gestured at a far wall. “I see them. Stay there. Only one of us should risk cut feet.”

He waded forward, and she studied their surroundings. The gift shop was packed to the gills with a motley assortment of items, half of them on the floor. Racks of ugly t-shirts had fallen over and were currently soaking up water near her feet. A short distance away, there were equally sodden racks of beach towels, and destroyed straw hats floated nearby. Lovely.

“I found you some water shoes. What size?”