heatwave

Chapter 3.

Savannah giggled, her laughter quickly turning into a soft moan as Logan’s lips found hers again, slow and deliberate. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“I thought you said breakfast,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I did,” Logan murmured, trailing kisses down her neck, “but you’re far more tempting than pancakes.”

Her hands tangled in his messy hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together. Time lost meaning as they gave in to the desire simmering between them once more, the heat of the night seamlessly blending into the morning.

When they finally made it downstairs, Savannah wrapped herself in one of Logan’s shirts, the fabric oversized and soft against her bare skin. Logan, wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with an easy confidence that made her heart flutter.

“Who knew you could cook?” she teased, leaning against the counter, admiring the view.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replied with a grin, turning to face her. “But I’m hoping you’ll stick around long enough to find out.”

Her breath caught. There was something in his voice—something deeper than just a summer fling. “What if I want to?” she asked softly, testing the waters.

“Then you’d make me the luckiest guy on this beach,” he said, crossing the space between them. His fingers tilted her chin up, and his lips brushed hers gently. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Savannah’s heart raced. “I’m here now,” she whispered.

“And I’m not letting you go,” Logan promised.