Chapter 1

After the bombing, Sedona hadn't nearly been enough honeymoon. Especially since it took them six days to get out of bed for long enough to go hiking, and after all the sex, it turned out she couldn't walk well enough to, you know, actually hike.

So, after two weeks, Logan had booked them on a commercial flight to some tropical island in…somewhere. He'd told her, of course, but he'd been pointing at the map on his phone with a long, strong finger and in the moment it seemed more important to bite that finger than to listen. And then to kiss the resulting smirk off his face. Which was how Veronica Mars, who needed to know everything at all times, ended up on an island where she wasn't even really sure what currency they used. Fuck it. She could charge anything she needed to the room, and they hadn't made it beyond the hotel's private beach anyway.

Logan swore the surfing here was some of the best on earth. She had to take his word for it, because the most the turquoise waves were doing for her was lulling her to sleep as she lay bikini-side-down on her rented board. She'd told Logan she'd take a couple runs at surfing, but really she'd just paddled out to have a better vantage point on him. It was really something, his effortless leap from fully prone to poised on a board that could slice and turn, owning the wave like he could predict every roll of the ocean.

Not to mention the gun show.

Veronica got so caught up in watching that she stayed for most of the afternoon. Logan cruised up next to her, the wave slowing so that just when it seemed he'd wobble off from lack of momentum, he dropped to straddle the board, sitting next to her in the bobbing surf. He shook his wet hair, slicking it back from his face with a palm and giving her the glint of a grin.

"So what do you think, wife of mine? Surf board sunbathing…new favorite new sport?"

"It'll never beat cow-tipping, but it's a start."

He barked with laughter and reached over to trail a fingertip up the back of her thigh. "Getting a little pink there. Better head in if you don't want to spend the rest of the honeymoon on top."

"Promises, promises..."

He gave a low chuckle, his eyes bright. She adjusted her bikini top.

"Meet you in the bar when you're done?" she proposed.

"Always."

She was showered, slicked into a glimmering black minidress, and smelling vaguely of aloe vera by the time it hit five o'clock. She stepped into extra high heels to distract from her distinctly un-sexy sunburn scent and rode the elevator down alone, shaking out her hair to feel it tickle her bare back. The dress only zipped to just above the curve of her ass, then the rest of the back draped in crisscrossing silk scarves.

Overdressed, for sure, to meet her surfer boy who would no doubt come in with sand still clinging to his toes, but it'd be worth it to see his reaction.

The reactions of the other men in the bar, however, were a little less welcome. After a half an hour, she had five untouched champagne spritzers lined up in front of her while she nursed her single dirty martini. The sound of the waves washed in the open wall of windows and she let her eyelids flicker shut just for a second, remembering the way the ocean picked up Logan and carried him, like it loved him best. How he rode it like he loved it back.

Yup, she was probably headed out for a fresh sunburn tomorrow.

"I've got to ask," a male voice said beside her.

She sighed. "Must you?"

"Why five, and why champagne when you're drinking gin?"

She glanced over, registered the guy's wedding ring, and hated him a little more deeply.

"Why bother a woman in the bar when you've already got one of your own to make miserable?"

He raised an eyebrow. He was handsome like a high school geography teacher was handsome, all LL Bean and well-trimmed beard. "I thought you could use a buffer before the bar ran out of champagne. Though clearly you can keep the men at bay on your own."

A laugh caught in her throat and she lifted her drink, her guard easing back a little. "Champagne spritzer's the most expensive thing on the menu, and I figure if none of them are going to take a clear no and a diamond ring as enough of a hint, I might as well hit 'em where it hurts."

He finished his scotch on the rocks and lifted a finger to the bartender. "Another round. McClellan and…" He glanced at her. "Martini."

"Extra dirty," she added and gave him a sharp look. "Don't make me line it up with the others."

He laid a hand over his heart. "I would never. At least partially because my wife's been taking kickboxing classes and I don't want to find out how effective they are. I wanted to take her with me on this trip, but she couldn't get the time off."

Veronica raised an eyebrow and bit an olive off a toothpick. "Work, not pleasure, then?"

"My client is the most entitled, rich son of a bitch to ever grace a golf course," he said, and tried to wring another sip out of his empty scotch. "But he buys every kind of insurance I sell, in the premium package. So, when he says jump, I say 'frequent flier miles.'"

Their drinks arrived and Veronica held her fresh one up in solidarity. A curse sounded from somewhere far back in the bar as one of her suitors saw her finally accept a drink instead of lining it up next to the other abandoned soldiers that were slowly fizzing flat in front of her. She pretended not to notice, but was monitoring the situation in the mirror over the bar. Her clutch was small, but not too small for her taser.

"I know all about rich trust fund boys," she said. "They really take some handling."

The insurance salesman sighed and took a deep slug. "Don't I know it. What about you? Here for the surfing?"

"I am." She smiled, thinking back to her lovely afternoon of spectating. "And the honeymooning. I hear it's spectacular this time of year."

He gave her a lopsided smiled, tugging at his ugly tie. "He's a lucky guy. I'm Alan, by the way. Is the newly minted mister going to award me a fat lip when he shows up?"

"Veronica. Actually, a fat lip isn't really his style. After a fight with him you'd be more likely to be sorting what's left on the carpet into incisors and molars." She sipped her martini. "Though these days, I get to wear the bad cop hat a little more often than he does. If he catches us together, he'll probably shake your hand and buy some life insurance."

"Tamed him, did you?"

She laughed, so loud and long the barkeep's head came up.

"Alarmingly," she said, "I believe he might have tamed me."

The insurance salesman gave her some side-eye that reeked of skepticism. "I'm not sure I believe that."

"Trust me," she said. "You didn't see me before."

The air in the room shifted, and a tall man leaned against the bar next to her. She looked up, almost involuntarily.

He said to Alan, without losing eye contact with Veronica, "I'll give you a million dollars for one night with your wife."

Alan sputtered, "You'll—A mill—"

"Oh, we're not married to each other," Veronica corrected with a mild smile.

"Oh?" His eyebrows lifted. "I saw you sitting together, both with rings. I assumed."

Veronica spun her stool around, draping her arms across the edges of the bar and leaning back. "No, but my husband's the possessive type, with expensive tastes. For one million, he'd laugh in your face."

"Two million?"

"For two million, he'd punch you in the face."

"Five."

She sipped her drink. "For five million, he'd kick you when you were already down."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He is." She beamed.

He leaned a little closer. "What would it take? I have power, connections. Money. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I can't go to my grave without having you. I won't."

He touched her cheek, his fingers tracing from her cheekbone down to the tip of her chin. Every eye in the bar was on them, even the ones who couldn't possibly hear what was being said.

"There's no need to be nervous," he murmured. "I'll be gentle."

She lifted her chin, the space between them sizzling. "What if gentle's not what I want?"

The spark in his eyes became a flame and without another word, he passed over his room key.

She let her eyes sweep down his body, slowly absorbing every inch of this man who seemed so determined to make her his at all costs.

He smelled like the ocean and was dressed like power, loosely held—a white shirt with an open collar and a black blazer with confident, slim lapels. His jeans were dark and expensive, and she could see the muscles of his thighs flex when he moved restlessly.

She didn't realize she was leaning toward him until the corner of his mouth kicked up, the dark brown of his eyes drawing her in like a choice, already made. He touched her under the chin with one strong finger, guiding her the rest of the way to his mouth. It was softer than it looked, his breath coming out warmly when she touched him. His suit lapels slicked smoothly in her palms as she crumpled the fabric and gripped him closer, his thigh strong against the inside of her knee.

Then she was spun around and moved urgently toward the door, her steadiness assured by the big hand splayed at the small of her back. But she was Veronica fucking Mars and she caught her balance and his hand in the first breath, and then she was the one leading the way, towing him along toward the elevator.

Behind them, she heard, "I'll take care of her bill."

"Is that guy really going to try to pay off her husband?" the barkeep asked. "I heard he's fucking huge. A Navy SEAL or something."

She didn't hear the answer, because now they were at the elevators and the doors were opening and he was twirling her inside. She landed with her back up against the mirrored wall and he planted a palm next to her head. Just as he was leaning in to take her lips, someone else boarded the elevator.

She wet her lips. And he just looked. Dark, smoldering eyes and a sense of purpose she could feel like it was leaping across the air between them, rippling light across the sky like an aurora borealis.

"You really going to pay a million for me?" she asked breathlessly.

"Ten."

And despite the onlooker, he bent and bit her lower lip. Sensitively, so every nerve ending thrilled and echoed the fast beat of her heart when he let it go with a quick, healing slick of his tongue.

"Fuck," she said, and her voice came out more gravelly than his. His eyes flared brighter, then his lashes flickered down.

The seams of her dress felt like they should be hissing with steam, straining at the pressure.

A throat cleared, and a button slammed, and the elevator stopped at the next floor.

The other passenger got off, she thought, but wasn't sure because the doors weren't even closed before he was licking his way into her mouth, his broad palms boosting her up onto his hips like it was the most natural movement in the world. Gravity, legs, hips. All inevitable. As was the swell of his erection inside those annoyingly delicious jeans.

His hand wrapped around her leg, found its way under her skirt. Slipped inside her panties. Her head fell back against the mirror with a gasp.

"My husband will kill you, if he finds out you touched me this way."

"I'll let him." He was working her like he meant it now, and when the door opened on his floor, she was so, so close.

"Don't stop," she gritted out through her teeth, catching his strong neck and letting her nails dig into thick muscle.

Her hips bowed. The elevator doors started to close and the side of his fist slammed the door open button. She could feel it, the first sharp, glittering edges of…he slammed the button again. An electronic voice protested this time. Saying…something.

But then his fingers were stretching her and she was coming all around him, clenching down so she could feel his thick knuckles and his breath hot against her neck. She let out a tiny cough gasp and her head fell to his shoulder. He slipped his hand out of her panties and as soon as she was on her feet, he was the picture of detached elegance. Handsome, his smile hidden but his eyes warm. Not straying from hers as the elevator doors sounded their last warning.

He swooped backwards, his hand outstretched to beckon. She followed it, God help her, like it tugged at more places on her body than he could have touched all at once.

Then they were alone in a quiet, cool hall with wide carpets stretching from wall to wall. She licked her lips. He kissed her hand and hop-turned, tucking her fingers into the crook of his arm and leading her toward the only door on the entire top floor. He unlocked it and stepped back, letting her choose whether to come inside. When the door swung closed behind them, she jumped.

The back of his knuckles skimmed close down her rib cage, just beneath her breasts. "Do you want to be here? With me?"

She struggled to swallow.

"I can take you back downstairs, let you meet your husband. He sent me instead, thought you might enjoy…" His thumb stroked over her hip, through the thinly crumpling fabric of her dress. "Something a little different. For tonight."

"Depends." She couldn't stop watching his strong throat. "What are you going to do with me?"

His smile this time was almost boyish, his big hands cupping the backs of her shoulders as he tugged her into his chest and curled his chin down over the top of her head. "Things you can't even imagine, beautiful girl."

He left a kiss just behind her ear, her hair tangling in the rough scrub of his five o'clock shadow. His hand rubbed up her back, slipping beneath the draping silk scarves that made up the entire back of her gown. He thumbed the sore spot at the right of her spine. She huffed out a very different kind of breath, and then he was backing up toward the couch, coaxing her along with him so softly she didn't even realize she was following until the third step.

He dropped down on the couch, suddenly sitting far below her level. He traced a path up the back of her legs, following the seam of her stockings. They ended at thigh height just under the hem of her skirt. When he found the line of her bare skin, he hooked a finger in the front of her stocking and tugged her foot up to rest on the couch beside him. Her stiletto fell off somewhere along the way and fell, soundless on the thick rug. He lay his head on the inside of her thigh, his thick hair tickling against the sensitive skin.

"It's been a long time since I've done this with anyone but my husband," she whispered.

"I'll go easy on you." Dark eyes flicked up to hers as he lifted her skirt and lay a hot kiss right over the front of her panties. "I know he never does."

Her hands caught the back of his neck, clutching hard. "Please."

He pulled her panties down, and they ended up lost somewhere just below her knees when his tongue ran, hot and flat, over her. Her knees went liquid as a squeak rose in her throat, and he lifted her off her feet. With a quick little turn, his arm found her back and lowered her carefully to the couch. Her zipper loosened as his hand stroked its way down her bottom. But then his head disappeared under the disarray of her skirt, and it was her hands that ended up pushing away the top of her dress, fisting and pulling at the fabric as her spine arched mindlessly. He licked and nibbled his way through making her come twice before he sat up, smirking at her with sparkling eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt and she tried to remember how to coax air back into her lungs.

"Extraordinary…" The backs of his knuckles skimmed her cheek as he bent over her again. She slipped her hands under the band of his belt. His eyes glimmered in the starlight coming through the huge windows, the glow of the island's town golden amidst it. He chuckled, his cheekbones standing out in the severe light as he laughed at the speed with which she divested him of his pants. She pushed him back onto the couch, enjoying every inch of his naked body as she wriggled out of her dress and tossed it to the floor, kicking her panties off one ankle.

He gripped her thighs and suddenly he was the one gulping for air as the head of his cock found her and she slid him home, going quiet.

"Fuck—"

"I know."

He jerked up into her, hard and desperate, and all the teasing was gone. She clung to him, her knees fluttering against his lean hips with the deepest, most shattering of his thrusts.

"Dammit," he growled, his voice rough. "I never get used to how it is with you." His head fell back and jaw knotted as he dug his heels into the couch and fucked up into her until she came right after he did, fisting around him for a long, throat-wrenching moment.

His touch gentled and he lifted a kiss from her lips. She exhaled.

Logan lay his forehead against hers. "I missed you today."

"Apparently. I think the bid got up to ten million and you were the only one in the auction."

"I would have paid twenty. Cash money."

He pulled his shirt off the floor and draped it over her shoulders like a throw blanket. It smelled like exquisite cologne and she nuzzled into his neck.

"That poor guy at the bar."

Logan's lips twitched downward. "I always feel sorry for all those mooney-eyed bastards when you walk out of a bar with me. Any bar."

She laughed. "Like I'd ever bother to walk out with any guy but you. No bid would be high enough."

He grinned. "I would pay cash money to see you take apart somebody that did offer a cool million for a night with you."

She walked her fingers up his chest. "I don't know if you can afford the bail for the kind of felonies I'd commit, Echolls."

"Mr. Mars," he corrected, and caught the tips of her fingers in his teeth and so he could take a delicate nibble. "And you're worth the bail. Fuck, I learned commodities markets just so I could always keep up with the bail on your latest adventure."

She laughed at that. "I love you. And you're completely incorrigible."

"Damn right. And I needed both of those things to finally get you on a surf board." He gently patted her sunburnt ass. "What do you say? Best honeymoon ever?"

"Best honeymoon ever."

Author's Note: 2 chapters in this one, folks, and I hope you don't mind me moving them out of Sedona. Considering they weren't big hikers in the series, it didn't seem like where they would really honeymoon.