And oh, holy cow, they’d had some serious extracurricular activities. Like the most amazing extracurricular activities she’d ever had. The night was a bright one, a million stars and a near-full moon bathed them in a light blue glow.

Tanner went back for the snack plate. When he sat at her side, he set the plate down and pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor so that they were both once again naked.

“Hey,” she said, and lifted a hand to cover herself.

He took that hand in his and brought it to his mouth, his eyes dark as he studied her. “Snacks consumed after midnight have to be consumed naked. It’s a rule.”

“Where?” she asked. “Where is that a rule?”

“In the rule book. Damn, Callie,” he said softly, reaching out to feed her a bite of cheese, “you look good in nothing but moonlight.”

He ran a finger along a red spot at her throat, where he’d buried his face as he’d come. “I marked you.”

“Oh.” She covered the spot. “It’s okay, I—”

“You what?”

“You know exactly how much I liked what we did,” she said, picking up a piece of apple and cheese and stuffing it in her mouth. “I didn’t think I needed to stroke your ego by saying it out loud.”

He laughed and when he did, his eyes lit, his mouth curved, and he let her see everything he was feeling in that moment. It was even more intimate than being naked. As she stared at him, soaking him up, she…choked.

Still laughing, he pulled her closer and gently patted her on the back. “Sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault,” she said. “You look good laughing.”

She picked up the plate and busied herself making a selection. She’d never eaten naked before. It felt incredibly revealing and yet somehow freeing at the same time. Still, she was pretty sure she wasn’t ever going to be a nudist. How did one cook nude anyway? She’d have to give up bacon. And fried chicken. She really liked bacon and fried chicken—

“You’re talking to yourself because?” Tanner asked, relaxed and sprawled out for her viewing pleasure like he’d forgotten he was butt-ass naked. And why shouldn’t he? He looked amazing.

“I’m not talking to myself,” she said.

Looking amused, he grabbed the plate and returned it to the kitchen. Coming back to the edge of the bed, he was limping more than he had earlier in the night. She waited, holding her breath. Was he going to stay? Go? “Your leg’s bothering you,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. Which was the same thing in testosterone-guy-speak as yeah, his leg was bothering him. And then she realized that he was waiting for her to make a decision on the rest of the night. Holding his gaze, she lifted up the covers in an open invitation.

He slid in and pulled her in close, his big body warm and solid against her.

“Can I get you something?” she asked, shivering in delight when he buried his face in her neck. “Advil? A hot pack? A massage?”

She felt him smile against her skin. “You want to give me a rubdown?” he asked, voice husky.

“Would it make you feel better?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “A beautiful woman touching my body would make me feel a lot better.”

“Do you always make everything dirty?”

“Yes—” He broke off with a groan when she went for the tight muscles of his thigh and began to dig in, finding a lot of knots.

He didn’t say a word, just gripped the sheets in his fists, and unlike before, this clearly wasn’t in pleasure.

“Try to relax,” she murmured, and kept at the torture, doing her best to find every single millimeter of his leg that hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped as she kneaded a particularly hard knot until it seemed to finally ease somewhat.

Once it did, she lightened her touch and finally he began to relax. Her hands got sore but she kept at it, feeling her heart squeeze at the pain he must feel all the time. “Is it always this bad?” she asked.

“It’s good now, at least compared to how it was.”

She was quiet a moment, hating how he’d suffered. “The story goes that you nearly died.”

“Nearly doesn’t count except for in horseshoes and hand grenades,” he said. “And I was the lucky one, remember.”

She stroked his leg again, running her finger along the scar. “He was a good friend?”

“Gil? Yeah. Really good.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“A tank caught fire,” he said. “There was an explosion. We both landed in the water and I got pulled out first. By the time they went back for Gil, it was too late.”

His eyes were hooded from her now. She couldn’t imagine the pain of what he’d been through. “I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her hand, brought it up to his mouth, and kissed her palm.

“Is that why you came back to Lucky Harbor?” she asked. “To recover?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “The four of us were always going to come here sooner or later. We were saving up for a boat to start the charter business. But that night after I hit the water, pretty sure I’d just bought the farm, all I could think was that I’d be leaving my mom to fend for herself in her old age and Troy would have to grow up without knowing his dad. So we came sooner rather than later. Of course he’s not always thrilled now that he is getting to know me.” He smiled wryly. “He’s been a tough nut to crack. Apparently he’s also a whole lot like me.”