they reached the store shed he unlocked the door and flung it open. ‘Ready to put the master touch on the online forums you suggested?’
Confused, she glanced inside the shed lined with surfboards and wetsuits of all shapes and sizes. ‘Not sure what you mean.’
His wicked grin alerted her to an incoming suggestion she wouldn’t like.
‘If you’re going to be the moderator of the school’s online forums, you need to know what it feels like to surf.’
The incoming missile detonated and left her reeling. ‘Me? On a surfboard? Out there?’ Her voice ended on a squeak as she pointed to the expanse of ocean a short stroll away.
‘Yeah. And no better time to start than now.’
Like hell. She loved swimming, loved the ocean, but no way would she klutz around like a floundering whale in front of him. Learning to surf had always been on her life’s ‘to do’ list, but here, now, with him?
No flipping way.
She snapped her fingers. ‘Sorry, no bathers. Maybe next time—’
‘I’m sure we stock your size.’
His gaze roved her body, assessing, warming, zinging every nerve-ending along the way.
Before she could protest further he placed a hand in the small of her back and propelled her forward.
‘Come on. You said surfing was on your bucket list. No time like the present to tick it off while getting first-hand experience for work.’
Stunned he’d remembered her bucket list, she allowed him to lead her into the dim interior.
A pungent blend of new fibreglass, rubber and coconut-scented wax tickled her nose, but through all that she could smell the potent male beside her: sunshine and sea air and pure Archer.
He was right, of course. Knowing what learning to surf entailed would give her more credibility when she manned the surf school online forums, so technically this classified as work.
But the part where he sized up her body, his glance as intimate as a lover’s caress, went beyond work. Way beyond.
Her skin grew clammy as he flicked through the suits on a rack before unhooking a black wetsuit with a fuchsia zig-zag and handing it to her.
‘Here—this should fit.’
A little tremor of excitement shot through her as her fingertips brushed the rubber. How long since she’d done something spontaneous and fun and just for her? Too long. And as he handed her a practical navy one-piece, she suddenly couldn’t wait to get out there.
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Changing rooms back there. But first let’s get you set up with a board.’
‘Whatever you choose will be fine.’
He folded his arms, making his biceps bulge beneath the trendily frayed ends of his designer teal T-shirt. ‘Don’t you want to get a feel for the board in here before we head out?’
Feeling one hundred percent novice, she wrinkled her nose. ‘Um, I’m guessing I’m supposed to say yes?’
‘Yeah. You need to connect with your board.’
‘Oh, brother,’ she muttered, rolling her eyes as they moved across to the other side of the shed, where boards stood vertically in racks. ‘Next you’ll be making that hand sign and telling me to hang loose.’
He smirked. ‘The shaka sign is part of surf culture.’
She extended her thumb and little finger while keeping the middle fingers curled. ‘So does this make me cool?’
‘Nah. You have to stay on a board longer than thirty seconds for that.’
She laughed, watching him run his hands over the boards, sliding down the smooth surfaces, his rapt expression almost making her jealous.
He’d once looked at her like that.
Before he bolted without a backward glance.
She’d do well to remember that rather than wishing she were a surfboard right about now.
‘This one.’ He slid a monstrous cream board etched in ochre swirls from the rack. ‘This is your board.’
‘Did the fibreglass speak to you?’
His eyes narrowed in indignation. ‘Are you mocking me?’
‘A little.’
‘Let’s see who mocks who when you’re face-planting the waves,’ he said, beckoning her closer. ‘Here, you hold it.’
The thing weighed a tonne, but she managed to hold it upright—just. ‘Feels like this thing’s made of stone.’
‘The best epoxy resin, actually, which makes it stronger and lighter than traditional boards.’ He took hold of her hand and ran it down the board. ‘This is called the deck.’
He edged her hand towards the side of the board in a long, slow sweep that made her bite her lip to stop groaning out loud.
There was something so sensual about having him stand close, his body radiating heat, warming her back, his arms outstretched and inadvertently wrapping around her, his large fingers splayed across hers as they’d once splayed across her belly.
She swallowed and prayed he didn’t expect an answer, for there wasn’t a hope she could speak with her throat constricted.
Her heart pounded like a jackhammer, the blood coursed through her body like liquid wildfire.
The heat suffocated her, making breathing difficult, making thinking impossible, making her crave the insane...him shoving the board aside, ripping off her clothes, and taking her right here, right now, on the sandy floor.
‘The back is the tail, the forward tip is the nose, and the side edges are the rails.’ He guided her hand back to the middle and she swayed a little. ‘The concave surface from nose to tail is the rocker.’
He moved the board side to side and she almost whimpered.
She must have made some giveaway sound, because he wrapped his arms around her from behind, making holding the board steady impossible.
She could feel his heat, feel how much he wanted her pressed up against her, and she’d never felt the urge to forget sanity as much as she did at that moment.
Correction. She’d experienced the same insanity the first night they’d met—the night he’d romanced her and charmed her and convinced her that tumbling into bed in the early hours of the morning, with the Capri moonlight spilling over them and accentuating the beautiful craziness of the night, was the only possible thing she wanted.
Which begged the question...what did she want now?
While her mind tussled with the dilemma, her body gave a resounding response
