tinged his glance before determination hardened his mouth, and she wondered if this was his game face—the one he used pre-competition. If so, she wasn’t surprised he’d won the world championship five times.
He pointed towards the sea. ‘We’re in luck. Surf’s up today and the waves are off the hook.’ She raised an eyebrow and he winced. ‘Habit. Surf-speak for the waves being a good size and shape.’
‘Gnarly dude,’ she muttered, earning a rueful grin.
‘We’ll concentrate on the basics today, and see if we can catch a wave or two.’
Basics sounded good to her. Basics wouldn’t involve tubes or rips or drowning, right?
‘I’ll break it down into steps and you copy, okay?’
She nodded and he dropped down on the board on his front, leaving her with a pretty great view of a rubber-moulded butt.
‘You’ll need to be in this position to paddle out.’
Got it, she thought. Paddling...butt...
‘Cal? You planning on joining me down here?’
With an exasperated grunt at her attention span—not entirely her fault, considering the distraction on offer—she lowered herself onto the board and imitated paddling.
‘Nice action,’ he said, and her head snapped up to check for the slightest hint of condescension.
Instead she caught him staring in the same vicinity she’d been looking at a moment ago, and a thrill of womanly pride shot through her.
‘Next is the pop-up.’ He demonstrated going from lying on his board to standing, all in one jump. ‘And gaining your balance.’
He held his arms out to his sides, looking so perfectly natural on the board it was as if it was an extension of his feet.
‘Now you try.’
And try she did. Over and over again. Until her arms, knees and back ached from her lousy pop-ups and her pride absolutely smarted.
Though she had to hand it to him. Archer was a patient teacher. He praised and cajoled and criticised when needed, eventually getting her from the sand into the water. Where the fun really began.
‘Don’t worry if you get caught inside,’ he said, paddling alongside her.
‘Huh?’ she mouthed, concentrating on keeping her belly on the board so she didn’t slip off as the swell buffeted.
‘It’s when a surfer paddles out and can’t get past the breaking surf to the calmer part of the ocean to catch a wave.’
‘Right.’ She tried a salute and almost fell off the board.
‘If you do, you can try to duck-dive by pushing the nose of the board under the oncoming wave, but it’s probably easier just to coast back into shore and we’ll try again later.’
She nodded, knowing there wouldn’t be a ‘later’. She reckoned she had enough first-hand experience now to facilitate the online forums. Perching on top of a wave wouldn’t give her much more beyond a momentary rush of adrenalin.
‘Follow me.’
And she did. Until she got caught inside, just as he’d predicted, and ended up paddling back to shore, where she gratefully dragged the board onto firm sand, plonked her butt, and watched Archer strut his stuff.
The guy was seriously good—cresting waves, twisting and turning on his board with precision, looking like the poster boy for surfing that he was.
She could have watched him for hours, but a few minutes later he coasted into shore, picked up his board, tucked it under his arm and jogged towards her.
For some inexplicable reason she felt compelled to get up and run to meet him halfway. Last night when he’d comforted her might have been the catalyst, or maybe his admission on the beach earlier today, but whatever it was she felt she wanted to be close to him.
As he drew near the urge intensified, and when he smiled at her, with tiny rivulets of sea water running down that impossibly handsome face, her heart twisted like one of the fancy manoeuvres he’d pulled out there.
She wanted him.
With a desperation that clawed at all her well-formulated, highly logical reasons why she shouldn’t, shredding them beyond repair.
‘You’re looking at me like I’m Red Riding Hood and you’re the big bad wolf.’ He laid the board down and sat beside her. ‘My showy moves impress you?’
‘You impress me,’ she said, sucking in a deep breath and covering his hand with hers.
His questioning stare snagged hers, and with her heart pounding loud enough to drown out the breaking surf she leaned across and did what she should have had the guts to do earlier that morning.
She kissed him.
* * *
Archer had pulled some pretty fancy moves out there. Show-pony stunts: fins out, a sharp turn where the fins slide off the top of the wave; soul arch, arching his back to demonstrate his casual confidence; switch-foot, changing from right to left foot forward, and hang-ten, putting ten toes over the nose of his long board.
Usually when he hit the waves he surfed for himself, for the sheer pleasure it brought him. It was that enjoyment that gave him the edge in competitions, for he concentrated on fun and not his opponents.
Not today. Today he’d surfed to impress Callie.
By that lip-lock she’d just given him it had worked. And how.
If he’d known that was all it would take he would have hit the waves the first day they’d arrived.
‘You’re grinning like an idiot,’ she said, nudging him with her elbow.
‘It’s not every day a guy gets a kiss like that for balancing on a few waves.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Give me a break. You get smooches from bikini babes every time you win a tournament.’
‘Congratulatory kisses.’ He traced her lower lip with his fingertip, exploring the contour, feeling the faintest wobble. ‘Nothing compared to that lip-smacker you just planted on me.’
She blushed, but to her credit didn’t look away. ‘You wanted a date for the wedding. I’m just trying to make it look authentic.’
‘How authentic do you want to get?’ He puckered up in a ludicrous parody and she chuckled.
‘How important is it for you to convince them I’m the real deal?’
His smile faltered as her innocent question hit unerringly close to home. ‘Hold my hand, gaze adoringly into my eyes, smooch a little. Well, actually, a lot. That should do the trick.’
‘So why would you need a date to your brother’s
