try to gut him like a fish. Resisting the urge to drop into a protective stance, he waited for her to make a move. Instead of unsheathing her weapon and launching an unprovoked attack, she slipped her hand out from under the hem of her shorts and straightened. She also relaxed her face, as if nothing was amiss.
“I’m sorry,” he said, keeping a cautious distance between them. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She remained silent, her expression cool now, impossible to read. Without being too obvious about it, he studied her appearance. Her black knit bikini top molded to her breasts in a tempting way. She had a trim figure: flat belly, slim waist, curvy hips. Every inch of her was smooth and tanned and toned. Strong, but decidedly feminine.
He lifted his gaze to her face, noting that she was even prettier in person. Her features were well arranged, her mouth nicely shaped. With her thick, dark lashes and fine brown eyes, she was striking.
Brandon had seen her picture in magazines, and memorized every detail, so he shouldn’t have been caught off guard by her beauty. He shouldn’t have been dazzled by it, either. For some reason, she made him feel like an awkward teen again. The circumstances were unusual, of course. He’d never had a female target before.
To put her at ease, he repeated his apology in awkward Spanish, as if he wasn’t sure she’d understood him.
She crossed her arms over her chest, more annoyed now than wary. “I speak English.”
“Cool,” he said, flashing a friendly smile. “You’re a really good surfer. Those were some sick moves.”
“Thanks.”
“Too bad about the broken fin.”
She shrugged. “It happens.”
“This looks like a tricky break. And a sharp reef.”
“Yes. Not for amateurs.”
“You surf alone?”
“All the time.”
“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “You have more cojones than I do.”
He’d meant that figuratively, but her gaze drifted down to the Velcro fly of his boardshorts, as if checking out his male anatomy. His stomach muscles tightened on reflex and she glanced away, flushing.
Brandon watched a bead of salt water travel down the side of her face, fascinated. Her complexion wasn’t so dusky that he couldn’t see a tinge of pink on her cheeks. He wondered if she was embarrassed by his offhand remark, or angry with him for invading her privacy. “Can you give me some pointers?”
“You’ve got no business here if you’re inexperienced.”
“I’m experienced enough,” he said mildly.
“What do you see out there?”
He did a quick assessment. “This is a high-tide break. At low, the reef will be exposed, and the wave probably closes out. Swells are far-spaced, height is overhead and there’s a slight onshore flow.”
“Very slight.”
Brandon nodded with real pleasure. The only thing better was no wind at all. “Does it get any glassier than this?”
“Not much,” she admitted.
He moistened his lips, hungry for a taste of those waves. Intrigued by his most challenging assignment to date. “Will you spot me?”
It was clear that she wanted to say no, but surfing etiquette required her to agree. Refusing a safety request was like dropping in on another man’s wave, or trying to steal his girl. It just wasn’t done. “Okay,” she said, sighing. “I’ll keep an eye on you for thirty minutes. Maybe you can catch a few.”
Grinning, he offered her his hand. “I’m Brandon North, by the way.”
She smiled back, seeming amused by his enthusiasm, and her beauty took his breath away. In the years since her last photo shoot, she’d lost softness in her cheeks and dropped the exaggerated pout. Maturity suited her. She was confident, mysterious … and twice as appealing. “Isabel,” she said, accepting his handshake.
“Isabel,” he repeated. “Can I buy you lunch after this?”
She jerked her hand out of his. “No.”
“Do you eat alone, too?”
Her smile disappeared and she sat down on the sand, ignoring his question. “The reef is brutal,” she warned, dusting off her knees. “You’re better off taking a dive than risking a wipeout.”
Avoiding risk wasn’t his style, but he didn’t say that.
“The wave moves fast once it hollows,” she continued. “If you get a chance to stay inside the curl, go for it. It’s a luscious barrel.”
He eyed the formation, experiencing a rush of adrenaline that wasn’t unlike arousal. Sometimes he’d rather surf than have sex. Lately he hadn’t done enough of either.
Aware that Isabel was watching him, he pulled his attention from the water. Despite her dark coloring, she didn’t look like a native. Her skin was honey-gold, sun-warmed rather than God-given. Beneath her bikini top, she would be pale and delicate. He imagined pushing the wet fabric aside, revealing her bare breasts and soft nipples.
What Brandon felt now wasn’t similar to arousal; it was arousal. His face went taut as he struggled to stay cool. She stared back at him, her gaze burning into his, and a spark ignited inside him. He had the feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Her eyes trailed down his stomach again, lingering at the waistband of his shorts, which were riding low on his hips. “Go on,” she said, refocusing on the waves. It was both a dismissal and a challenge.
Muttering his thanks, he strode toward the shore. The sand beneath his bare feet was a pearly gray, darkened by volcanic ash and littered with crushed shells. Not pristine, but still very beautiful. The water was so clear he could make out the sharp-toothed reef beneath the surface, and the waves broke hard against it, creating one of the sleekest curls he’d ever seen.
His pulse thundered in his ears. He’d been surfing for more than ten years—that was the reason he’d been chosen for this assignment—but he wasn’t used to waves like this. The height was intimidating. It also reminded him that he was here to gain Isabel’s trust as a dedicated athlete, not to picture her naked.
Brandon waded into the foam-specked surf, determined to impress her. The water was only a few degrees cooler than the balmy air. He felt immersed in pleasure as it enveloped him. In San Diego, the ocean was so cold he usually needed a wet suit, but like most surfers, he preferred to trunk it.
He tossed his board on the water and leaped on top of it, paddling with easy, practiced motions. Ducking under the first wave, he resurfaced on the other side and kept moving to a calmer area beyond the breakers.
When he was in the right position, he turned back toward the beach, straddling his board and sitting upright.
Isabel was watching, waiting.
