you ask for my help, I’m not taking the shit jobs,” Justin threatened.
He laughed. “Not my fault you always refused my surf lessons in favor of those dumb bikes.”
“Wait, next time I get leave, I’m actually going to take it. On my dumb bike.”
“Like you know how to relax.”
“I’m planning on relaxing in a few hours, in fact. My own personal version of the night shift. So hang ten, brother,” Justin said before clicking off, and Cash wondered just how big a screwup this new plan could prove to be.
2
THREE HOURS and four beaches later, Rina was hot, exhausted and about to give up, call her mom and tell her that she’d been right—she should’ve gone to med school or law school like her brother and sister, because she was fairly certain that neither of them were currently searching out strange men on a beach.
Along the fifth stretch of beach, Rina saw the gaggle of high school girls gathered at the water’s edge. She let her gaze follow the horizon, saw the surfer they all watched cutting through the waves and cruising toward shore in what was left of the early evening light.
That has to be him. And just like that, the search had proved worth it. Forget med school. Forget everything else.
Her throat tightened, her pulse raced and she took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the butterflies in her stomach.
Cash emerged from the surf, water running off his tanned body. Tall, lean, with neon-blue eyes, blond hair longer than she normally liked on men and slicked back from his face. He looked even better here in person, wearing only a pair of blue trunks that went down to his knees and hung off his hips. Hung so low that she could probably pull them right off without using much strength.
This meeting promised to be…interesting.
From where she stood, right at the water’s edge, she put her hand up and gave him a small wave to gain his attention. He’d already focused his gaze on her, didn’t hesitate to walk right over to her, bypassing the group of girls who giggled and called nice ride. This could actually be a fantasy come true. She pictured her and Cash rolling together in the foaming surf, sun setting in the background, Cash saying her name as he peeled her bikini top off her body.
“Hey,” he said casually, and she was so glad she’d worn her bikini for this little meet-and-greet. Her tiny, blue-flowered bikini that she ran five miles every morning to look good in because she was blessed with curves instead of eat-anything-you-want slimness. And she’d finally learned to embrace it, even if the blonde at the surf shop had given her a moment of self-consciousness about her body.
Cash looked like he appreciated it, too. He checked her out without bothering to hide it, and then sent her a half smile as he stuck his surfboard into the sand next to him.
“Are you Cash?” she asked.
“Depends on who’s asking.” His smile just devastated her and this was all so inappropriate. She was supposed to be working. Keeping her mind on her future, not picturing herself in a tangle of arms and legs, caught up in some kind of sandy Cash sandwich.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Rina,” she said. She couldn’t place his accent. It wasn’t fully Americanized, it had a touch of something else. A bit of a British accent, maybe?
Whatever it is, it had to be the best voice in the world. Low, husky, soothing. Keep him talking….
“What’s your name short for?” he asked.
“Carina,” she replied. She’d never used her more formal name, having been nicknamed almost at birth by her sister. “What’s Cash short for?”
“What can I do for you, Rina from New York?”
“How did you know I was from New York?”
“Your voice gave you away.” He leaned against his surfboard with one arm, used the other hand to trace a slow caress down her cheek toward her lips. It left a trail of cool, salt water, and she licked the corner of her mouth without thinking. He grinned. “Do you need surfing lessons?”
“No. I’m a documentary filmmaker,” she began, and wondered when the heck she’d become so stupid-sounding, like some schoolgirl who didn’t think before she spoke.
You have got to get out more.
“So, documentary filmmakers aren’t allowed to surf?” he asked, as he took his hand off her cheek and shook the water out of his hair. There was still a wide grin on his face that told her he knew he’d made her blush, and that he liked it.
“Um, I guess we are. But it’s not something I’m really interested in learning.”
“You sure? You’re dressed for it, and the water’s beautiful today, especially for your first time.” He started to ease the bag off her shoulder as he gestured toward the ocean, and it would be so easy to let him take her out into the waves.
“I’d just slow you down, but thanks.” She pushed the bag back up to her shoulder.
“I’m pretty patient,” he said, moved in a little closer to her, and she knew that had to be a complete lie. The man radiated energy from every limb, like a panther on the prowl for something. Or someone.
She rubbed her bare arms with her palms. “I’m going to have to pass on the lesson.”
“So, what are you interested in then?”
“You,” she said, and she wanted to sink into the sand the moment she said it, although Cash was smiling at her again. A wicked kind of smile. He was throwing her right off her game by living up to the larger-than-life image the way she knew he would.
She took a deep breath. “Let me start over. I’m editing a documentary on big-wave surfing. The cameraman on the project shot some film of you yesterday, over at the Pipeline….”
“Man, those waves at Pipe were killer,” he said then, turned to check out the waves currently crashing to shore. “I got rocked a few times.”
“I noticed. Didn’t that hurt?”
“Part of the thrill. Line between pleasure and pain, love and hate,” he said, and oh, how she wanted to cross that line now. Meeting him in person had somehow changed everything for her. “I don’t remember seeing you yesterday.”
“It wasn’t me behind the camera. I’m just the editor on this project.”
“I didn’t know I was being filmed.”
“Well, you looked great in the video,” she said, and he smiled when she blushed again. “I mean, your surfing form looks great. Not that I know much about surfing, but you made me want to learn more about it.”
“So I inspired you, then? Even though documentary filmmakers don’t surf?”
Yes, inspired was the one word she’d definitely use. “It does you justice.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. It definitely highlights
