by Kat Bastion
His hot breath feathered over the corner of my mouth, then trailed along my jaw until it reached my ear. One slow hot exhale, then a pause. “You know why.”
Did I?
My breaths shallowed. My throat locked up. I closed my eyes as warmth ebbed from the spot where his lips nearly touched my skin. That heat pulsed lower, grew hotter.
“I don’t.” The words were whispered, all I could manage.
His deep chuckle rustled the hair above my ear. “You’ll figure it out.”
A current of cool air whipped between us as he pulled back. An instant later, the engine growled to life.
My head still spun. My body tingled, a delicious heat still aching between my legs.
Sex? He couldn’t be just after sex. Didn’t want a “beach-bunny fuck”—what he’d said.
Nothing had changed. He still had something we wanted.
And we had something he wanted. I just needed to get him to see that.
And that the something wasn’t me.
Definitely not me.
Mase…
Wow. Only word that formed between my ears.
Couldn’t think through the buzzing in my head.
Through a rush of adrenaline, a realization sparked.
All I knew? I’d stumbled onto it. The path. The road I’d been seeking all my life.
And somehow, today, it revealed itself to me all at once.
Ideal surf.
Perfect girl.
The whole expectant world had faded away—leaving me be.
“You must want something.” Her soft, hesitant words broke into the silent space.
Annnd…peace shattered.
Still, couldn’t help the smile tugging my lips. “I stated my terms.”
“Ridiculous ones.” With a cute huff of breath, she struggled to fasten her seatbelt until it clicked.
I braced my hand on her headrest and twisted, backing the Jeep down the road. Damn, I enjoyed sparring with her. And throwing her. So I did it again. “How much?”
She visibly startled, partially turning toward me.
At her speechless long pause, I gave her a slow grin.
She schooled her expression and faced forward again, settling back into her seat. “Thirty thousand.”
I choked down a laugh while I shifted into drive. “Do you have a job?” I turned left to begin traversing the stretch of dirt road on the southern side of the Pacific speck we floated on.
More silence. When I glanced her way, her delicate features had drooped into a cute frown.
A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’d know thirty thousand isn’t anything.” When she didn’t reply, I prodded, “Do you?”
“Have a job? No.”
“Why not?”
“Just went grad.”
I winced, her slang sinking in: graduated high school. Young. “Eighteen?”
“Nineteen.”
Good. Old enough. I gave a sharp nod. “Make a better offer.”
“Forty thousand.” She rattled the bold number off without hesitation. Like she’d been given specific instructions: what to start off with, what increments to climb—how high her brother, Makani, was willing to go.
A gut feeling screamed we hadn’t hit it yet. “Higher.”
She dropped an adorable deadpan look at me. “Thought you didn’t need the money.”
“You arguing or offering?” My knee-jerk sarcasm hid sudden anxiety. At wanting to shed my old skin. Try on a new one. And, oddly, with every second that stretched by, getting her to agree grew more and more important.
She let out a heavy sigh. “Forty-five.”
Better. But I couldn’t cave. Wouldn’t. Not yet. I waited. Felt the tension rise. Saw her leg bounce, as if the tightrope we’d toed out across did the same to her as it did to me: thrilled, even as it terrified. Breathing out on a slow exhale, I pushed the envelope. For her. For the unreal thing that had begun to unfold between us. “Fifty.”
Another long pause followed. Then she gave a slow nod. “Done.”
“Good, that’s your salary.”
She blinked, face whipping toward me as it wrinkled in wonderful confusion. “What?”
“Your salary. As my assistant and PR person.”
“But…” I could almost hear the gears in her brain stick. For a fresh high school graduate, it was an obscene amount of money out of the gate, without degree or experience. She knew it. I knew it.
“Fine.” She crossed her arms with a heavy drop at the end—doing dangerous things to her cleavage. “Surfer’s assistant? How hard could it be?” she grumbled.
“Fine?” I glanced at her, arching my brows, totally amused by her stubbornness.
Her jaw hardened, eyes narrowing. “I’ll take the job.”
“Good. And I’d have paid sixty.”
“I’d have taken forty.” She shook her head, staring out the windshield with a faraway look. “And you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
I tipped my head back against my headrest with a smug smile. “Oh, I have some idea.” Especially if the sharp tongue and quick wit was any indication. “And it’s gonna be a blast.”
“You’re just trying to get into my pants.”
Not entirely a lie. Not the whole truth, either. Not even close. I glanced down at a silky expanse of bared upper thigh, most of it brightened by a shaft of sunlight into a golden caramel. Fucking delicious. “You’re not wearing any pants.”
“Up my dress, then.”
Oh, damn. You’re making this too easy. “Bet it looks really nice up there.”
“No. No looking up there.”
I fought a smirk. “Can’t stop me from thinking about it.”
“No…thinking…about…it.” Each word gritted out from her, enunciated.
Then silence.
The instant I glanced at her, we hit a nasty pothole.
She jostled, but refused to unwind those tense arms folded tightly over her chest. Way too angry for our lighthearted banter.
Hmmm...Maybe I’m not doing it right. “We should just get it over with and have sex.”
Laughter burst out of her and she broke apart those folded arms to brace her weight on her thighs. “No.”
I liked the sound of her laugh. Raw. Uninhibited. Teasing her brought out the wonderful things she wanted to keep bottled inside. “There’s that word again.”
“Yeah.” She shot me a wary glance. “It’s only spelled the usual way. N period, O period.”
“Why?” Yep. I asked it.
Her mouth dropped open with a shocked sound. “Excellent question.”
It boomeranged around full circle back at me. Why I wanted her? Right. Excellent question. But something deeper hummed under the surface between us. Her overreaction meant more lay behind the mask she wore so valiantly. There were things she hid from me, maybe even from herself. “Does it have an answer?”
“I have a rule: I don’t date guys I work for.”
Slick. Sure. Poof...she suddenly had the perfect rule. I didn’t bother to point out that I said nothing about dating, only sexing.
Then sudden alarm crept up my spine. “How many guys have you worked for?”
“Only the one.”
Relief slumped my shoulders even as I shook my head. “Then it’s not a rule.”
“Yeah, it is. Just made it.”
Knew it. “Well, unmake it.”
“No.”
Another smile plastered onto my face. “I’m beginning to love that word.” From her. It shielded all the secrets she kept. Became a challenge to me…to discover them.
I hooked a left past a sea-rock cairn, its graduated seven-stone pillar my only marker to the nondescript shoreline turnoff.
She twisted in her seat toward me. The weight of her stare filled the seconds of silence. Without glancing over, I felt her trying to figure me out—a mystery trying to unravel an enigma.
Her
head moved slightly left, but she never took her gaze from me. “You don’t like rules.”
“Nope.” Never had.
Her unasked “why” hung in the air right as we pulled up to the crash-pad I’d been staying in, a rustic beach bure: steep thatched-bamboo roof in need of repair, outdoor shower obscured by a reed screen, hammock strung between a metal hook on a corner deck post and the trunk of a coconut palm fifteen feet away. The Spartan digs came with a basic toilet, sink, and a small metal stove. A sturdy bed long enough for my feet not to hang over had clean sheets. Worked for me.
But the best part about it?
Location, location, location. On the beach, steps from the high tidemark. Not a damn thing else a guy wanting to escape the world could want.
Well, except for a girl who stood loudly beside me without uttering a word.
Twilight faded into darkness by the second, casting the deep crescent beach into richer blue-black shadows. Waves crashed against a jagged black reef on bracketing points of the bay, but by the time they reached the midpoint dead ahead, they gentled, slowly stretching over the soft sand.
“I need to make call for a morning pickup,” she said from somewhere behind me.
“Cool.” I nodded, then closed my eyes, soaking in the ocean’s rhythm: roaring booms, gentle splashes.
After the muffled one-sided convo ended, a distinct click sounded. I turned to see her grasping a string connected to a now-illuminated lightbulb that dangled from the ceiling. “There’s electricity?”
“Solar panels around back.” I nodded to the far corner.
She stared at the sink. “Water?”
“Catchment.”
“Oh.” Her gaze continued to pan the room, then froze on the obvious. “I’m not sleeping in that.” She pointed at the large bed that took up almost the entire room.
“You’re not?”
“No.” She gave a firm headshake, arms crossing once again.
“Okay, Lani.” My voice lowered, turning raspy as I stepped closer. “No sleeping? Sounds like you’re breaking your own rule: got your mind set on wild all-night sex. Gonna make your morning connection and all-day flight home a bitch.”
Her expression turned incredulous, eyes narrowing then flashing wide, mouth falling open. “We’re not having wild all-night sex.”
Taking my time, I swept a hungry stare down her body…taunting her. “Slow, then?”
“No.”
Fighting a smile, I met her gaze. “There’s that word again.”
“Accurate.”
“Premature.”
She narrowed her eyes again. “Interesting word from a guy talking about sex.”
“I was talking about your opinion of me.” Which had become more important with every passing second.
Forcing away any doubt—regarding her overreaction, the secrets she hid, how she felt…about herself and about me—I took a step closer to her. A primal urge vibrated under my skin: to prove to her whatever electric thing was happening between us sparked hotter than something physical, that we were connected on a deeper level.
Only I didn’t have any proof. Pure instinct, nothing more.
And the skittish girl in front of me needed time. To realize it for herself.
Hell, even I didn’t get why I wasn’t sprinting the other direction. Had just bailed out of an all-in with another girl. Had vowed to be single. Uninvolved. Detached.
Had no fucking idea why I felt the sudden, very real, need to attach.
Even so, I took one more step toward her.
Then another.
Her feet stayed planted, shoulders squared, defiant look in her eye as she held my gaze.
But her breathing shallowed.
Her eyes dilated.
She pressed her lips together, then swallowed hard.
Our bodies collided in innocent slow-motion, arms brushing, backs of our hands touching and lingering together at the point of contact. As she softly gasped, I wondered what she saw: my shallow breathing, my dilated eyes, my swallow as my throat grew bone dry?
Do you feel the connection too?
Leilani…
Mase invaded my senses as I drew in a deep breath.
Damn, you smell amazing.
His muscular forearm touched my elbow, his index finger curved against my pinky, but the seemingly harmless act showered a riot of crackling sparks through my body, where they settled unnervingly between my legs.
“This isn’t happening.” Couldn’t be.
“What isn’t?”
“You and me.”
“Sure it is.” Without warning, he broke contact, turned, then stripped his wet shorts off and walked across the room.
I averted my gaze. But not before I got an eyeful of sculpted buns and well-equipped male. “No. It’s not.”
He hummed, tone low and disbelieving. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Look” —I blew out a controlled breath as I pushed my hair from my face, then stared up at the woven pattern of the bamboo ceiling overhead— “you and I can’t happen.”
A noise sounded, like a refrigerator seal had released. Glass clinked. Metal scraped. The soft release of carbonated pressure hissed out.
Then a chilled beer bottle appeared in my vision. “Keep telling yourself that.” He walked out the door, black cotton shorts now hugging his stellar backside.
I touched the cool bottle to my lips, then gulped down one swallow after another, fortifying myself. “Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“To watch the stars.” He disappeared toward the right. “They’re incredible out here.”
“For sure.” No denying it. Even Maui’s night sky from any beach didn’t compare with total darkness in the middle of the South Pacific.
Curious, I followed him out. He grabbed folded beach towels from a wicker stand beside the outdoor shower, handed me one, then unfurled his onto the ground in front of the small deck. Intrigued by his childlike love of nature, I did the same, keeping mine a good foot away from his.
Tucking an arm under my head, I gazed up at the diamond-encrusted black velvet sky. Iridescent pinholes glittered back at us, most in hues of white, but some sparkled green, blue, or pink.
The silence lasted only until his long legs settled. “Let’s play a game.”
Haven’t we been playing? I pressed my lips together to stop a smile. “What kind of game?”
“A drinking game.” He popped back up, then spun around, stepping back into the bure.
I leaned up on an elbow, then glanced over my shoulder. He went straight to the nightstand, then wrapped a hand around the neck of a squat pyramid-shaped bottle. When he returned, he balanced the bottom on his other palm, twisting it; clear liquid sloshed halfway up its Patrón Silver label. He tipped his head toward the bottle. “Truth or Shot.”
“Ah, tequila.” I wedged my half-empty beer bottle into the sand and sat upright, crossing my legs as I took the tequila from him. “Shouldn’t that be ‘Truth or Dare’?”
He dropped back onto his towel, two shot glasses clinking between the fingers of one hand. A mischievous expression lit up his face, then he slowly pressed the palm of his free hand into his towel and leaned forward, face tilting downward as he stared hard at me. “You want dares?” His voice grew huskier with every word, his finger brushing the skin above my knee before traveling in a lazy trail up my thigh. “Then, I get to start.”
“Shots.” I blurted, knocking his hand away. I blew out a shaky breath. “I’m good with shots.”
His deep chuckle followed, the kind filled with sin and hidden promises. And though I’d broken his intentional contact, the side of his dropped hand still touched my thigh.
I stared at the warm connection. Innocent. And not.
On a slow inhale, I tried to clear my head. “I’m not telling you anything. I could drink half that bottle.” Sort of. Well, probably more than likely. But he didn’t need to know that.
“What’s the matter? Scared of a little truth?”
“No.” Yes... “But why should I tell you anything about me?”
“We are going to be working together.” He uncorked the bottle.
“So?”
“Sooo…think of it like a job interview.”
“Oh.” Totally confused, I furrowed my brow. “So the questions won’t be personal.”
“They most definitely will be personal.” He took the bottle back and filled one shot glass halfway.
I warily eyed the sad amount of alcohol. “Right. Then, I’ll just drink.”
“Nope. Doesn’t work that way. Question first. Then you decide.”
I huffed out a laugh. “How’s that even a game? I don’t have to answer any question I don’t want to.”
“Which tells me a lot about you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fine. But it goes both ways, surfer boy. And I go first.”
“Do your worst.”
“You’re from Philadelphia.”
“Truth. But not a question.” His brows raised. “Do I need to draw a diagram of how this works?”
“No. I’m not a keiki.” Not a grom. Not a kid. Suddenly, I sat straighter, pulling my shoulders back, sticking my chest out. Not a girl either. “Speaking of: What’s with the baby shot?” With a determined swipe, I grabbed the bottle and half-filled glass from him, then poured to the brim.
His attention drifted toward my breasts. But then his gaze lifted to meet mine, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement, and he explained anyway, talking slowly. “You ask a question. I either answer truthfully, or I drink.”
Ignoring him with a wave of my hand, I began my interrogation. “How in the world did an East Coaster become so skilled on the waves?”
“Ah. Good question.”
“See?” I gave a solid nod. “I got this.”
“Well, my parents traveled a lot when I was a kid, every year from before I was born. Always near a glamourous beach. Learned how to ride days after I took my first steps.”
“And you’ve been surfing ever since?” I hadn’t heard of him. Not that I was the expert on wave riders, but something that unusual got around.