Blue Crush

by Barnard, Jules

  The deep rumble of his voice when he utters my name, and his full, sensual mouth with the naughty scar at the corner that stands out like one of the slivers of the moon on the water, are mind-numbingly hot. “Good. We’re good.”

  He tilts my jaw up, brushing my lips with his. “Genevieve, you taste good.”

  I’m about to tell him he does too, when his mouth returns and I lose track of my thoughts, our tongues tangling. He pulls me close and I burrow into his chest, running my hands up and down his sides, over his stomach. His muscles tense.

  He pulls away with a concerned look. “Genevieve—”

  “Your experiment worked. I’m cured,” I whisper, busily pulling his shirt from his suit pants and kissing his neck.

  I’ve fantasized about what lies beneath Lewis’s buttoned-up exterior, reaching the core of him. I love the heat in his eyes as he watches me. My fingers trail over the ridges of his stomach and he covers my mouth with his.

  He leans me back, cradling my head above the sand, and kisses me with a tenderness and heat that has my belly shooting sparks down my thighs. The bottom of my fitted dress cuts into my hips, making a northbound route to my waist. He feels so good above me, and by good, I mean amazing.

  I wrap my leg around the back of one of his and run my hands over the dip in his lower back. I squeeze his muscled ass.

  “Gen …” His voice is deep and gravelly.

  I lick the scar on the corner of his mouth—still haven’t figured out where he got it. Will investigate later. “Shhh, I’m busy,” I mumble as I run my lips over his chin, his jaw.

  “It’s—we have to slow down.”

  I lean back. “What’s wrong?” Am I coming on too strong? It would be a first, but given how I react to him, entirely possible.

  He runs his hands over my waist, raising my thigh higher and brushing the sensitive underside with his fingers. “We should either slow down or stop. You have no idea how sexy you are. I’m trying to not take this places you’re not ready to go.”

  He’s talking about sex? And he’s worried about what I want? I’ve never had a guy take things slow. They’re usually trying to see how far they can get.

  Is this some kind of reverse psychology? Let’s test the theory. “Okay.”

  He kisses me, slow and tender, then pulls away.

  Huh? “Wait—” My thought gets cut off because there’s a massive breeze in places usually covered, and hello, my dress is hiked to my panties.

  Lewis tugs down the fabric.

  Did he just put my dress to rights? What kind of guy is he? “I mean, we could stop, if you want to,” I say, “but we don’t need to stop.”

  His gaze is wary. “We should stop. We’re on the beach. There are people out.”

  Just a dang minute, I’m the uptight prude. This sudden role reversal crap sucks. “Are you being modest?”

  His gaze turns heated. “With my body? No. With yours? I don’t want any guy seeing it, or having thoughts about it, or watching what we do together. I want that to be private and between the two of us. And I want to do it all, just so you know. So when you’re ready—really ready—tell me.”

  Well, shit.

  Lewis hands me back my shoes. Once I get them on, he pulls me up, dusts off his coat, and slips it over my shoulders. We return to the party and I’m so deep in thought trying to figure out what just happened, I don’t immediately notice the eyes on us.

  Tyler’s face is a shade darker than normal, his gaze narrowed as if he’s angry. “Where the hell did you go? You can’t just leave the party without telling me, Gen. I thought some dickhead—” He glares at Lewis, who rests his arm over my shoulders. “—snuck off with you.”

  Technically, a guy did sneak off with me, but I think Tyler meant without my permission. And yes, that’s a frightening thought, given my close encounters with dickheads of late.

  “I’m sorry, Tyler. I should have told you.”

  Tyler huffs out a sigh through his nose and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the mass of dark reddish-brown waves in all directions. He stalks to the drink station.

  I’m an asshole. I knew Tyler was looking out for me at the party and I took off without saying anything. Where was my head?

  Nessa walks up. “It’s not your fault. He was angry before you returned.”

  I glance at Tyler warily. He’s taking a shot of something that looks like it’s gonna hurt tomorrow. “Why?”

  Nessa’s gaze sways toward Mira without actually landing on her.

  This is the first I’ve seen of Mira all night. I didn’t even know she was here. She’s chatting with a girl I’ve never met and stealing glances at Lewis, who’s watching the dance floor, pretending not to notice. “Mira? What does Mira have to do with Tyler being mad?”

  Nessa wobbles a little as she pulls me to the side, the light scent of floral perfume and champagne wafting off her. “He was worried when he couldn’t find you, but he only just realized you were missing. Before that” —I lean in— “Mira arrived.” She cringes. “You know how they say instant attraction? It was like hate at first sight. Tyler’s gaze narrowed on Mira. In response, she gave him one of the nastiest looks I’ve ever seen, and this is Mira. She invented deadly glares.” Nessa shakes her head. “How can two beautiful people hate each other so quickly? Have they met before?”

  Have they? Tyler grew up in Lake Tahoe with Cali, and he’s only a couple of years older. “I don’t know.”

  Tyler white-knuckles the bar, then spins around, weaving slightly. His face is still flushed. He completely ignores Mira as he walks past her to me. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay …” I glance at Lewis.

  “You need a ride?” Lewis offers, reading my thoughts.

  “Ye—”

  “No,” Tyler says.

  I lean in and lower my voice. “You can’t drive. You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “You haven’t.”

  True. I’m searching for some reason to remain with Lewis, but that’s not practical with Tyler’s car here—or an angry Mira nearby.

  “I’ll drive us home,” I tell Lewis.

  He levels an annoyed look at Tyler and pulls me close. “He shouldn’t drink if he’s driving you. Are you sure you’ll be safe with him? You’re comfortable with his car?”

  “I’m completely safe, and I borrowed his car when mine died.”

  Mira sidles up to Lewis and throws her hair over her shoulder in Tyler’s direction like a bullfighter with a cape.

  Tyler takes a tight breath and grabs my hand, jerking us toward the exit.

  Lewis frowns.

  Jogging on tiptoes in my heels to keep up, I wave good-bye.

  “Tyler, what the hell?” I say after we exit the boathouse.

  He doesn’t answer, but he slows his pace until we reach the car. He unlocks the doors, then hands me the keys. It takes me a minute to adjust the mirrors and figure out what I’m doing. It’s a good thing I’ve driven his car before, because it’s about thirty years old and not easy to maneuver.

  I pull onto the highway and shift until we’re cruising. Tyler looks out the window, tension radiating off him. Those shots did nothing to loosen him up. “Tyler, what is wrong?” He doesn’t answer me and now I’m getting pissed. “Do you know Mira, or something?”

  He squeezes his thigh above the knee. “I know her.”

  “Okay, ’cause it seemed like you guys were angry at each other.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as if he swallowed something large. “There’s nothing to be angry about. I just don’t like her.”

  Tyler’s pretty easygoing when it comes to women, easy being the operative word. According to Cali, he’s a manwhore. The way he acted with Nessa tonight, all flirty and fun, is how I’ve seen him the few times we’ve hung out. This anger at Mira doesn’t fit. “So, what did she do to make you hate her?”

  He looks over, annoyed. “I don’t hate her—and it’s not worth talking about.”

  “I don’t blame y
ou for not liking Mira. She puts people off sometimes, but did she do something specific?” Even considering how Lewis helped Mira when she was young, her obsession with him is unnatural. Has she had this kind of obsession before? With Tyler?

  “I didn’t say she did anything. We just—we knew each other in high school.”

  Interesting. I got the sense Mira didn’t interact with people outside her circle. “So, you don’t hate her. She hasn’t done anything. But you don’t like her—and you knew her in high school … Exactly how well did you know her?”

  His shoulders tense, his jaw clenching. “I’m not getting into this. Drop it, okay?”

  I shake my head, exasperated. This brother stuff is more of a pain than it’s worth. “I guess.”

  But I don’t believe for one second there’s nothing between Mira and Tyler. Seems like there is a lot between them none of us know about.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lewis calls the next day—morning, to be exact.

  “Ellow?”

  A deep chuckle rumbles on the other end of my cell phone. “Gen?”

  I sit up and swipe hair out of my mouth. “Yes?” I check the time. Seven. What the …?

  “Are you awake?”

  I rub my face and try to get my eyelids to fully open. “Sort of.”

  “Okay, well, I thought we could get an early start training.”

  “You want me to train at seven in the morning?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  I let out a deep, guttural sigh. He’s doing this for me, I remind myself. “My brain doesn’t function very well at this hour.”

  “That’s okay. All I need are your legs. And your arms.”

  I slip into a prone position and I prop my head on my elbow to stay awake. “For?”

  “Swimming.”

  Oh, I don’t like the sound of that. “Where?” I ask slowly, skeptically.

  “The lake.”

  Definitely don’t like the sound of that. “Are you bringing me a wetsuit?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not really.”

  “No wetsuit. I’ll be there in twenty.”

  Lewis pulls off the highway and down a road to the shore north of Zephyr Cove, a place called Cave Rock. Mist hangs over the lake, evidence the water is friggin’ freezing in the morning, and well, pretty much any time of day. Alpine lakes are not known for their warmth.

  “Why are we here so early?” I ask grumpily.

  He looks over and smiles. “Not a morning person?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re just now noticing? Why? Are you a morning person?” Because if he says yes, I might have to call this entire whatever we have going on off.

  “When I have to be … I don’t sleep much.” He exits the Jeep and grabs thick towels from the rear while I stumble out. Lewis takes in my sweatpants and sweatshirt, the hood pulled over my head. “You do have a swimsuit underneath all that, don’t you?”

  I glare at him.

  He grins. He’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair ruffled as if from sleep.

  In spite of my irritable mood, I have to admit he looks really cute first thing in the morning. And he brought me coffee, which saved his life. I cannot be held responsible for what I do when woken at ungodly hours.

  Glancing up—way up—I take in the enormous cliff jutting proudly toward the lake like an Egyptian sphinx. Holes drilled through the center provide highway access. “What is Cave Rock?”

  Lewis follows my gaze. “A sacred Washoe site.”

  “Really?” I look again. The brittle, brick-like layering of stone that forms the cliff appears weathered, different from the rocks of the jetty below.

  Lewis walks to the side of a boat ramp. He climbs across the boulders of the jetty and I stare. “You expecting me to follow you, or something?” I call.

  He waves me forward. “Come on. I’ll tell you a story when you get out here.”

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of incentive?” I take a few tentative steps, my flimsy Keds slipping dangerously. “’Cause it’s not working.”

  He looks back and frowns. “Genevieve, the race is just over two weeks away. You are not ready. Scaling these stones and catching up to me is the first phase of your training today.”

  The first phase?

  I’m doing the weight lifting, the running, not to mention the gym and cascades torture, but I trust him if he says I’m not ready for the race. Mentally, I’m most definitely not ready. Physically, it’s debatable. I might finish the mudder with a decent time, considering my track conditioning—if I’m able to scale the walls, which is dubious. But the mudder doesn’t simply test physical endurance, it tests mental resilience.

  We reach the end of the jetty and I sit on a flat stone, my legs dangling over the edge. They’re not sore for once, and though scaling the rocks took concentration, I don’t feel fatigued. The mist no longer lingers on the water, but that doesn’t equate to warmth below. The temperature outside is a cool sixty and rising, which means the water must also be in the sixties. Cold.

  “So what’s this story you’re going to tell me?”

  Lewis unzips his sweatshirt and lays it on top of the towels. He sinks onto a rock and props up a knee, leaning back on his elbow. My gaze strays to the smooth, ripped bicep peeking out of his T-shirt. Everything about Lewis is compelling—the way he moves, the things he says, his body.

  When I look up he’s watching me. I should be embarrassed that he caught me checking him out, but I’m too startled by the look in his eyes. Longing.

  His gaze cuts to the lake and he doesn’t say anything for a drawn-out moment.

  I stare at the water, trying to figure out what just happened. Did I do something wrong? For a moment, I thought he might reach over and kiss me. I wouldn’t have minded, no matter how tired and irritable I am.

  A small duck suns itself on a stone separated from the rest of the boulders that form the jetty. This rock is smooth, the same color as Cave Rock—brown and weathered.

  Lewis picks up a piece of loose gravel and weighs it in his hand. “As I mentioned, this place is sacred.” His expression is thoughtful, as if he’s considering how to continue. He throws the pebble without disturbing the sunbathing duck. Miniature ripples cut through the calm water. “Healers used the cave as a place to commune with the spirits. Everyone else was unwelcome at Cave Rock.”

  He glances at me, one corner of his mouth pulled back. “My ancestors were pissed when men carved tunnels for roads. Climbers later cemented the interior of the caves. Attempts have been made to repair the damage, but as you can see”—he points to cars whizzing through the center—“some things can’t be fixed.”

  His gaze turns inward and for a moment he seems somewhere else. “Lewis?”

  He blinks and glances at the cliff. “There’s an old Washoe saying that a bird called Ong visits anyone who trespasses on Cave Rock. Ong’s wings are said to span villages, the wing beats capable of bending pine trees. Only healers actually see Ong; to everyone else he moves in shadow.”

  Lewis peers at me, his expression dead serious. “The Washoe believe Ong lives in the underworld and comes and goes through the center of the Lake to feed on trespassers of sacred ground.”

  I smile calmly. He’s trying to freak me out. “It’s a myth, meant to keep non-healers away so the healers had a special place.”

  He shrugs and stares at the center of the lake. “A few climbers who cemented the floors of the cave met with mysterious deaths.”

  He points to the base of the cliff, about a quarter of a mile away. “Swim there and back. Two laps.”

  I laugh. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “You told me a creepy story about some devil bird that eats people who go near Cave Rock, and you want me to swim to it? Twice?”

  He leans over and squeezes my bicep. “Toughen you up.”

  “Oww—” I rub my arm and glare. “Why can’t you go with me? The lake is cold. What if
I become hypothermic?”

  He rubs his chin. “That’s a possibility. I’ll keep an eye on you.” He pulls off his T-shirt and unbuttons loose jeans, and I watch because—gahhh.

  Lewis is muscles and sinew and masculine beauty, and how am I supposed to look away from that?

  My face is on fire and I’m pretty sure the red extends down my chest.

  He strips to board shorts and repositions himself on the jetty, nodding at the water. “Better go before Ong wakes up.”

  “How exactly will this help me in the race?”

  “It won’t. In the race, you’ll swim through ice water. The lake is like a bath compared to that, but this is the closest thing I could find on short notice.” He scratches his head. “I could get the guys from work to build a small pool and fill it with ice—”

  “No.” I stand and strip off my sweats. “This is good.” Better not let him finish that thought. I think he’s serious.

  When I glance at him, Lewis is staring at my legs, his gaze running up the rest of my exposed skin.

  I’m wearing one of my sturdier bikinis with extra material—I figured Lewis would torture me in some fashion and wanted to come prepared—but it’s still a bikini because that’s all I own. You’d think I’d be more comfortable in a one-piece, given my conservative clothing preferences, but everyone bares skin at the beach or a pool. I’m just one more body and I’ve never thought much of it.

  I’m thinking about it now.

  I’ve never been this undressed in front of Lewis and the way he’s looking at me has my skin heating.

  He grins when I catch him staring.

  He’s flirting again. So, so dangerous. My inhibitions dissolve around flirty Lewis. It’s a good thing I’m upset with him for dragging me here.

  I hold my breath and jump in the water.

  And my organs shrivel, joints locking from the cold.

  Son of a bitch. I rise to the surface, arms and legs wagging to get me as high out of the arctic as possible. “Oh my God, oh my God—”

  “Better get a move on before Ong finds you,” Lewis calls.

  “You are the devil!” I yell between chattering teeth. I swim as fast as I can to Cave Rock, Lewis’s laugh rumbling behind me.