by Leslie North
Trent came around from behind her and tapped her on the nose. “You are an eager beaver. Okay, we’ll get in the shallows.”
Chloe looked at the small waves and sighed. “I suppose I should start with something easy.”
They headed down to the beach with their boards. He showed her how to launch her board and lay down on it. “We’re going to paddle around some first.”
The water lapped at her and splashed into her face, the light breeze cool compared with the hot sun. She followed Trent, copied his moves. They paddled out to sea and then back again. Trent got out of the surf, left his board stuck in the sand, and came back to her. “Okay, now you’re going to stand up.”
She’d been doing that without a problem on the sand, so she stood, and fell off with a splash. She came up, pounding the water. Grinning, Trent grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Go slower this time. Like I showed you. Up to your knees, squat, then stand. Get your balance first. Find your feet.”
Muttering about treacherous boards, she tried it again, wobbled, started to fall. Trent put his hand on her hip. “Whoa, there. This ain’t a horse to ride. You go right, your board’s going to go left.”
He spent a long time, working with her, teaching her to stand. She noticed his surfer slang had just about disappeared, and she wondered about that. Was that an act he’d put on for her?
But then he grinned and asked, “Dude, you ready to catch a wave?”
Her stomach dropped. She thought about falling off in deep water, where her feet wouldn’t touch the sand. The surf washed over her legs, up around her, and fell back, almost pulling at her. “Uh…maybe not today. It’s colder than I’d imagined.”
He pushed the board towards her. “Climb on. You gotta ride.” He put his hand on her waist and urged her back onto the board. She got on. He ran back and got his own board. They paddled out to deeper water.
Trent sat up and grinned at her. They had gone out far enough that she couldn’t see the ocean’s bottom. It was quieter here, just water lapping against the board. The noise of the waves breaking seemed distant and the sounds of the other beach goers seemed even farther away.
She lifted her face into the breeze. “Wow, I can see why you love this.”
“Clears your head. Puts everything into perspective.”
He didn’t sound like a surf bum now. She tipped her head to one side and studied him. She realized she’d told him a lot about herself—about her work as a temp at the Guardians of the Earth foundation, but she knew next to nothing about him. Even Mrs. Wilson, when Chloe had asked about Trent this morning, had managed to shift the topic back to Chloe.
Chloe splashed a hand in the water.
He glanced at her. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Reason sharks go after surfers is if we act like a injured seal, splashing around, they think we’re lunch.”
She looked around, worry tight inside of her, but didn’t see any sign of a fin breaking the water. “Sharks? I don’t see any.”
“Dude, there are always sharks. It’s what you don’t see that should worry you.”
She frowned. He didn’t sound like he was talking about the ocean. But she said, “Sounds like a mountain lion. You don’t see them, but you can tell when they’re around. You get this…this spooky feeling of being watched.”
He looked at her, eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun flashing off of the water. She could still see narrow slits of blue—as blue as the sea, just as dark as deep water. “Yeah…sounds like you’ve got good instincts.”
Trent turned his board slowly, angling the tip towards the shore and looking over his shoulder. “Here we go. When I tell you, start paddling. Catch it first, then stand. I’ll be right behind you. Here she comes!”
He paddled forward, caught the swelling crest of the wave, grinned, and stood. Chloe copied him. The wave picked her up, carried her forward. Wind and spray rushed into her face. It was a giddy sense. She got to a squat, managed to stand. She rode the board for several seconds before she realized she was standing on a piece of wood in a vast ocean. Her heart kicked up and she turned to look for Trent. The board flipped, dumping her into the ocean, and water closed over her head. Panic settled in her chest.
She came up sputtering, reaching blindly for something to hold onto. She made contact with something solid—Trent.
Chapter 7
Trent had curled out of the wave as soon as he’d seen Chloe go down. They’d catch her board later when it came to shore—he didn’t like attaching boards to beginners. Too often, the board ended up swinging around and hitting them. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her up onto his board. She curled up in front of him, shivering.
“Hey, you okay?” She was trying to wrap herself around him as she sputtered and coughed.
Chloe nodded, but she didn’t let go of him.
He put an arm around her. “You did great!”
“I fell off.”
He laughed. “Yeah, expect a lot of that at first. But you were riding.”
“Can we…I think I’m done.”
“Sure, sure…let’s take a break.” She sounded more than shaky. He wasn’t sure what had precipitated the fear he heard in her voice—maybe all that talk about sharks.
Chloe shook her head, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. “No, I mean I’m done for the day. I just really want to go back to the beach.”
“Okay. You’re going to have to help me get in. Can you lay down and paddle?”
She nodded. He had her stretch out on his board, and he stretched out over her, covering her body with his. She didn’t complain—and she fit nicely under him, tucked in just fine. For a minute, her body distracted him.
She wasn’t as skinny as she looked—no, he could feel all of her curves just fine and they warmed his blood, taking away the chill of the sea. He started paddling, taking them in slow and easy. He could feel Chloe start to relax, and when they were close enough, he rolled off of the board and held out a hand to Chloe.
Still shivering, she stood and walked out of the water, hanging onto him like he was a lifeguard. “Hey, you’re safe.”
She nodded and sat down on the sand.
Trent sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, laying his chin atop her head. “Okay, what’s the deal? What frightened you?”
Chloe mumbled, “I thought it would be different now.”
“What would be different?”
She pushed herself away from him and reached up to squeeze the water from her ponytail. She straightened and looked like she was doing her best to act like a mature adult who hadn’t just freaked out. “When I was six, I fell through the ice in a pond. I wasn’t under long—my dad pulled me out. But…I wouldn’t even put my face under the shower after that. I thought I was over it.”
Trent nodded. Old fears were the worst—he knew about that. Hell, SEAL training was all about making you face every damn fear you might have; and you either broke from it or you got through it. He rubbed her back. “But you can swim.”
“I…in high school, I worked with a swim instructor. I got to the point where I could jump into the deep end, touch the bottom, and push myself back to the surface without a panic attack. I thought I was over it.”
He glanced at the ocean. He knew just how big it was. How a rip tide could leave you tossed around, unable to know which way was up. “Hey, you still did great.”
She shook her head and gave him a rueful smile. “I guess I’m just going to be one of those girls who walks along the water’s edge and only gets her feet wet.”
“Oh, like that’s going to happen. Sounds like the next lesson is some work with a boogie board and learning how to deal with the Pacific. No way are you letting her get you down. How about we go shower off and catch a movie?”
“Anything to get my mind off of how scary the ocean is.”
He stood and started to peel off his wet suit. “Dude, there are a lot of things way scarier than some salt water with critters in it. And
most of ‘em walk on two legs.”
***
Chloe stared at Trent as he started to strip off his wet suit. He had more than a six pack, was tanned everywhere, and her mouth watered at the thin line of hair that started mid chest and continued down past the waistband of his board shorts, now peeking out from where his wetsuit hung open down to his waist.
Her face warmed. She turned away to stare at the ocean. The surf was picking up, the swells breaking higher. The beach was also starting to empty as the day wound down and the breeze chilled. The sun worshipers were packing up towels and bags, and only the surfers were still in the water. He was just being nice and she shouldn’t read more into this than existed—she was too good at that.
“Chloe?” Trent touched her shoulder.
The wet suit blunted the heat of his hand, but not the strength. She remembered how it had felt when he’d grabbed her wrist in the water, how he’d pulled her onto his board as if it were nothing. She’d felt like she had someone who would look after her.
She had to stop falling for that idea.
He waved a the beach. “I’m gonna go grab your board.” He set off at a jog down the sand and she watched him. His broad shoulders and tapering waist were unmistakable. He moved…he moved unlike any other man she’d ever seen.
She’d known cowboys—bull riders—who had that kind of cocky assurance to them. She’d known men who’d swagger like they were God’s gift to women, even though they had a beer belly and a bald head under their Stetson. But Trent was different. He moved like a fighter—like he could shift in an instant and be ready for action. He was fluid—just like water. He moved like the ocean itself, with power and grace and a force under his skin.
She mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? She didn’t know the man—but somehow she really did feel safe with him. Safe enough to talk about her fears. Safe enough to let him try to teach her to surf. But he was too damn much like the sea—there was something under the surface she wasn’t seeing.
He wasn’t just a surf bum looking for the next wave. Oh, he could put on an act, but she was certain now that it was more of an act than reality. He used the dumb drawl when he wanted to, but it dropped away when something really caught his interest. But why put on such an act? Was it a defense mechanism? A way to keep others distant—act the clown and no one could see what was underneath? Or was there something else going on?
She thought back to his warning about sharks—that had been the real Trent talking. He’d been speaking about something he knew about and she was certain that he could be one of those sharks if he put his mind to it.
He was walking back now, the board she’d used tucked under one arm. She saw other women pause in gathering up their things to give him a once-over glance, or even a twice over. One woman put a hand on her hip and struck a pose—obviously trying to get his attention. Two girls giggled and grinned at him. Trent kept walking toward her, focused on her, a warm glint in his eyes that had her shivering again.
Yeah, he was a man worth looking at—all that tanned muscle would make any woman sit up and take notice. The sun bleached strands in his hair were for real, but the rest of it—she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her.
But she was sure of one thing—he wanted something that he wasn’t telling her about. He flashed that bright smile of his—the one that was all focused energy and charm. She let out a breath.
Okay, there were two things she was sure of—if he wanted something from her, with that lethal charm of his, he was probably going to get it.
Chapter 8
Trent had been perfecting his movie-moves on girls since he’d turned twelve. Let the girl pick the flick—it’d be sappy, but romance in a dark theater got a girl thinking about sex. Scary movies were also good for that; but nothing was playing that fit that bill.
He bought one popcorn so that they could share, and one box of chocolates. He chose seats in the middle of a back row where no other movie goers were currently seated, giving them the illusion of being all alone. Once the movie started, he draped one arm over the back of her chair and tried to be interested in what was going on.
He fought with himself about playing her.
It wasn’t right—it wasn’t fair. He was damn sure by now that she was about as innocent as she seemed—a pawn in this game. But she was still his best bet for access into Guardians of the Earth without going all Mission: Impossible on their asses. He was trying to leave that as a back-up plan; but using Chloe didn’t seem like such a hot idea anymore.
If she’d been a bimbo, a giggling airhead who was only out for a good time, it would’ve been different. He could give her a good time and they could both come out of this happy to have known each other.
But Chloe was the trusting sort—and the type of girl you didn’t leave heartbroken. If she’d been in on whatever was going on with the Guardians…well, he wouldn’t think twice about using someone who’d turn around and use him if the roles were reversed. But she wasn’t like that, either. She was simply Chloe from Wyoming, a girl with problems of her own, and mixing with the wrong people.
He’d been toying with the idea of getting her a new job, getting her away from the Guardians. If he did that, he could spook them. They must already be nervous—they knew their pipeline plan hadn’t worked; they knew it was only a matter of time until someone started giving them serious attention.
Why else would they be conveniently ‘out of town’ right now? If he pulled Chloe, they might simply shut down operations for now until they felt safe again. Then this job would drag on even longer. That wasn’t acceptable. Just like Travis, he wanted this buttoned up.
Which meant he needed Chloe—he needed her to trust him and be on his side and willing to help him. He only knew one way to get that objective secured quickly.
As the movie reached the half-way point, Trent let his hand stray from the popcorn to Chloe’s thigh. She’d changed into a yellow summer dress with little red flowers scattered across it, and a hemline that fell just a few inches below the curve of her ass. His fingers touched bare skin. She didn’t shift or pull away. The main female character on the silver screen was hot, but not as hot as the living, breathing woman next to him. He trailed his fingers over her skin.
There was nothing to keep his fingers from walking up the inside of her thigh. He moved slowly, a mesmerizing brush that left him hard and her muscles softening. He reached the hem of her skirt and slipped back down. Her breath hitched.
He could smell her arousal and was having a hard time controlling his own breathing. Her fingers touched the back of his hand, and slipped over to squeeze his thigh.
Houston, we have lift-off.
He slipped his hand under the light fabric of her dress. He touched the lace of her panties, he heard her breath catch. He turned his head to take her lips in a soul-searing kiss, meant to steal any protest she’d been about to make.
He delved inside her mouth with his tongue, tasting buttery popcorn, chocolate, and Chloe. He held her shoulders with the arm he’d draped over the back of her seat; holding her in place so he could ravage her.
He scratched his fingertips across the surface of her panties and she gave a low moan. He broke off their kiss, but he left his hand where it was. Her panties were getting wet. Her hand moved up from his thigh to brush over his crotch. He had to bite back a moan. She pressed down on him. He slipped a finger around the lace and dipped into wetness. She spread her legs.
He had no idea what was going on on the screen. His stare locked on Chloe. Silver light flashed over her face, over her bare legs. He’d pushed up her dress, and she looked wanton with her legs spread and her lips parted. He found her clit and gave it a rub. She wiggled in her seat.
He grabbed her shoulders again and pulled her closer. He wanted to hear her come, wanted her to be aching for him. He kept rubbing, felt the wetness slick his fingers, and heard her breath catch into short gasps. Her skin seemed to be on fire and as she wiggled, the sea-scent of h
er pleasure washed over him. He kept his hand where it was, kept teasing her until the credits started and then he whispered into her ear, “Chloe, let’s get out of here.”
She nodded. He stood. She smoothed her dress. He took her hand and led her outside. In the parking lot, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back up against the brick of the building. He plastered his mouth against her own, pushing his body against hers, allowing the evidence of his desire for her to press against her stomach.
She pushed her hands through his hair, pulling him back slightly. “Trent, we can’t do this here.”
“No way am I getting busted for indecent exposure, and things are definitely about to get indecent. Mrs. W. said we better take it back to my place, so let’s go.”
He led her back to the Jeep. It took longer than he would have liked to get back to the bungalows, but traffic was traffic. Thankfully, Chloe hadn’t had second thoughts. She followed him into his place, turned as soon as he shut the door, and walked into his arms.
Her hands seemed to be everywhere—tugging his shirt from his waistband, brushing over his jean-clad erection, and threatening the little bit of self-control he had left. He grabbed her hands, pushing them up and holding them above her head even as he pressed her back against the wall of his place. She tried to pull her hands down, but he nipped at her collar bone and told her, “Slow down if you want this to last.”
“I want to touch you.” She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against him.
He took her mouth in another searing kiss, transferring her hands to one of his own and then using the free hand to push her dress down from her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra. He found one taut nipple, licked it, and took it into his mouth.
She gasped. “Trent…please…”