One-Click Buy: July 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Julie Kenner

  They both looked up when she walked in. “Feeling better?” JC asked. Laci had relayed the high points last night, pacing a hole in the floor as she’d run through Taylor’s various crimes and misdeameanors. “You seem a little less steamed this morning.”

  Laci managed a tiny smile. “Considering the level of steam last night, a raging fury would still be less.”

  “Got a point,” JC said.

  “So have you calmed down, then?” Drea asked. “Are you going to do the exhibition?”

  She frowned, looking at them both. JC and Drea were smart, competent women. Neither was inclined to do stupid things. Most important, neither was the type who would let herself be used.

  With a frown, Laci focused on her friends, especially on Drea. “Why?” she asked plaintively. “Why are you doing the exhibition?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s great exposure.”

  “You, too?” she asked JC.

  “Absolutely. Reggie called personally and said he could use someone with my creds. And if it promotes the competition, I’m there.”

  “But you don’t have the creds,” Laci said, back on Drea.

  Her friend laughed. “Oh, thanks a lot. So nice of you to remind me that I’m the new girl on the block.”

  The words, however, were said without malice, and Laci kept pushing. “But that’s just it,” she said, wanting to understand. “It’s like my wild-card slot. Reggie wanted me in so that it beefed up attention for another competition. That’s using me. And it’s me getting something for nothing. And you’re in, why? To sell T-shirts and things because you look good coming out of the water?”

  For a second, she thought Drea would snap at her with a smart-aleck comment, but her friend surprised her by answering seriously. “I look good on a surfboard, Laci. That’s what this is about. For me, anyway. It’s an exhibition, and I fully intend to exhibit my skills. It doesn’t matter why I’m in. It matters what I can do.” She shrugged. “Think about it.”

  Drea got up then, and she and JC headed out, leaving Laci alone in the bungalow to consider what her friend had said and to wonder if maybe her perspective on the world hadn’t gotten all screwed up. And if it had, she wondered, could she fix it in time?

  SHE FOUND him on the beach surrounded by beefy guys with tool belts constructing booths and platforms and a myriad of other structures to transform the beach into a media hub. Fans, reporters and other surfers hovered nearby, too, everyone scoping out the flurry of activity that would have an exhibition up and running in a heartbeat.

  She hung back for a minute, waiting to see if he noticed her, but after she realized that he’d only see her if she had a walkie-talkie and a power drill, she took the plunge and waded in among the crew. They parted for her, a few catcalls and appreciative comments about the state of her ass echoing behind her.

  When she reached Taylor, he looked up from a clipboard, his serious business expression softening once he noticed it was her. The expression behind his eyes, however, remained wary. “What’s up?”

  She sucked in a breath for courage. “Can I borrow you?”

  He glanced around, his brow furrowing, and she knew that he was calculating all that had to be done.

  “It’s important,” she said. “Important to me, anyway. And I’ll be fast.”

  “Yo, Taylor,” a hulk of a man holding a thick sheaf of plans said. “I need you, man.”

  Taylor nodded, but took Laci’s hand. “Take five,” he said, then steered her away from the crowd.

  “I’m sorry. You have work, and—”

  “You said it’s important to you. I can always make time for you.”

  And that was just it, wasn’t it? Taylor was willing to do all these things for her, and she couldn’t even tell him why she wouldn’t return the favor. Except, she could. She would. And she’d do it right then.

  One more deep breath. Then another.

  Concern flashed across his face. “Laci?”

  She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was composed. “I need to tell you why it bothers me. And why I won’t do the exhibition or the competitions. I’m not pulling out to hurt you or muck up your chances to impress your boss.”

  “I know that. I don’t need you to score points for me in my job.”

  “Right. It’s just that—” She drew in a breath for courage, and then spat out what she’d never told anyone. “It’s about my mom,” she said. “Everything goes back to my mom.”

  She told him everything, barely even noticing when he took her hand, silently offering support as she described the way her mom had traded sex for favors, getting everything important in her life because she looked hot and put out in bed. “She never earned it,” Laci said. “Not once. She thought that made her special. I thought it made her despicable.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and though the words themselves seemed small and insignificant, coming from Taylor they meant the world to her. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Now you understand?” It was so important that he understood. That it make sense to him why she couldn’t do the exhibition. Why she wasn’t competing in Banzai.

  “Yeah. I get it.” He crooked a finger under her chin and lifted it gently. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Do?” she repeated, baffled.

  “You’re not your mom, Lace. And you do have talent. And you have earned all the good things that have happened to you. You’ve told me what’s tripped you up in the past, and I get it. I really do. But it’s not the past anymore. So what are you going to do now?”

  “But—”

  She cut herself off, her stomach twisting from an odd combination of excitement and fear. He was right. He was absolutely right.

  She drew a deep breath and looked around. In the distance, she saw Drea and JC standing with some other surfers she recognized, along with a reporter she recalled from Channel 4. A cluster of crew members were staring their way, as well, shooting daggers in her direction since she was keeping them from their leader. A few fans had cameras pointed her way, although why they’d want a picture of her not on the waves, she didn’t understand.

  Because you’ve made it, the voice in her head pointed out. You’ve made a name for yourself. And you made it on talent, kid.

  Yeah, she thought. Maybe I did.

  “Laci?” Taylor prompted. “Are you okay? I have to get back to work, and—”

  “I’ll do it,” she blurted. “I’ll do the exhibition. The competitions.” She drew a breath. “Everything.”

  His eyes raked over her, searching. “You’re sure?” “Positive,” she answered. And then, with everyone from XtremeSportNet, the town and the fans watching, she planted a great big kiss right on the exhibit promoter’s mouth.

  And not one person thought less of her for it.

  Amazing.

  LACI EMERGED, dripping, from the water to the thunderous applause of the exhibition’s audience. She stood on the sand, the surf breaking behind her and the crowd crowing and clapping in front of her, and simply smiled as the photographers snapped picture after picture.

  Some, she was sure, would make the sports mags, along with the images the photographers had surely caught of her riding the waves, high on top, like the daughter of Poseidon himself in control of the mighty ocean.

  She’d done great. No question about it.

  And she could see on his face that the only one more proud of her than she was, was Taylor.

  He stood beside the announcer’s table with his fingers in his mouth, letting loose a string of wolf whistles while his boss, Reggie, cringed beside him, managing to look both pleased and mortified.

  She crossed over to them, her smile so broad it hurt.

  “You were terrific,” Taylor said, twirling her into a spin.

  “You were, you know,” Reggie added. “I can practically hear the cash registers ringing.”

  “Good,” she said without the slightest queasines
s in her belly. “Pay my man more, why don’t you?”

  Reggie quirked a brow. “I’ll have to consider that. At the very least, it would pay for the room you two need.”

  But Laci was ignoring him, intent only on Taylor’s arms around her. “You really were wonderful,” he said. “You know that, right? If nothing else, you proved you’re here because of you and not because you have a brilliant, creative boyfriend.”

  “And sexy. He’s desperately sexy.”

  Taylor flashed his slow and easy smile. “You’re going to win Banzai.”

  She cast a glance over his shoulder at JC and Drea, both of whom were sending her thumbs-up signs. “Well, I have some pretty stiff competition. I guess we’ll just have to see.”

  She slid her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder as the photographers started up again. The truth was, winning Banzai didn’t seem that important anymore. The sting of competition had faded, and she’d lost the need to prove herself to herself.

  Or maybe it was simpler than that.

  Maybe she’d already won.

  And with a smile, she held on tight to her prize, and then kissed him hard.

  SURF’S UP

  Karen Anders

  To my Dad, who never let me down, ever.

  Thanks to Stephen Pirsch for his expertise on crafting a surfboard from scratch. All mistakes are, of course, mine.

  1

  THE SUN cleared the horizon, painting the Hawaiian sky with brilliant hues of red and yellow. The colors of the sky over the aquamarine water almost took her breath away. It was, according to JC Wilcox, the best time of day.

  The sand glowed with the first rays of sunlight, and the sun blazed a trail toward JC as it cast its reflection upon the water. The palm trees gently swayed with the morning breeze, and JC could hear the birds singing a gentle song.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t here to commune with nature. She was here for serious business: competing against the top two female surfers in the XtremeSportNet Girls Go Banzai surf competition in Oahu, Hawaii. Laci Montgomery and Andrea “Drea” Powell were formidable opponents and just happened to be her good friends, as well as roommates. Laci was the wild-card newbie with something to prove and Drea was Rookie of the Year. Both women had just finished a phenomenal year and were being played up in the media as the ones to watch.

  JC had known Laci for about fourteen months and had met her at a competition in San Clemente. Drea was an acquaintance who was fast becoming a close friend as all three girls had rented a three-bedroom, one-bath bungalow on the beach. With one bathroom, they had bonded quickly out of necessity.

  JC attached her board to her ankle by its leash and splashed into the surf, watching the cresting waves farther out to sea. She paddled toward them, her focus on the wall of water creating what surfers called “the Pipe,” a curling wave that just begged to be ridden. The pipe, now curling to shore, was how this stretch of the ocean had gotten its Banzai Pipeline moniker.

  JC chose her wave. Hitting it, she turned her board into the cresting water as it rose. She popped up on her board doing a bottom turn, a sweeping move that allowed her to establish speed and direction. A crucial move if she wanted to set her rhythm for the ride as she settled into synch with the wave. Planting her feet in her sweet spot, the position a surfer placed her feet for maximum balance, stability and maneuverability, she felt the adrenaline rush through her as she slid under the breaking curl of the wave.

  The wave zoomed over JC’s head, a perfect tube of water weighing tons, but JC didn’t think about that as she caught sight of Laci and Drea on the beach. For a second she was in perfect harmony, and then she saw her friends drop their surfboards and frantically wave. Before JC could figure out what they were alarmed about, something slammed into her like a breaking wave. JC flew off her board and went into the water, momentarily dazed. She felt the surfboard leash break as she was dragged toward the ocean floor. Steely arms came around her, easily pulling her to the surface where she sucked in a breath of air.

  “Hang on,” a deep, husky male voice said in her ear.

  With her head ringing like a bell, JC went limp in the water to make it easier for her unknown rescuer to bring her to the beach. When they hit the sandy bottom, he effortlessly lifted her out of the surf.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing?” Laci snapped. “She had that wave first.”

  At this point, JC felt the gritty sand at her back as he laid her down. She slowly opened her eyes—and got caught. Eyes that were a pure ocean-green and as vast, as deep and as ever-changing as the sea pulled her from her daze.

  He leaned back slightly, his skin satiny and bronzed, his jaw tense. JC got a load of his hair—surfer-dude blond, a hundred subtle shades.

  “Are you okay?” He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hands going over her arms and legs, his smooth palms drawing goose bumps as they freely roamed her flesh. His brow, on a face JC had seen only in magazines, gracing surf posters and smiling out from a television screen, was creased in worry. Even all that exposure didn’t prepare her for meeting him up close and personal. All her fantasies aside, the real thing literally stole her breath away.

  He looked so worried, so upset that JC felt her heart constrict. “Zack Fanning. You’re Zack Fanning.”

  “Looks like she’s okay,” Drea said wryly.

  The concerned look didn’t fade, nor did he acknowledge that he was a legend in his own time. A totally freaking awesome legend, until an injury took him out of competition.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again, those expressive eyes boring into hers, searching them.

  “I’m okay.”

  He sat back on his haunches with his head down. Softly he said, “I didn’t see you. I swear I would never have snaked your wave.”

  JC sat up, unable to take her eyes off him. She wanted to touch him, slide her hand in his thick, wet hair and wrap him up in her arms. Even though he’d been the one to knock her off her board, she knew Zack Fanning would never snake a wave.

  Integrity lined his strong jaw, covered him like a second skin. She’d watched him compete, seen what kind of surfer he was, and that gave her a lot of insight into what kind of man he was, too. She’d once had a desperate teenage crush on Zack Fanning, who was four years older. But even though she was now twenty-four, that crush had never abated.

  Her infatuation with him became even more intense because he looked so good bending over her, his jaw covered in stubble that glinted gold in the light, his mouth soft and sweet-looking, and his eyes filled with her. She shivered at the look in them, as if he’d been dreaming and finally awakened to find reality much more exciting.

  Laci bent down and dabbed at her forehead—JC needed the distraction.

  “Oh, damn, you’re bleeding. Let me get my emergency kit,” he said, his voice an octave lower with more roughness. He got up off the sand, disappearing into the parking lot.

  “Zack Fanning. Wow,” Drea said softly, “he was a six-time world champion, and he’s extremely hot by the way.”

  “We noticed,” Laci said with a sarcastic tilt to her lips.

  JC watched as Zack jogged back to the beach with a small first-aid kit in his hand. As soon as he reached them, he opened the kit and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and a gauze pad. Soaking the pad, he pressed it to her forehead. Those fathomless eyes met hers again and he smiled. It was like falling off a wave, just falling and falling into the deep, blue sea.

  “How you holding up?” he asked, the pressure of his fingers gentle on her forehead.

  “I’m okay.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “I saw you in the Rip Curl World Championship Trials in Mexico the year you won. I went with my dad. It was so awesome. We drove down the coast to Oaxaca. I was there and saw you ride a fifty-yard smoker of a tube. That was so sick. You’re the most awesome surfer I’ve ever seen,” Drea said, her eyes bright with the memory.

  Zack looked up at her, gave her a s
mall smile and nodded. “I was feeling really loose and I had good boards.”

  “You’re being modest, Zack,” Drea said, matter-of-fact. “You were riding eight-foot waves like they were two-foot and ripping the biggest turns ever. Could I get your autograph?”

  “Drea,” Laci said.

  Zack chuckled and removed the gauze from JC’s forehead. His eyes met hers again and in them was something that she’d been feeling a lot lately—regret.

  Her career at this point in her life was in the toilet unless she could pull a win out of the dangerous and awe-inspiring Banzai Pipeline. Her sponsor, Lexie, a giant conglomerate who sold clothing, gear and accessories, hadn’t come out and said it yet, but she was on shaky ground.

  Zack had already faced his worst nightmare, getting injured and having to pull out of competition forever. He had been forced out; JC didn’t have that excuse. I so do not want to go out a loser, she thought as Zack looked down to unwrap a small bandage to put over her cut.

  JC’s athletic talents had been apparent at a young age; now her star was about to go supernova and die out unless she focused all her energy into this make-it-or-break-it competition.

  That was why any tingle she was getting from gorgeous Zack wasn’t something that she intended to pursue. He gently pushed her dark hair away from her forehead, pressed the bandage to her head and then rose to his feet.

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded. “Least I could do after ruining your ride and getting you tossed into the surf.” He turned his head to look out to sea. The look on his face made her look, too.

  Her stomach dropped. Pieces of her new, very expensive hot-pink-and-coral surfboard floated in the surf like some forgotten psychedelic flotsam and jetsam. It had been her best board and now it was toast. Just that morning, the airline had called and informed her that they couldn’t find the boards that she’d put on her flight. What was she going to do?

  “Oh, damn,” JC said as she rose from the sand and made her way to the pounding surf. Bending down she picked up one of the pieces and stood there in dismay.