Out of the Blue

by Kathryn Nolan

  “Our family members and closest friends?” I interjected, hating the low tone of hurt in my words.

  Her nostrils flared. “Well, do you go around talking about it?”

  “No, I don’t.” I said, jaw tight. But I go around thinking about it constantly.

  “Great,” she said sharply. “Then we can stop whatever’s about to happen, no questions asked.”

  I leaned closer, dropped my voice. “For the record, and I despise telling you this, but I’m on thin ice at my job right now, and I could use the win because I really don’t want to get fired. It’s three weeks, maximum. If we can be civil to each other for twenty-one days, then I’ll be out of your hair, and you’ll never see me again.”

  She stepped one foot closer. I could see the freckles that covered her face. The freckles that I knew covered her entire body.

  “Civil?” she said, with a smirk. “You think I can’t be civil? I’m more concerned you’ll spend the entire time trying to control my actions and telling me what to do like always.”

  I held up my finger. “First, I know you better than you know yourself, sunshine. I have no delusions of you actually listening to me or trusting that I’m an expert in keeping you safe from harm. Which isn’t telling you what to do. It’s protecting those you—” I tripped over the word love. “—used to care about.”

  I ignored the pain that flashed across her face.

  “And two, I know you’re only going to fight me tooth and nail the whole time.”

  Serena moved right into my personal space. So close. So goddamn close. She held herself like she always did, like she’d been born a warrior-goddess of the sea who never felt fear.

  She raised a single finger, mimicking me with a smug expression. I was so annoyed right now, and Jesus Christ I wanted to kiss her. Those pursed, full lips were an obnoxious temptation.

  “First,” she said. “Do not, under any circumstance, call me sunshine.”

  “My memory is you actually used to love it—”

  “And secondly,” she said right on over me. “I don’t care how good of a bodyguard you are because I will evade you at every turn.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Funny because usually the protection agent-client relationship commands a certain level of respect.”

  “Bodyguards that are ex-husbands of mine don’t command jack shit.” Her chin tilted up in full defiance.

  She thought she had me.

  Making sure I held her gaze, I bent down until our noses were barely two inches apart. Her pretty eyes darted down to my lips, and I smiled—slow, confident—to let her know I caught the mistake. Her cheeks were pink, her pupils were dilated, her chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “I’m not your ‘ex’ anything,” I said. “That would imply either one of us had filed divorce papers, and we surely haven’t. Legally, you and me? We’re still married as hell.”

  6

  Serena

  There were two things I really didn’t need right now.

  My annoyingly hot ex-husband being my bodyguard.

  And that same ex-husband reminding me of the many legal ways our lives were still bound together.

  I didn’t need that smile of his either. Charming, smug, quick as lightning. He’d wielded that smile with meticulous accuracy when we were together: softening me up when he wanted to win an argument, curling my toes when I’d catch him staring at me with hunger in his eyes, making me laugh while we cooked dinner over campfires.

  The tension strung between us right now was taut and electrifying. It was unfortunate that the past four years had been good for Cope. He was well over six feet tall, and his background in mixed martial arts had given him a shredded physique. But he’d bulked up a little, grown even broader, and now had a short beard to match his thick, dark brown hair. He was white with skin that blushed easily and blue eyes that never missed a thing.

  Against my better judgment, I reached forward and tapped him in the middle of his tie. “We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in four years. I don’t give a flying fuck what the law says. You are my ex, and we are broken up, and you can be my bodyguard, but there is nothing left between us.”

  “I happen to agree,” he drawled. “Right after we’re done with this clusterfuck of a situation, we can finally file those divorce papers and do the damn thing.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. Less than an inch separated us—chests heaving, voices strained. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He was openly gazing at my lips now. “I’ll probably throw a party after.”

  I shrugged. “Given the circumstances of how it all went down, I doubt it’ll even register for me.”

  My words came out as nothing more than a purr, a physical reaction to Cope’s nearness I could never, ever control. And from the satisfied twist of his mouth, I knew he saw right through my hastily constructed lie. How it all went down. He knew, as well as I did, that we’d barely contained ourselves during the ceremony. And the second the elevator doors closed, my new husband pinned me to the wall with ease so he could slip his hand beneath my wedding dress. He’d finger-fucked me to a quick, intense orgasm before we’d even made it to our floor.

  The door opened, and we flew apart—Cope, to lean against that wall like he hadn’t a care in the world. My legs bumped into the back of the table, but I steadied myself as I found Marty and, I assumed, the other agent, walking into the room.

  “Serena, so glad you could make it,” Marty said, giving me a vigorous handshake. “Looks like you’ve already met Cope McDaniels, your daytime personal security.”

  I turned and gave Cope a fake polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Howdy,” he said, brow arched.

  I fought an eye roll before turning to the other man, who was about Cope’s height but even bigger. “This is Lee Falco, and he’ll be your evening security. Someone will be posted outside your residence every hour for the next few weeks. Another team of agents from Banks Security will relieve these two as needed, but they are taking the lead on your assignment.”

  I shook Falco’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  He nodded before taking a seat and I settled in next to him. Cope stayed standing. Marty was his usual buzz of kinetic energy around the table. “Is this your first time working with a private security team?” he asked.

  “It sure is,” I said. Being married to a bodyguard certainly didn’t count for anything.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “We’ve worked with Marilyn Banks for a long time, and she assured us she’d sent over her best.”

  I refused the urge to look at Cope. What had he said? I’m on thin ice at my job right now and could really use the win. He saw being a protection agent as his destiny, channeling his grief over his father’s death into a career that made him feel helpful.

  It was also a career that only added to his feeling of invincibility, an issue he refused to acknowledge even after his incident.

  “I’m grateful for the added safety and protection,” I said.

  Marty rubbed his hands together. “We can’t do much in keeping you safe on the water. But we can do our best to make you comfortable while on dry land.”

  I propped my chin in my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got the surfing part down, so no help needed there.”

  He laughed, rapping his knuckles against the table. “Now that I’ve been here for the introductions, I’ll need to scoot out to my next meeting. Cope, why don’t you give Serena a rundown of what a standard security detail entails, answer any questions?”

  “Happy to,” my ex-husband replied.

  “Wonderful,” Marty continued. “I’ll let you three get acquainted and will send over the details for your interview tomorrow with Heavy magazine. And we’ve got your new wetsuit for you. Neoprene-free, fair-trade of course.”

  “I love it,” I said. Aerial was the first company to invest in wetsuits without neoprene, which was both dangerous to manufacture and completely toxic to the environment.
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  “We love you,” Marty said. I waved to him as he left, and a corresponding lightness spread through my chest.

  Cope moved to the chair directly in front of me, evaporating that lightness.

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand then sat down a few feet away. This new mountain-man-in-a-suit vibe of his was stupidly sexy and therefore aggravating. But Falco was looking directly at us, so I mirrored Cope’s fake professional expression.

  “Both Falco and I have been in the private security business for a long time,” he said. “And have worked with dozens of high-profile clients like yourself. You can trust that, no matter what, your safety will be a priority.”

  I got the message. In no way was it even close to a cease-fire between the two of us, but Cope’s ability to protect me—even when I felt frustrated by it—couldn’t be called into question. He’d do it gladly and very well.

  Even if he never wanted to see me again.

  “Like Mr. Lattimore said, Falco will be posted outside your house for the seven p.m.—seven a.m. shift, usually in a town car, and with the ability to radio in to Banks Security if he needs back up for whatever reason. I’ll reiterate what we were told earlier, that Aerial has dealt with security issues with their ambassadors in the past, which is why they take it so seriously now. There are no active threats against you, though.” His throat worked. “Hopefully, that helps you rest a little easier.”

  “It does, thank you,” I replied, feeling relieved it wasn’t Cope outside my house at night. While I slept in a bed we’d once shared together. Like big waves and adrenaline, some things in life were too tempting to resist.

  “I will be with you every hour of the day when Falco’s not on duty,” he said. His jaw tightened. “The intent is for you not to notice my presence but to feel comforted knowing I’ll be about three to six feet away from you at all times, depending on the situation.”

  A hot, delicious flush worked its way up my body. “I understand.”

  “And I’ll have my eyes on you at all times,” he continued, voice hoarse. “As long as there are no confidentiality or privacy concerns, I’ll be privy to your conversations, your phone calls, where you travel to and from every day.” He cleared his throat, fingers clutching at the arm rests with barely restrained force. “Of course, if you’re… dating anyone right now or have a boyfriend, he should probably be made aware.”

  The question surprised me, and a long enough beat passed between us to have his nostrils flaring. “I don’t,” I said. “Don’t have a boyfriend, I mean. And I’m not dating anyone.”

  Cope was wound so tight I worried he’d break right apart. “That’s great news,” he said. “What I mean is, it makes it easier if your social circle is small right now. Can I get a list from you of your closest friends, family members, and anyone else you’ll be around that we need to be aware of?” He took out a small notebook and pen, then studied me expectantly, even though he knew exactly who was on that list.

  “Theodora Tilden, my trainer,” I said. Cope paused before writing her name down. They’d grown extremely close while we were dating. It helped that Dora had known Cope’s father.

  “Caleb Swift, my older brother. He’s in the Coast Guard. Search and Rescue.”

  Cope’s head was down, writing, but I caught his shoulders twitch at my brother’s name.

  “What about your parents?” Falco asked—the first real words he’d said. Cope’s movements stilled.

  “We don’t talk,” I said firmly. “I actually emancipated from them when I was fourteen.”

  His brow furrowed, but he gave a short nod.

  “I can get you a list of the surfers I see at the beach where I surf every morning,” I said. “And the events should have the competitors registered. My closest friends are also pro surfers. Kalei Peleke and her wife, Prue Dorsey.”

  Cope coughed at their names.

  There was a picture I kept hidden behind ten others on my bookshelf, a photo that Prue had taken. In it, Cope is shirtless and barefoot, on a chair in the sand, and I’m curled up in his lap, laughing at something he’d said. We were twenty-three, and it was the usual bonfire-on-the-beach party: coolers of beer, a few joints, faded lawn chairs, and music that blended with the waves. That picture always plunged me into an aching nostalgia of yearning for bonfire sparks, cool sand between my toes, and the warmth of Cope’s bare skin.

  “That’s a good start,” Cope said, interrupting my memories. He slid his notebook and pen over to Falco. “We’ll be finalizing the routes you’ll be taking to the competitions, conducting background checks if necessary, and fielding anything that Aerial brings to us that we believe could put you in harm’s way.” Raising his gaze to mine, he asked, “Do you have any questions, Ms. Swift?”

  His face was unflappable, mouth set in a hard line. There was no mischievous humor, no sly half-grin, no rumbling laughter. Every scrap of intimacy from our argument, just minutes ago, had been scrubbed clean from his body language. And even though we were pissed at each other, I didn’t like how desperately I wanted that man back, over this serious robot in a suit.

  “Not at all,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. McDaniels.”

  Falco stood up, checking his phone. “It’s just about time for my shift to take over then. One thing Cope forgot to mention was that we’ll be the ones driving you from now on, once you get home tonight. We have a series of secure cars, and you can rest assured that we’ve both been highly trained to keep clients safe on the road.”

  My eyes flicked to Cope’s and the flash of unexpected lust there had my pulse racing. Being locked in a car with my ex-husband while he drove me up and down the coast of California wasn’t a smart idea.

  “Excellent,” I said. I locked my knees when I stood and straightened my spine. I grabbed my bag and extended my hand to my new protection agent. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. McDaniels.”

  With a curt nod, he shook it, and the gesture was entirely professional. Except this was the first time we’d touched in four years, and the slide of his palm against mine unleashed a cascade of emotion.

  “I’ll see you bright and early, Ms. Swift,” he replied.

  I moved right past him and waited for Falco out in the hallway, who was having a brief exchange with Cope. But once he joined me, I trained my eyes forward. Resisted the strong desire to turn around and look at Cope one more time.

  That man had always been a force of nature in my life. And even though my job was utterly terrifying to most people, it was the power my ex-husband still had over my heart that frightened me the most.

  7

  Serena

  The next morning, I woke up right before my alarm went off at 5:30. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I leaned over to check my phone on the nightstand. A white message notification said: Officials from the International Surf Competition have called the Aerial Big Wave event at Trestles Beach for tomorrow morning.

  Beneath that was a message from Dora: I heard about Trestles. You got this, kid. I’ll see ya at practice in a bit.

  Prue and Kalei had sent me separate we’re freaking out messages that had me squealing softly in my bed, phone pressed to my chest.

  My body filled with the familiar glow of adrenaline, a sensation of anticipation I craved as much as the sharp thrill of speeding down a wall of water on a board. The ocean was permanently unpredictable, and therefore every competition contained the glittering possibility of the best ride of your life.

  You caught a lucky break, and the whole world’s gonna know it at Trestles.

  Red-hot anger spiked through that adrenaline, turning my nerves panicky. Before it derailed my happy mood, I took six long inhales and six even longer exhales. Tomorrow, I was officially representing Aerial, a company I believed in. But at the end of the day, I was still just Serena Swift, a woman who spent her life training to compete as an elite athlete. Luck played a role in any surfer’s life. Sheer dedication played an even bigger one.

  Shaking it off, I threw the co
vers from my bed and pulled on cropped running pants and a sports bra. Outside, the sky was a dark, pre-dawn twilight, my absolute favorite time of day. Spending my life as a surfer had turned me into the ultimate morning person and deeply appreciative of this purple-tinted peace. I had no stamina for night life, but there wasn’t a single part of me that really cared. Stepping into morning waves while the rest of the city slept was worth the early bedtime.

  I filled a backpack with my water bottle, two bananas, and almonds. Then, running shoes in hand, I crept out the side door of my house as quietly as I could. Based on the time, Falco would still be here, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if I—

  “Going somewhere?” Cope said.

  I yelped, falling back against the side door and clutching my chest. “Holy shit, is giving your client a heart attack part of your protocols?”

  My ex-husband leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, jaunty and fresh even at this early hour. “At Banks Security we believe in keeping our clients on their toes. It’s even in the bodyguard handbook. Oh, and good morning to you too, Ms. Swift.”

  Scowling, I perched on the step and tugged on my running shoes, tightening the laces. “So did you send Falco home, or did you sleep out by this tree like a weirdo?”

  His eyebrow arched. “Sent him home, of course. You woke up at this time every single day when we were together to either train or surf. And since you’re a royal pain in my ass, I had to get here early to foil your plans to give me the slip.”

  Laces tied, I jogged down the steps and bounced lightly on my feet. Warming up, stretching my muscles. I needed to be strong for tomorrow, loose and flexible, focused and prepared.

  I did not need Cope in his running clothes, showing off his giant biceps or his rough, gravelly, just-woke-up voice either.

  “Do you talk to all of your clients like that, Mr. McDaniels?” I asked, tapping my chin. “I can’t imagine they enjoy being called a pain in the ass.”