by Kat Bastion
I watched with fascination as a spark of wild defiance transformed her expression. Her honey-bronze skin flushed pink up her slender neck to her defined cheekbones. Long dark lashes blinked heavily an instant before greater amusement lit up her eyes.
And then it died. Gone in a flash.
Hmmm. “Gonna need more info.”
“Those two competitions.” She waved a hand toward the breaking waves outside the open window. “You won them on his sailboard. And he wants to sponsor you for windsurfing competitions.”
Finally. The nuts and bolts of it. “Don’t need a sponsor.”
“He’ll pay you well.”
“So will all the others.” Half a dozen big names so far. “Don’t need money.”
Without skipping a beat, her head tilted a fraction. “What do you need?”
Damn good question.
I stared long and hard at a girl vastly different than me…and yet entirely familiar.
She held herself with a certain grace I’d seen play out my whole life. You can’t fake that. Refined. Well-mannered.
Yet I saw right through her mirror-calm surface no matter how expertly she masked it.
Because a similar rebellion railed deep within me.
“Not a damn thing.” Total truth.
Because all anyone needed was food, water, shelter, and sex.
And…the size of my trust fund would cover that for small nations ten times over. But I’d abandoned civilized life to wander the world uncharted.
She frowned, and her lower lip pouted out into something almost as amazing as her smile.
“But there is something I want.”
Her expression brightened. “What’s that?”
“You live in Hawai‘i?” Educated guess with her name and accent, but had to be sure.
“Yeah, Maui.”
“Perfect.” Actually, fucking perfect. Windsurfing mecca. But I kept calm: the art of negotiation. Cade, my friend and former roommate, would be proud. “I need a place to live.”
“To live?”
“Your place?”
“Nooo.” She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Definitely not.”
“Nearby, then. You’ll hook me up with something.”
The headshake thing happened again. Her lips parted, her hardening expression broadcasting loud and clear that a fierce protest was coming.
Unwilling to hear her argument on an empty stomach, I cut her off with a piercing look. Then I added to my list of demands, “Waves to windsurf.”
Her features softened as she nodded. “Almost all year round at Ho‘okipa Beach.”
An electric thrill charged through me as I pictured endless surfing—one thing I’d never gone after before.
“And a personal guide.”
“Guide?”
“Assistant. PR rep. Whatever you want to call yourself.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“No way.”
“Only way it’s happening.”
Her eyes narrowed, breaths shallowing as she struggled to maintain that cool composure. “Why?”
Yeah…why?
Pretty sure I hadn’t knocked my head on coral in the surf today.
Damn sure wasn’t looking for a relationship—just got out of one.
But when an adventure-bound guy, who could have anything, sits in front of a girl with enough fire in her to make every step of the journey ahead a glorious fight?
She becomes the only thing he wants.
Leilani…
Mase was the last thing I needed: a cocky guy who thought he knew everything and could conquer the world—conquer me. Been there. Done them.
But…
Something different about him fascinated me. And his chilled posture hid a quiet excitement just under his skin. I got that—had lived it all my life.
Scraggly blond hair surrounded a pretty-boy face. Pretty white boy. Even so, those crystal-blue eyes mesmerized me. Drew me in. Calmed me. Yet when he tore his glance back from the bar and stared at me with a piercing gaze, my breath caught.
Damn. Did I want him?
No! How did I get dragged into this?
Oh. That’s right. Stupid decisions? Suck-ass consequences.
Not the way I’d pictured traveling the world.
But I hadn’t chosen the punishment for my crime. Law hadn’t caught me. My brother had. So the price for him to keep my secrets? Was a total bitch.
With a heavy sigh, I stared at the surfer I’d been tasked with. Concentrating on calming my breaths, I willed myself to chill.
As we continued our staring match, my pointed “why” question dissipated into the tropical breeze flowing in.
There was an indescribable peace about him. To the remote place around us. To the unusual slice of time-out I’d been forced to take. And a part of me that I’d buried long ago made me want to drag my feet in the blissful feeling, tumble down, roll around, and bask in the dreamy warmth of it.
Three uncles with leathered skin and salt-and-pepper hair strolled in as the bartender slid our food onto the table; my plate held two tacos and a ceramic cup overflowing with mango salsa, his had a taco mountain with a big salsa bowl cradled on its peak. The newcomers claimed a corner table, setting up a board game with polished white and black stones as their rich laughter rumbled out, the undertones filled with lazy contentment; the atmosphere was polar opposite to the vibrant pulse of my island community.
The magic of the moment sank further into my bones on a slow exhale.
And as we began to munch on fish tacos on a remote island nestled deep in the vast South Pacific, I let the earlier tension of expectations fade away.
Yet when my mind relaxed into nothingness, his name floated to the surface: Mase.
I chewed with care to savor the fresh flavors rolling over my tongue and considered the short masculine name. He’d been firm about using it, not his full given name. And he’d delivered the correction with a clipped bite to his tone and inscrutable flash in his eyes, like a deeper story lay hidden in their icy depths.
By the time I swallowed down the last bite of my first taco, my need to know more about him shattered the quiet in my mind.
So I threw the last topic back out between us, ending the silence on our side of the room. “You still haven’t answered my question.” The “why” about his asinine terms, about me being an assistant of some kind to him.
He held my gaze as he took long gulps of beer. Then without giving any reply, he began devouring his third taco. But he watched me with steady curiosity, head slightly tilted, like he’d been doing from the moment we’d sat down—as if I’d become a new puzzle he wanted to solve.
Yeah, good luck with that.
Used to testosterone-pumped males and their bravado, I held his intense gaze until amusement sparked in those startling pale eyes. But then his expression clouded over and he broke our staring match, his attention shifting to the last two tacos on his plate.
The bartender waved at us, then pointed a large black phone at me. “Miss Kealoha?”
“Yes.” I straightened in my seat. I’d been waiting for an update from their small airport, news about the delay of my charter back to Tahiti to catch a connecting flight to Maui.
Mase remained silent as I took the phone, though he continued to watch me with mild interest.
Nothing but island music streamed through the receiver, so I settled back in my chair, waiting.
I tried to ignore the man across from me—the one whose presence overpowered the room even as he slouched in his chair. Easily six-foot-two, his body had been leanly built of muscle honed by surfing. When he reached to the left to put our empty plates on the table beside us, a shaft of sunlight hit his shoulder, making the grains of sand and salt glitter over his bronzed skin.
Yet even with the deep tan, he stood out among the half dozen people in the room: light golden skin to darker shades, dark-blond hair in a sea of jet black, crystalline blue eyes amid varying shades o
f brown.
The differences between us—between him and me—were like day and night.
The haole won’t survive a week on my island.
A crackling static broke through the music. “Miss Leilani Kealoha?” a friendly female voice asked.
“Yes, I’m Leilani.”
Finally. I needed to go home. Hadn’t wanted to come in the first place.
“I’m very sorry, but the pilot cannot fly until tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m.”
“Why?” I sighed. Not that it helped. Did nothing to rescue me out of a sucky situation.
“I’m not sure, miss. The pilot…all he said was engine repair.”
“N’kay. Thanks.” I blew out a frustrated breath, disconnected, and put the phone down onto the table.
“Bad news?” Mase quirked up a thick blond brow.
“Flight delay.”
“Till when?” He tilted his head a fraction, doing that stare-thing again.
The world pressed in on me under his focused attention, my pulse speeding up, breaths quickening. A sudden intimacy grew between us though neither one had moved a muscle.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing my attention on all things not Mase, anything not directly related to my reason for being there. My gaze scanned toward a wide-open window on the side wall, to a picturesque view: a green beater car parked in front of a silvery stretch of sand topped by turquoise crashing waves. Breaths calming, I noticed more locals had arrived, talking story in a couple of different conversations, one about their day’s catch, another about aching joints and a coming storm.
Chilled out to somewhere close to normal again, I finally answered when I’d be leaving, “Tomorrow morning.”
“Stay with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Spend the night with me.”
My heart kicked up again. He’d tossed out the statement with the same blatant cockiness that he’d suggested living with me in Maui.
“No.”
“You like that word.”
“It applies to everything you spit out.”
“And yet, your eyes say something else.”
I rolled them toward the ceiling, then shot a glare at him. “What do my eyes say?”
“They’re saying yes with a capital Y and three exclamation points.”
I snorted, amused by his analysis. “Three?”
“Three.”
“Not one or two?”
“Girls put three when they’re excited.”
“I’m not excited.” I crossed my arms.
The corners of his lips twitched. “Yes, you are.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you know?”
“I know you want more than you’re leading on to. You are more than how you’re acting. Which tells me plenty.” Voice and expression softening as he spoke, he watched me with clear interest.
Rattled, I settled back in my chair, reassessing him. I’d underestimated him. And completely misjudged him.
Maybe more sat across from me than just a pretty surfer boy.
I tightened my jaw. “You haven’t answered my question.” Wasn’t budging till he did.
Surprise flashed in his eyes at my challenge.
Thick tension crackled in the air between us again at the reminder of his last ridiculous condition. But the only unknowns I jumped toward? Wild pools at the base of waterfalls—not wild surfers with pipe dreams.
And so I repeated what I needed to know before our conversation went any further, before I abandoned the stupid attempt to help my brother, to fulfill my obligation. “Why?” Why can’t you just accept the sponsorship and leave me out of it?
His unrelenting gaze hardened. Infinite pale blue eyes stared deep into mine. For several seconds, he didn’t twitch one sun-bronzed muscle from his relaxed position.
Then his jaw tightened. He swallowed. A slow, deep breath expanded his chest. “You’ll see.”
I will? Clouds will part, the sun will shine, and I’ll magically see why you threw down an inflexible condition to my brother sponsoring you: Me?
A beat passed in the silence between us. Then another.
A seagull cried.
Ocean waves crashed.
Bar glasses clinked.
I blinked, heavily. His vague answer had thrown me, and like a total idiot, no flippant response came. Other than the no which seemed so amusing to him.
“C’mon.” In a graceful sweep of his leanly muscled body, he stood.
My restraint snapped on a quick inhale. I’d had enough. Of my responsible brother. Of confident Mase. Of cocky guys.
I couldn’t stop the defiance raging through me. Or the word… “No.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, then gave a nod to the restaurant owner. “Thanks, Rico.”
And then I was alone. With six strangers.
In a foreign land.
Defeated.
Seconds raced by as my anxiety swelled into a towering tsunami.
“Shit,” I bit out under my breath as I swiped up my bag and shoes.
When I rushed out the door, a gust of fresh salty air hit my face.
Mase stood to the right, shoulder leaning against the corner of the building, other arm hanging casually from a loose grip on the top edge of his board.
“Took you long enough.” The corners of his lush mouth twitched.
Whatever. I let out a dramatic sigh. “Where are we going?”
“Where else is there to go?”
Your hotel room? I scowled. My lips parted, another no hovering on the tip of my tongue. Even though a vital part of me buried deep down, screamed yes with that capital Y and a million exclamation points.
He shot me an amused look. “Breaking waves.”
“Oh.” Of course. The only thing riders wanted during daylight hours when the surf’s up.
I snorted, then shrugged. Nothing else to do for the rest of the day. And he hadn’t kicked me to the curb. Not yet. Not with my unanswered “why” dangling out there between us.
Curiosity. That’s all it was. The only thing that had me sticking with him longer versus camping out at the airport.
He grabbed his board then headed down a side street…away from the ocean.
I paused, confused.
After several more long strides, he stopped and turned. “You coming?”
An open-top Jeep had been backed against a banana patch a couple dozen yards beyond him. I’d been dropped off at the restaurant by a cab. What choice did I have? Unless I relished hanging out at a humid airport in a rigid plastic chair…with nothing to show for dragging my foolish ass all the way down to some tiny dot on the globe. “Yeah.”
Almost twenty minutes later, after a bumpy silent ride through sparse jungle, we approached a desolate crescent bay. I would’ve pressed for an answer, an explanation of his smartass “you’ll see,” but the roar of the sickly engine made me bite my tongue.
And the unspoiled landscape was too beautiful to taint with talk about business.
The road ended at a sand dune as high as the hood. He got out, pulled his board from the back, then paused by my door, leaning against the Jeep.
He held my gaze, his blue eyes shimmering liquid silver in the bright late-afternoon sun. “Wanna ride?”
His low tone purred into my ears, warming my body as its weight flowed downward.
I swallowed hard, then drew in a deep breath, trying to find a brain cell to use as I stared up at him.
He’d meant the board. But my leashed thoughts broke free, latching on to the blatant innuendo of his words, of the sizzling heat that hovered in the scant inches between us.
Then I licked my lips, finally being honest with myself. My gaze drifted down that body, landed on those clinging board shorts, then rose back up to the long fingers that gripped the edge of his surfboard.
Yeah, I do.
But with years of practice ignoring my wants, I tamped down gut instinct. I stared at the board, considering his true offer. Would be great to
catch a few waves, work out frustration, just throw on my suit and let the ocean soothe me like it always did.
Only if I went out there, he’d have nothing to do but watch me. While I let my guard down. And I’d rather be the one studying him.
“No thanks.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Suit yourself. Water and snacks in the back if you want ’em.”
Then he turned without another word and crossed the shallow strip of sand to the foaming surf. With quick strokes, he paddled out to a sizable reef break.
And for the next two hours, I watched him carve out waves.
Damn, he’s good. The decent lefthander had a slow build to crest, then a quick and heavy drop, but his moves were masterful. Makani had said Mase was from some big city on the East Coast. But the way he handled the challenging waves told another story.
He didn’t surf like islanders. An element of difference I couldn’t quite pinpoint made his technique different. And effective.
Mesmerized, I watched him dance with the ocean until the coral sun turned pink as it kissed the horizon.
By the time he returned to the Jeep, I’d already rummaged his snacks, eating a handful of trail mix and one of two apples. I held up a piece of the loot. “Protein bar?”
“Sure.” He took it, then reached into the small cooler and grabbed a banana too.
He ate the grindz like a starving man, then washed it all down with a bottle of Gatorade. The second he took his last swallow, I crossed my arms. “Sooo…why?”
Fingers pinching the key in the ignition, he paused, then glanced at me over his shoulder. Those blue eyes darkened in the shadows. “Why what?”
I waved an arm out toward the waves, as if they’d help with the explanation. “You know.”
“So will you.”
Confused, but beginning to get used to the feeling, I shook my head. “This how city boys catch girls? Riddles and comebacks?”
“You’re intrigued.”
No. Yes. Neither word fit. And infuriatingly, both did. But the more I talked with him, the more tangled my thoughts became. Instead of answering, I huffed out a frustrated sigh.
“Patience, padawan.” Instead of starting the Jeep, his fingers abandoned the key and he leaned an arm behind my seat.
Then suddenly his body invaded my space. Salty, sweaty, heated male, golden skin inches from mine. I gripped my knees, forcing my hands to keep away. Because I wanted to touch, taste. The untamed part of me needed to connect with the wildness of him.
