Ramping Up

by Zoe Dawson

  I slid my hand into her flaming hair, soft and smooth against my fingers. I molded my palm over the curve of her head, tightening my fingers and tugging her head back. My need took over with a burning edge, and I slanted my mouth across hers. Her hands caught the hem of my T-shirt and dragged it up, her fingers skimming over the muscles of my back, skating along the sides of my rib cage.

  I deepened the kiss, starving for more, and she matched my intensity until every bit of her lip gloss was rubbed clean off. But her mouth just wasn’t enough for me. She was so freaking soft and so lush and full. I pulled the tank top and her bra down, releasing the hard bud of her dark pink nipple. I made a low groan at the sight of her and glanced up the long, beautiful column of her throat to her thrown-back head, her red hair everywhere like ribbons of fire. I bent my head down and took her breast in my mouth and sucked on her, and she twisted against me, her whole body rising toward my mouth, wanting more, trying to get even closer, both her hands now pulling on my hair.

  I sucked her nipple hard, playing with her with my tongue, and my control was shot to hell and gone when she touched my face and dragged my head up, her eyes a dazed and gorgeous green shot through with golden light, and I couldn’t breathe. She just stared at my face, into my eyes, as we panted and gasped for air.

  “Ah, fuck,” I said succinctly and with a good dose of anger. I let her go and she adjusted her clothes.

  Still breathing hard, she licked her lips.

  “Oh God…that was so…good.” She licked her lips again, blew out a hot breath. “Needed to let you go. Had to. Work and career…I really hate my job right now.”

  I knew she was right, but not because of her PR issue. I had my own reasons to steer clear of her.

  “Right.” I blew out a breath, smoothed my hands through my hair, and reached for the door handle. “Step one should be getting out of this enclosed space.”

  She nodded.

  We exited the car, and I was knocked senseless by the way she moved. I’d never seen so much unconscious grace in such a small package. Everything about her was so smooth—mesmerizing.

  I shook my head, trying to clear my mind as I followed her around to the back door of the shop. Lena knocked and called out, “Max?” Not waiting for an answer, she went right in.

  “Helena, sweetheart. Back here,” a male voice called out, and we wound our way through surfboards and shelves of trucks, decks, and wheels.

  It was clear it was a workshop, and something about the organized chaos of the place felt good. It felt like a place where genius happened.

  Max was in a small office and rose as we came through the door. Lena made a beeline for him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he gave her a hard hug. “Hello, my pretty,” he said. As he looked down at her, I could see the honest affection in his blue eyes.

  Max Wilder still looked like a skateboarder, even though he was in his forties—backward baseball cap over dark hair that was a tad too long, a T-shirt with the slogan it looks sketchy to me above the drawing of a skateboard, and a pair of well-worn jeans bagging over the sneaks on his feet. He was also clearly fit and looked like he still rode.

  He let Lena go and she stepped back. “Max, this is Gunner Smith.”

  I tried to remain cool, not go all fan-boy on him, but it was difficult. Max was one of the best to ever step on a deck.

  He sized me up and then smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. They were warm, friendly eyes, but there was something…sad about them as well. Instead of the handshake I expected, he pulled me in for a bro hug like we were best buds. My usual reserved manner slipped out from under me like a missed trick.

  “Mr. Wilder. Cool,” I said. Would it be lame if I asked for his autograph? I decided against it.

  “It’s Max, and I’m looking forward to working with you, Gunner. What I saw in the video—well, that wasn’t just a fluke. You have something.”

  I was uncomfortable with anyone talking about my skating—something that I was going to have to overcome quickly. I nodded.

  But Max’s gaze sharpened as if he could read my mind. “There’s no need to be modest, boy. You are damn good.”

  My chest tightened. I’d say Max was the same age as my dad but was leagues apart. What I wouldn’t give for my father to say that to me just once. Just acknowledge to me that he thought I was a worthy guy, when it came to surfing or anything. But he’d never said one encouraging thing to me in my life.

  “Have you two eaten?” Max asked.

  “No,” Lena said. “And I’m starving. Want to talk about the endorsement agreement over lunch?”

  “That sounds perfect.” He glanced at me. “There’s a burger joint just a few steps down the boardwalk. Great day for a stroll. What do you say?” He gave me a conspiratorial wink, and I was glad there wasn’t going to be any fancy restaurant. Lena looked like she ate in one every day.

  I had never met a sponsor like Max. He was business, but casual. He explained to me what he expected. Ads, some modeling, some riding videos with his merchandise, and a formal fundraiser for HeadStart, a brain trauma charity. He nudged me and said I would have to get a tux. I said the deal was off. It was so easygoing; I had enjoyed myself without even realizing it.

  “Let’s have a barbecue when Gunner wins his first competition,” Max said after we had signed the contract and we were saying our goodbyes.

  “Sounds like a great plan,” Lena answered at once, without consulting me. I smiled and nodded. I guess this was where she was going to start making decisions for me. Which rankled a bit. I could answer for myself, but I let it go. I could lay down some ground rules about answering for myself later on.

  “Bring your old man with you, Helena. He owes me some hoop time.”

  “All right, but you better be careful. He’s been working on his jump shot.”

  He turned to me. “You play basketball, Gunner?”

  “Not all that often, but I can hold my own, Max.”

  “Great, then we’ve got ourselves a game.”

  “You’re on.” We fist-bumped to seal the deal, and he handed me the keys to what was about to be my new home.

  —

  I followed Lena over to the house in my own car. It was a cream-colored midsized Spanish Revival nestled into the corner of a gated community not far from Quickdraw and the downtown area.

  I pulled into the garage while Lena parked in the driveway, grabbing my one and only bag and my board. On the other side was a custom 1960 cherry-red GT Mustang.

  What a beaut, and I bet it purred like a jacked-up racer on the mark. I had no idea why this beautiful car was in the garage. Was it for my use? I would have to ask Lena about it. She had gotten out of her car. I stepped out and met her near the door, and we entered the house.

  “I’ll give you the grand tour, and then I’ve got to get back to Mavrick,” she said.

  I had to work to keep my hands off her as she sashayed up the steps, her sweet ass just within the reach of my hands, and I thought about that firmness in my palms while my dick was up against her hot and oh-so-wet groin. I pulled my eyes away from her. We entered into a small mudroom off the kitchen, and I glimpsed yards and yards of dark granite and glossy espresso-toned wood floors and cabinetry.

  Entering the kitchen, she went over to the huge built-in fridge. “We’ll have to get food in the house, but there are menus here so you can order takeout tonight.”

  She walked over to the patio doors. “You can open these all along here to bring the outdoors inside, or eat al fresco on the patio.” Looking past her, I spotted the blue of the pool, and beyond that, a small-scale skate park. I whistled low. I liked the challenge of the street, but there was something to be said about blissfully riding without the cops chasing you off, or people giving you annoyed looks.

  “Yeah, I thought you would like that.” She opened one set of seven doors, and a breeze swirled the curtains around. “There’s a master suite upstairs that you may frankly never want to leave. It has an
office, a bedroom with a balcony, and a bath with a soaking tub and separate shower.” She met my gaze and my entire body heated up, just thinking about getting horizontal with Lena McHotstuff in the bedroom. Or the tub. Or the shower. She cleared her throat, her eyes darting away. “There are two other bedrooms as well. I don’t think I need to show you,” she said, and her voice sounded subdued, like she was thinking the same thing I was thinking. Any kind of room with a bed in it should be deemed off-limits.

  “The living room and family room are right through there, and the stairs to the upper level are just beyond the foyer. Get settled and rest or skate, whatever. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  Before I could stop my stupid mouth, I said, “You going to leave me to eat alone on my first night here? I don’t know anyone in San Diego.” I gave her my most plaintive look.

  She gave me a skeptical look, her eyes telling me she knew exactly what I was doing. And she was right. I was guilt-tripping her into eating with me, not because I was alone in the big city, but because I didn’t want her to leave.

  “Oh, is that what you’re going with?”

  “We both have to eat,” I answered lightly, not giving her an inch.

  “All right, fine. But in that case, we’re going out, and you can meet me at the restaurant. This isn’t a date. But you better find something nicer than a T-shirt and jeans,” she warned, walking over to the counter and writing down something on a pad of paper. She ripped it off and strode back over to me, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, caught in the breeze from the open door.

  She plastered a smile on her face as she handed me the paper. It was a professional smile, not a personal one, and yes, I knew the difference. It didn’t matter. It was still a knockout.

  —

  My cell chimed as I pulled up in front of the fancy sit-down place my GPS had brought me to. I looked down and saw the text from Falcon. He was ribbing me about this meeting, asking me if it was a date. I texted him back that I was working on it.

  Then my cell rang. It was my dad. I was tempted to answer it, maybe try to reason with him. If I calmly explained why I quit and why I needed to move on with my own life, was there a chance he would listen and finally get it? That he would stop hoping for my return to surfing? Because that was never going to happen. Still, maybe we could meet on a different level. As father to son instead of surfer to coach. Maybe I could get him to listen to me.

  The rap on the glass startled me, and the chiming stopped, the moment passing. I felt sad even as I experienced the same heady rush of relief to be free.

  “Sir, would you like me to park your car?”

  It was the valet, and I got out. “Thanks, bro,” I said, and the eager dark-haired guy got in and drove off.

  In my effort to avoid being late, I was a little early. As soon as I walked in, the maître d’ gave me a once-over, and since he didn’t act weird, I figured that I looked okay in a pair of black pants and a white T-shirt under a casual gray jacket, the sleeves pushed up my forearms. I had gone out and bought the jacket, but I was determined to dress the way I wanted to.

  The maître d’ led me over to an empty table for five. I was puzzled, about to ask him why, until I looked up and saw them.

  There was bold Lena, amazing in a little black dress, her hair pulled off her face in a tail of fire down her back. Then there was Trista, the wild-haired gypsy Amazon from her office in a tight orange dress, followed by a cute little slip of a blonde looking like a fairy princess in white lace.

  There was also a distinguished-looking man with them. He appeared to be around Max’s age. Her father? I took a breath to calm my suddenly spiking nerves. This was the famous Noah Mavrick.

  She’d brought herself some reinforcements, and any ideas I had of seducing her, regardless of my fears and hang-ups, were effectively cock-blocked.

  I stood as they approached, automatically pulling out the chair for Lena. It was part of what my mom taught me, and although she hadn’t been around for a while, I wanted to be the son I knew she expected me to be. I wanted to make her proud.

  Lena’s eyes flowed over me, and I felt that punch-in-the-gut need again. I couldn’t help thinking about how soft her mouth had been beneath mine.

  The greetings happened all the way around, and I found out that the angel’s name was Hannah Walsh. As in, Olympic snowboarder Hannah Walsh. I should have recognized her.

  They all got wine, but I got water, and Trista teased me about being a jock and not drinking. Trista was part charmer and part ballbuster. I had to say I loved the combination. She was funny as hell and kept us laughing throughout the dinner. Hannah was quieter, but, boy, she knew when to take Trista down a notch. It was clear they were best friends.

  But during dessert, when the topic turned to families, I immediately felt uncomfortable.

  “What about you, Gunner?” Trista asked after she’d finished telling us how during a no-holds-barred touch football game that had gotten out of control she’d accidently broken one of her brother’s wrists. She had four of them apparently—which explained her toughness.

  “In typical fashion it won me great admiration.”

  Hannah, who had two sisters, rolled her eyes and said, “Boys.”

  The stories made me think of Maddy and all the good times we had and how hard it had been to let her go. And how alone I felt then…and now. “I have a sister” was all I said. When Trista prompted me for a photo, I couldn’t produce one because I didn’t have one. That made me sad.

  Lena slipped her hand over my forearm and squeezed as she nudged Trista. I knew she was reacting to something she must’ve seen in my face, and I immediately needed to escape.

  “Excuse me,” I said and headed for the men’s room, my heart pounding. I hungered for what they had, what they could share so openly. My emotions were buried so deep I was numb. Suddenly I wished I had my board with me. I needed to skate.

  The atmosphere was more subdued when I returned to the table. Mr. Mavrick insisted on picking up the check as we prepared to leave. I automatically rose and assisted the ladies with their chairs.

  Outside on the sidewalk, we said our goodbyes, but Lena lingered next to me as the others headed toward a dark sedan the valet brought around.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gunner. I’ll be by at eight. I’ll introduce you to your new nutritionist. Her name is Crystal Rudd.”

  I felt that she wanted to say more, but I cut her off. “Eight it is. Good night.”

  I handed the valet my ticket. Lena stood there for a moment, then turned and got into the front seat of the car. I avoided looking at her.

  When I got to the house, I took off my jacket and grabbed my board. Outside in the skate park, I carved, ripped, and ground all of my emotions into dust.

  Chapter 8

  Helena

  I hefted the water from the trunk of my car and headed for the house. Entering the kitchen, I said, “Crystal, I couldn’t find any wheat germ, but I got everything else.”

  Crystal was standing there, frozen in place just staring toward the pool and the sliding glass doors. What the hell was she looking at? Frowning, I came all the way into the room, hard-pressed to get her moving. Gunner would be awake soon and…I totally lost my train of thought. It wasn’t bad enough that I’d had erotic dreams of the man all night, the memory of his mouth on me sending me into a hot, twisting spiral, but, oh, and, oh my God, and then, yeah, oh, again. I gasped.

  He was so beautiful; all six feet plus of raw power and testosterone roped with muscle and sinew, a force to be reckoned with, a force of pure aching temptation.

  His wide chest tapered down into abs of steel, six ripped ridges delineated with hard edges. The towel rode low on his hips with, oh God, just a tuck between my eyes and his…man parts. All that sleek expanse of muscle overlaid with hard, masculine angles drew my eyes and held them until I could take it all in.

  This just wasn’t fair. How could he look so damn good?

 
“Good morning, ladies,” he said as if it was a common occurrence that he would find himself in this situation.

  I hefted the bottled water in my arms, the bags heavy. He saw my struggle and immediately jumped forward to help me, lifting the water away and setting it on the counter. Crystal hadn’t responded and was still staring at him. That bugged me. A lot.

  “Crystal,” I said, and she snapped out of it and took some of the bags.

  “I’ll go get dressed and be right back,” Gunner said, backing out of the kitchen. Crystal tracked his progress, leaning around the island to keep him in sight.

  “Wow. Just wow.” She sighed. “He is gorgeous coming and going. This is one gig I won’t mind. At all.”

  “Just keep your mind on his diet and nutrition,” I said, and she shot me a contemplative look. The censure in my voice was thick.

  “Am I stepping on your toes?”

  “No, of course not,” I said automatically. But I had a hard time getting those kisses in the front seat of my car out of my mind, along with his easy way of interacting with Max, my friends, and my dad. There were layers to Gunner that I sensed he was hiding, and I wanted to peel them all back and find out what had made him look so pensive last night. I knew his dad could be an issue, and I really hated lying to my dad about it, but Gunner had been tight with the details. Simply that he was a drinker and wasn’t happy Gunner had quit surfing.

  “So you wouldn’t mind if I dated him?” Crystal asked, her voice hopeful.

  Hell, yes, I would! I cleared my throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Crystal. Gunner is going to be very busy playing catch-up for the next few weeks with his LSJ competition coming up fast. Let’s focus on getting him breakfast, okay?”

  She shrugged and started to unload the groceries.

  Gunner came back into the kitchen dressed in a pair of tight black Lycra shorts and a T-shirt.