An employee to whom he was offering three million dollars. She hated that it was even a concern. It made her feel dirty and sticky, as if she were one of those people with screwed-up priorities. But the money wasn’t even for her, not directly. It was for the center. That was different.
Keeping her mouth to herself wasn’t asking too much.
“You can’t take Sean on as a project,” Denise insisted.
“I’m not intending to.” Annie drew her feet up on the couch, knees in front of her chest. She wrapped her arms around them. “I’m going to do my job and get out.”
Her mom didn’t believe her. Annie knew that look from the few times she’d tried to slide by on schoolwork in order to go surfing or skateboarding. She drew a cross over her chest with two fingers. “No project. Nothing more than work. I swear it.”
Chapter 11
Sean didn’t get many visitors at his house. He certainly didn’t get unannounced visitors. But when he pulled open the front door, he felt a small smile curve his mouth. “Annie. What are you doing here?”
“Way to sound inviting,” she said with a cheeky little smile. Dark lashes ringed her eyes, and her mouth looked like it had been colored pink with some gloss. She ducked past him, under the arm holding open the door.
“But we don’t have an appointment.” It had been two days since the Saturday night party. The night Sean had kissed Annie like the idiot he was.
The thing was, he couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. He kept running it over and over in his head, as if he could re-create it if he thought about it enough times. Like he could actually taste the sweetness of her mouth, rather than just remember it. That wasn’t going to happen again.
“I know. I wanted to come by and make sure you were okay precisely because we don’t have an appointment.” She shot him a severe look. “Calling my office voice mail in the middle of the night? Seriously, dude. That’s a douche bag move.”
“Something came up.”
“Yeah, I figured that much, considering the weight you put on your recovery.” She perched on the edge of a cherry-stained coffee table and picked up its only decoration, a crystal paperweight. She held it up to a ray of sunshine, and the embedded gold flecks rained sparkling light on her features. “You think I don’t understand that you’ve got things you need to deal with?”
He ran his palm over the top of his head. He’d cut his hair bristly short about a year ago, on a trip to Bondi Beach, Australia. The feeling of sand encrustation had finally gotten to him, so he’d had a go with a pair of clippers. Coyote had spit nails over changing his “image” without consultation, but the new look had nailed him pages in a national nonsurfing mag. Good enough for him, and good enough for Coyote too.
But this whole situation was a lot more dire than shaving his hair off. He could get booted from the Coyote lineup. He could get dropped by any or all of his sponsors, even before the rumors were verified. Image was half the gig. Ranking in competition was the other half, and fuck, he still hadn’t won anything. For that matter, he was having a hell of a time hanging on. If the distasteful aspects of his childhood came out, he’d have an unsavory taint. And that wasn’t even counting his brush with the law.
There might be less pressure on him if he’d won a title. Unfortunately, he was a long way from that.
As if on cue, his shoulder throbbed. “I can’t do this now.”
“Which this?” she asked calmly. She set the globe down slowly, then crossed her legs. “Physical therapy or kissing? Because only one’s up for offer.”
“You didn’t come in with your usual bag of tricks, so maybe you mean kissing.” He shouldn’t be snarly, shouldn’t be an awful ass. But he both dreaded and anticipated her tote bag full of equipment. At least it would be the devil he knew, rather than the meeting he was headed for with Tanner Wright.
“That won’t happen again,” she said with a voice so even, he almost thought she believed it. He wanted her to believe it, because maybe she could convince them both.
She stood, and he moved closer. All he wanted was to frame her face in his hands and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her. He wanted the freedom to touch her this time, to twine his fingers through her hair and see if it was as silken as it looked. As he’d dreamed about last night.
She was wearing another T-shirt, this one with the four horses of the Apocalypse. Pony style. Little-girl toys with snarling, vicious muzzles, ranging in color from bloodred to pale green.
Annie was a work of art.
The growing heat meant she’d left her usual jeans at home and wore dark khaki shorts. He wished they were a little shorter, because her legs were pale but lean with muscle and subtle strength.
He had to be losing his mind. This was just a way to distract himself from the holy-fuckin-hell levels of trouble coming down on his head. Annie was sweet and levelheaded, but he shouldn’t be thinking of her quite so much.
His crazy had hit new levels. Any woman who got involved with him at this point would either be doing so because she was the same sort of crazy, or because she felt oozing pity toward him. His stomach turned at that second option. He wanted to impress Annie, wanted her to think of him as a guy with his shit together.
There was no way he was letting her in. Not that way. Fuck it, not for any reason.
Letting people in only led him to trouble. Led him to arson, if he was going to be fucking honest with himself. “I have to go, Annie.”
“Do you mean figuratively? As in, trying to run from this discussion we’re having? Or literally?”
“I have to meet someone.” His throat was tight with something thick. He forced a cough, then another. “I just . . . I have to go.”
But he didn’t move. And neither did she. Her mouth parted, and he was so shit at resisting temptation. Because he kissed her. His hands slipped around the back of her neck. She came closer, then closer still. His body brushed hers. She was lithe and hot under the sun’s warmth.
He wanted to absorb her.
She grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging in tight. They breathed together. Fast and then faster still. That easily, they were part of something new, something they could build together.
Something he wanted to believe in.
But then, she yanked her mouth away from his and pushed back. She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth. Her fingers were trembling. “I quit. I can’t take care of you anymore.”
He wasn’t surprised. When things went to shit, they tended to go off the pier all together. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”
He looked closely at her, but he’d never been a mind reader. He didn’t know what to make of the expression in her dark eyes or the way her tongue slicked across her bottom lip. He touched her only because he couldn’t resist. “Don’t make decisions you’ll regret, Annie. I’m going out now. If you’re here when I get home . . .” He took her mouth fast and hard. His tongue plunged between her teeth and she welcomed him. “There won’t be any going back. Not for either of us.”
She’d fired him as a patient. The mixed relief and annoyance he had at that made his head swim. He wanted the best for his rehab, sure. Whatever it took. But that wasn’t the only way out. He’d gotten where he was through his own sweat and determination. He might not have been scoring the way he liked last year, but as soon as he got over this injury, he’d fix that. The rewards that might come with the risks, though. Jesus, they’d be worth it.
Sean started walking toward the beach. Considering that his house was only steps from the pier, it didn’t take him long to get to Wright School so long as he ignored the pure need rushing through his body. Tanner had left the circuit in December, and since then everyone knew he’d poured every bit of his energy into the school he was opening.
The place had once been a surf shop run by Tanner’s mom and stocked with the usual
run of things. Sean abided by the principle that you didn’t need much to surf. A decent board, a pair of shorts, and go. Wet suit only when necessary. It was what he’d survived on, after all. By the time he was fifteen, board wax felt like a luxury.
Wright Break had been one of the better stores, at least. They sold good stuff, even when it came to the California-emblazoned T-shirts for tourists. Theirs didn’t fall apart after five washings.
The store was empty. Brown butcher paper covered the inside of the big plate glass windows. Not abandoned, however. A two-by-four propped open the front door and music poured through the crack.
No one was expecting him, and he’d taken a risk by showing up unannounced. But there was no telling whether Tanner would have answered a call from him. The best thing they could be called at one point was rivals. The worst was acquaintances. Sean didn’t have much call for friendship with Tanner. He knocked briskly on the door anyway. He’d never exactly been put off by expectations.
Tanner answered the door. He was a big guy, with really wide shoulders for a surfer and incredibly thick thighs. Sean had researched his competition, so he knew where Tanner’s epic air came from. The man had been known for power moves, and his hefty body had been the force behind them.
He also had a bright smile. “Hey, mate. It’s good to see you.”
Sean gently tongued the inside of his bottom lip. Did Tanner mean that? His expression was open enough. With paint splattered up his arms, and a roller still in his hand, he’d obviously been in the middle of a project. His expression seemed happy enough, but that could just as easily be attributable to his most excellent girlfriend, Avalon Knox.
Sean didn’t like the part of him that doubted everyone, but he’d been proven right more times than not. “Wish I could say the same, bro.” It made life easier if he tried to suss out motives ahead of time.
“Ah.” Tanner nodded. “You’ve finally heard.”
“Then you did know.”
Tanner’s wide shoulders lifted and fell in a surprisingly helpless shrug. “Come on in, dude. I’ve got a few beers in a cooler.”
“Can’t. Training regimen,” Sean said, and fuck, did he feel like an idiot of the first magnitude. He ought to be fucking grateful that Tanner was stepping to the side to let him in. Turning down a drink from the man was hard to do.
“Got some fruit juice too. Sage shoved them in there.”
“That’ll do.” A flicker of relief licked at Sean like a tiny wave.
The interior of the building had been fully gutted since the last time Sean had been inside it. Where there had once been a counter and two registers was now bare floor. The clothing racks were all gone. With all the empty space, the place seemed bigger and brighter. The front third had three rows of cafeteria-style tables, and full-color photographs of famous surfers on giant waves had been laminated directly to the wall.
“That’s the study area,” Tanner said, pointing to the front. “I’m painting the gear storage right now.”
“Study?”
“Yeah. We’re going to work on the fundamentals of tides and oceanography, but they’re also going to have time to work on school studies. Get help if they need to trade it around. Weather ain’t always the way you’d hope. They need to learn their limits.”
Sean felt his mouth twist. “You can say that again.” He’d busted his shoulder by ignoring his limits. He subtly stretched, drawing his shoulder blades together in the way Annie had taught him.
Tanner put the paint roller down in a bucket and traded out for their drinks. “Rumors are just rumors. You don’t have to let them get to you.”
“I got a call from a media company this morning. They were asking to do an interview. Didn’t say specifically what they wanted to talk about.”
But he had his guesses. He took a swig of the cold juice. The mango chilled his throat . . . but not the little kernel of fury burning away inside him. He’d worked so fucking hard to get where he was. Now someone was trying to take it away from him. “Tanner, you’re the expert. So many years on the ’CT and fuck, now we all know what you were hiding for so long.”
Tanner shook his head. He pointed at Sean with the neck of his bottle. “You trying to tell me you’ve got something as heavy as I was carrying around?”
Sean swallowed. He was proving crap at not giving hints lately. “No.”
Tanner’s gaze turned solemn. His blue eyes dropped to consider his feet in their worn sandals. He had specks of paint down his legs too, a decorative addition to his cargo shorts. “Then you don’t have to worry about it. You need to learn to let it go. Secrets carried only get heavier as you go along.”
Sean’s eyebrows felt like they were doing their damnedest to fly off his face. “Come on, dude. A few months ago, you were so pissed at your dad, you’d have believed it if someone told you that he’d shot Gandhi.”
“That was then,” Tanner said simply. “I’ve let a lot of stuff go. And don’t get me wrong, I know my dad was a shithead. But I did the wrong thing, keeping it all under wraps. I called my mom this morning—well, it was morning for me. Evening for her.”
“She’s still in China?” Sean sat in a camp chair next to the cooler. He stretched his legs out and kept his head down. It was easy for Tanner to be so damn Zen. His mom, Eileen, was a gracious, graceful woman who was finally doing exactly what she wanted to in life.
“Nah, she’s in Cambodia now.”
“Jesus, aren’t you worried about her?”
Tanner pushed the front door open wider, letting out some of the paint fumes. “She’s in Angkor Wat. Me worrying about her doesn’t matter. She’s seeing the things she’s dreamed of. She’s better off now.”
A part of Sean was tempted to ask if maybe he should call Mako. As Hank Wright’s illegitimate, half-Tahitian son, Mako understood being punished by the past. But he was still a sore spot for Tanner, and Sean didn’t much feel like alienating the man who might currently be his only friend.
Sean shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on. A documentary on me? I’m practically a no one as far as the ’CT goes. There’re two dozen guys who’re ranked better and have done bigger things.”
“I don’t know.” Tanner leveled a direct stare at Sean. “But if I were you, I’d start with anyone who’s got it out for you.”
Chapter 12
Annie walked away. The second Sean strode off down the street and left her behind, she piled into her car and fucking bounced. She wasn’t a doormat. Had never, ever been something even remotely close to a doormat. She took an hour-long drive down the coast, to a little hole-in-the-wall that served the best chili cheese fries she’d ever put in her mouth. It was the avocado ranch sauce that made them special. They were worth the drive, but she only made it when she had major decisions to work through. Carbs and cheese always seemed to make thinking go easier.
They didn’t fail her this time either.
Then she went back. She sat on his front step. Exactly where a doormat went.
Except this was different. All the decisions she’d made last night had flown right out the window. After she’d talked things through with her mom, it had all seemed set in stone. By the time she woke up alone in her bed, dreams of Sean barely fading into the background, she’d thought she was happy with her choice. When he’d bailed on their physical therapy appointment, she’d only gone to his house in order to hold him to the schedule, like she’d threatened him when they’d started this journey. Just because he was progressing rapidly and healing at a remarkable pace was no reason to slack off.
But he’d been a mess. A complete, under-the-surface head case. He’d been . . . accessible. Vulnerable, though, good God, she’d never say that word to his face. He’d probably snap. But he needed someone right now, and that made her . . . need him in return.
He was a dick. But she wanted to play with his cock.
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br /> Normally, she’d think poorly of a woman who made a sweeping decision based on gonads. There were plenty of penises in the sea, and they all worked more or less the same, with varying levels of attractiveness. Or so she’d figured.
With Sean . . . everything was new. She was tempted in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Since Terry, if she was really, really honest with herself.
At least the way he was healing meant she wouldn’t feel guilty about turning him over to a different physical therapist.
She’d thought she didn’t get those butterflies in the chest, stomach-swooping tingles anymore, because they were a teenager sort of thing. Maybe other women kept getting them, because God knew she’d heard plenty from her friends. And she wasn’t completely immune to attraction and sexuality, which was why she’d thought she was okay. She’d thought she was healed.
Maybe she hadn’t been.
The way she felt when Sean kissed her gave her stronger feelings than she could remember . . . ever. She was someone new with his mouth on her. Someone who wanted everything.
She was someone who thought she deserved everything.
Starting with Sean.
The sun had dipped behind the house at her back by the time Sean trudged up his front walkway. He looked exhausted. His shoulders drooped, and he walked with his head down, which was not at all like him. His hands were shoved in his pockets. He was ruining the line of his handsome trousers.
That he didn’t care said something terrible about his mood.
“Didn’t get the answers you wanted?” She was sitting with her back against the door and her knees up. Her hands fidgeted, nail digging into cuticle. She put a hand flat on the wood. Only when she felt how the sun had baked the pale gray paint did she also realize how fucking sweaty her hands were. Her stomach had taken up residence somewhere around her clavicle. The blood roared in her ears in a swoosh-swoosh that said her pulse was high. Stupidly high.
“Why are you still here?”
Ahead in the Heat Page 8
