by Jill Shalvis
He set a finger on her lips. “I want to do this. I want to be here. With you.”
Okay then. She felt a stupid smile break over her face, and he ran his finger over her lower lip before dropping his hand away. “So…” He eyed the waves and the few surfers out there already doing their thing, and nodded. “Let’s go for it.”
“Why don’t you do a few stretches first?” she suggested. “Save yourself from pulling something.”
Once he’d limbered up, she walked him over to the boards. Both Lorissa and Red still sat there, along with Cole who’d returned from his photo op. Sam didn’t look at them.
Jack smiled at Lorissa and Cole. “Aren’t you guys going to—”
“Don’t talk to them,” Sam said. “Or Red. They’re all grounded. Grab your board.” She pointed to the one she wanted him to take. “Ideally, it should be a foot longer than you, but this is the biggest one I could borrow. It’s going to be a couple of inches short but it’s wide enough, freshly waxed, and soft-skinned, which is easier to learn on.”
“Okay.” He carried it to the water’s edge.
“How’s your knee?”
“Good enough,” he said.
Which was probably man-code for it was killing him. Well, she wasn’t his mother. “I already know you can swim,” she said. “But if you get into trouble, I’ll be right there.”
He smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
God, the way he looked at her. It was lethal to her brain cells. If only he didn’t look so hot this morning. He hadn’t shaved, and the shadow on his jaw made her want to rub up against him like a cat in heat. “See the leash? You’ve got to have it around your ankle so you don’t inadvertently kill someone. People frown on loose boards out there.”
“No loose boards.” He nodded agreeably.
She just wanted to toss the boards aside and kiss him. Pathetic. “And the water might appear perfectly calm, but dangerous rips lurk beneath the surface, so watch out. If you get caught in a rip, swim out of it by moving parallel to the shore until you can get in.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Got that, too.”
She watched as he unzipped his sweatshirt, pulling it off, baring that gorgeous sleek flesh and sinew. His swim trunks were slightly big, which meant they sunk low on his lean hips, revealing a long expanse of rippled belly. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed her board and started into the water, remembered she still had on her own sweats, and swore. Kicking them off in Lorissa’s general smirking direction, she waded in. “Before paddling out, always watch the other surfers to see where it’s best to enter the water.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She thought he was mocking her but when she looked into his eyes all she saw was a smile, and genuine happiness at being with her. In spite of herself, she grinned back. “Paddling out…lie prone on the board with its nose just above the surface of the water. Use your arms as paddles on either side, like this.” She lay on her board and started paddling. “See?”
“Oh, yeah. I see.” He was looking at her ass.
“Jack.” She laughed. “I mean it.”
“So do I. Watch.” He tore his gaze off her and easily handled his board.
They paddled side by side. Halfway out, it occurred to her how much she was enjoying herself, and how soon it would all end. It had to, because it always ended—usually by her own doing.
“Hey. You still with me?” Jack reached out and touched her arm. Waited until she looked at him. “If you don’t want to do this—”
“No.” She sat up on the board and rubbed her temples. Jack sat up, too, while she tried to think, but there were no thoughts to be had other than that this was right and that she wanted to be here. With him. Hanging. Surfing.
“I want to do this. But I also want to do this…” And leaning close, she put her mouth to his.
He reacted immediately, cupping her face with his hand, making a hungry sound of approval deep in his throat that made it hard for Sam to pull away, but she did.
He smiled. “Well, that’s a nice start to the day.”
Yeah. Very nice. But they were here to get him surfing. She showed him how to study the waves before deciding how far out to paddle. Showed him how to avoid another surfer or swimmer, and how to get into position facing the beach.
“When a suitable wave is coming up on you and there are no other surfers on it, start paddling. When it reaches you, it’ll lift you and the board, propelling you forward, so paddle your ass off if it’s a wave you want. Take hold of the rails and jump straight to your feet, your front foot about halfway up the board with your rear foot two feet or so behind it and at right angles to the center of the board.” She jumped up on hers, showing him. “Make sure that the nose of the board is above the water, not too far up or you’ll fall back into the wave and crash, and not too far down or the board’ll nose-dive. Got it?”
“Uh…”
“Here, watch.” She sank back down, waited for a wave and then showed him how to catch it, how to ride it. Then she paddled back out to where he sat on his board watching. “Ready to try?”
“Is it going to be as easy as you just made it look?”
“Nope.”
He laughed. “Well, then, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Okay, when I say go…” She waited until the right exact second. “Go! Paddle!”
Gamely he went for it, and surged his incredibly athletic body up onto the board, leaping to his feet. He waved his hands wildly in the air for the balance that he couldn’t seem to find—
And toppled headfirst into the wave.
She winced, but he surfaced just fine. When he paddled back out to her, he offered a humbled smile. “Harder than it looks.”
“Want to go back?”
“Nope.”
So again she told him when to go, and again he flexed those delicious muscles to stand on the board, to wave his outstretched arms searching for balance—
Only to be taken out by the second crest because it’d taken him too long to get up.
After bobbing up, he tossed his hair back and laughed. “Yeah. Definitely harder than it looks.”
When he paddled close again, she reached for his hand and pulled him in so that their legs touched. With him near her, she couldn’t keep her hands to herself and she ran them over his wet chest and shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he asked a little hoarsely.
“Making sure you’re okay.”
His eyes had gone hot. “If I say I’m not, will you keep touching me?”
Laughing, she pushed free, but he snagged her hand and tugged her back to him. “I have an idea,” he murmured as they rose and fell with the swells beneath them. “You go for a ride, then let me run my hands all over you.” He eyed her wet, clinging black bikini, then without warning hauled her from her board to his lap. “I could really get behind that idea,” he said, just before his mouth came down on hers.
Because he tasted so good and felt so big and warm, she sank into him for a long moment, thrilling to his hands gliding over her wet skin, holding her close.
“Stop,” she said on a breathless laugh when he had her butt in one hand and his other dancing its way up her rib cage.
“You sure?” His thumb took a lazy skim over her breast.
Hell, no, she wasn’t sure. Her body was quivering for his; he could see it, could feel it.
She heard the whooping calls of the other surfers from the shore and knew she’d take a razzing for this. “Jack—”
He smiled into her face before dumping her off his lap. “Stop distracting me. Here comes a good one,” and he went, leaving her body still burning from his touch.
It took another couple of hours for him to get it, and she had to hand it to him. He never gave up, even when Red and a couple of his cronies joined them in the water, offering both helpful hints and lots of jokes. But finally he could ride an entire wave
in without making any cartwheels off the board or landing facefirst in the sand. Exhausted, he collapsed on the beach.
Sam left Red and the others still in the water and came up next to Jack, lightly slapping him on the butt. “Not bad.”
His response was nothing more than a grunt.
“So…I’ll see you next weekend.”
He cracked open an eye. “Huh?”
“For basketball, remember?”
“Why do we have to wait a week?”
“Because we started out doing the weekend thing, so I figured why ruin a good plan?”
“I need a better reason than that.”
How about because she needed a good seven days between viewings of this man—he was far too potent. “Because I don’t see you bouncing up to show me anything right now,” she came up with brilliantly.
“Oh. Yeah.” He closed his eye again. “Right.”
“You really didn’t do so bad today.”
“I guess if I can still hear you, that means I’m still alive.” He hadn’t moved a muscle.
She ran her gaze down the length of him, more than a little concerned by how much she wanted to throw herself on top of him. Her wants were usually far more controlled than this. “How’s the knee?”
“If I say it’s awful, will you take me up to your place and make it all better?”
Lorissa, who’d walked over to them with Cole at her side, shook her head with disgust. “And to think I had such high hopes for you.”
Still on the sand, Jack rolled over, shaded his eyes from the now-piercing sun and looked up at her. “Too cheesy, huh?”
“Waaaay too cheesy.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” With a groan, he stood up, and took Sam’s hand. “How’s this, instead? Can I take you out to breakfast?”
“Much better line,” Cole said. He laughed when Lorissa gave him a baleful stare.
“But it’s…lunchtime,” Sam said inanely.
“Okay,” Jack said, undeterred. “How about lunch?”
“I have to work.”
“I’ll cover for you,” Lorissa offered, but Sam shook her head.
“I’m fine working.”
“’Kay.” Jack blinked at her innocently. “Then how about some of that lotion for my knee before I go?”
She couldn’t refuse him that and he knew it. Before she could think better of it, he’d followed her over the bluffs and up the stairs of the café to her apartment—and into her small bathroom, where his big, tough body crowded her as she reached into her medicine cabinet.
When she turned to hand the lotion to him, he was right there, and putting his hands to her hips, lifted her onto the vanity.
“Jack—”
“Here’s the thing,” he murmured, his mouth skimming her jaw. “I can’t stop thinking about you, about how you taste. Give me another taste, Sam.”
He wore only his swim trunks, his chest bare and still damp, his shoulders looking impossibly wide, his head bent in concentration as he nibbled at the corner of her mouth. His hands moved slowly, caressingly, up and down her arms, giving her the same undivided, single-minded attention he’d given to surfing.
She skimmed her hands up his back, rough with sand, and offered him what he wanted, another taste. With a rough groan, his mouth opened hungrily on hers. He dropped the lotion in the sink so his hands could cup her bottom, his fingers flexing against her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Mmm,” rumbled from deep in his throat as he pulled her against the rock-hard bulge now in his swim trunks.
The desire to fall back and let him take her right there was so strong she nearly pulled off her bikini and sank to her knees on the floor, but instead she pushed free. “I’ve got things I have to do.” She needed some time here, some distance, if for no other reason than to get her breathing back to normal. She’d go make some sandwiches for the café and clear her head. Maybe make herself something extra-fattening for comfort. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the lotion in the sink and put it in his hand. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Chicken,” he taunted softly, but he let her hop down and lead him to the front door, which told her he was every bit as much a chicken as she.
OVER THE COURSE of the next week, Sam kept herself busy. She had the café, which was thankfully hopping with late-summer action. She also had her friends, her surfing and any number of things in her life; such as her obsession with making brownies that could be eaten and not used as cement or paint.
But being out in the water only reminded her of the man she dreamed about every night. It didn’t help that Lorissa enjoyed asking about him, or that Jack continued to call each evening so they spent long hours on the phone just talking.
By the time Saturday came and she was dressing to meet him, she could hardly stand it.
She was going to sleep with him. Actually, there likely would be no sleeping involved. Just lots of calorie-burning, good sweaty stuff.
Naked stuff.
Oh yeah, naked stuff really worked for her.
And then after that, she’d be over it, over him. She could move on. That’s how it always happened, and that’s how it would happen here, too. She’d kiss him sweetly and leave.
And never see him again.
It would be mutual, of course; she held no great illusions about herself. She wasn’t anything special; in fact, she could be rather difficult, was a natural loner and not at all steady lover material.
Going over all of this in her mind, she drove to Jack’s house. He’d called her with directions, and although she’d suggested meeting at a school or a local gym, he’d laughed that off and said he wanted privacy for this.
Privacy. Sounded good to her.
As she neared his place, she wasn’t surprised to find herself in an extremely expensive area of Malibu. When she pulled into his driveway and stopped at the gate, she stared at the largest three-story glass-and-concrete beach house she’d ever seen.
She had no idea why it hadn’t really occurred to her that Jack Knight was one loaded guy. He probably had more money than she could dream of and more ways to spend it than she could count. Slightly uncomfortable, she pushed the buzzer and waited.
“Hey,” came his voice from the speaker. “You look good enough to eat.”
She looked into what she’d thought was a mirror next to a number pad but realized it was a camera. She laughed, because she was wearing surfer, not basketball, shorts—she hadn’t had any—and two spaghetti-strapped tank tops, one layered over the other. A beat-up old sweatshirt kept her warm in the early morning chill. Not exactly glamorous. She’d found socks at the last moment, and had them tucked into the tennis shoes hanging around her neck. “So do I need a passport to get in or what?”
“Nope, just a smile.”
She had that just from the sound of him.
The gate swung open to let her in. She drove up the ambling, curvy driveway toward the house, beyond which was her beloved ocean. She parked right in front of the steps and took in the sight. The property itself—acres and acres of green grass and naturally landscaped beauty—grabbed her by the throat and held on.
She couldn’t imagine having this much land to herself, with a private beach, clean of debris and people.
Heaven on earth.
“I’m way out of my league,” she whispered and, wondering if he had a butler and a maid and a cook and all that, she turned off the engine.
She firmly reminded herself she was here because they had a connection, a sexual one. It hummed and buzzed in her veins at all times, and it begged to be explored.
She wanted to explore him.
Plus, she’d spent too much damn money on basketball lessons, and the cheapskate in her wouldn’t let it go to waste. With all its might, her body hoped learning good basketball meant him having his hands all over her.
A lot.
No matter that her brain maintained that was a very bad idea…
10
; JACK JOGGED DOWN his front steps to meet Sam. “Uh-oh,” he said, and tugged on her hand until she got out of the car. “You have a certain look on your face.”
“Look?”
“Like you can’t decide whether to run away or not.” He tightened his grip on her fingers. “But I’ve got you now.” He took her tennis shoes—with the rolled-up socks sticking out of them—from around her neck and tucked them under his arm as they started up the steps.
“This place is huge.”
“Yeah, I like having lots of room.”
“It’s the size of a small country.”
“Just about.” He opened the front door and put his hand on the small of her back, mostly because he wanted to touch her, partly because he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just touch her. “Ready for some hard work?”
“Work? Is that what basketball is to you?”
“Was.” He smiled. “Today, you get to work, and I get to have fun.”
She eyed the foyer, which soared to the second floor. “What do you do in here?” She lifted her gaze, studying the huge, open space with all the window lights and fancy glass that lit the place so beautifully. “Play basketball?”
“Nah, I’d break the windows and then my decorator would kill me.”
She just looked at him, and he let out a little laugh. “I’m kidding. Well, sort of. Heather decorated this place for me, and now that I think about it, she probably would kill me if I broke something. So do me a favor and don’t touch anything.”
That made her smile, and he smiled, too. “Much better,” he murmured and pulled her in for a hug. “Can’t play basketball unless you’re smiling. That’s the first rule.”
She hugged him back. “What’s the second?”
“If I said you had to take off all your clothes, would you believe me?”
Laughing, she pulled away. “No such luck.”
They walked through a large living room, then the formal dining room he never used and into another open area where there was soft, sink-your-feet carpeting, a big-screen TV, three of the biggest couches on the market and a help-yourself bar. “The great room,” he said. “The hang-out room.”
She nodded, taking in the warm butter-colored walls filled with pictures and collages of his friends and family and the events in his life. “This is nice.”
