Riding the Wave (22 page)

But he took her mouth before the words had even hit the sand. A long, slow kiss that wound all the way down her body—and swept her away. She let her eyes drift shut, let herself go. Tanner was the man she’d never realized she was looking for. And they’d rescue each other, if they needed to.

But as she locked her wrists behind his neck and gave a little hop, Tanner grabbed her hips. He was her rock and her reassurance and her excitement, all in one. Her skirt rose scandalously high as he hitched her legs around his waist, as if he’d automatically known what she’d wanted. To be close to him. To be with him. To be
his.

Like she would make him hers.

A
sign installation should have been a no-big-deal kind of thing.

After all, Tanner had traveled the globe. He’d surfed fifty-foot waves in Punta de Lobos, Chile. Once he’d found himself less than fifteen feet from a great white shark. He’d had a huge career that meant people from all over the world admired him.

It’s not like there hadn’t been the Wright name on the building before. This was only a modification, not something brand-spanking-new.

And yet there he was, standing across the street, watching as the workmen adjusted the framework for the sign. He kept his thumbs looped through the back of his belt because that way no one would see them shake.

Christ, he was a big pansy.

But when Avalon ducked out of the storefront, then glanced up and down the street briefly before weaving behind the lone car, Tanner knew what was really going on.

He’d needed his girl at his side.

She looked absolutely amazing. Her hair had grown out a little bit, long enough that her ponytail trailed over
her shoulder and the ends coiled on the topmost curve of her breast. The white shorts she wore showed off legs tanned by her most recent outing to the South Maldives, where she’d been on a shoot for
SURFING
. As their newest stringer, she didn’t always get the choice gigs, but that one had been pretty good. Tanner would have gone with her, since he still grabbed the opportunity to make a few shots now and then, except he’d had too much to arrange for the school.

After all, it’d be opening in a matter of weeks.

He held out an arm to her and she tucked herself in along his hip. She fit perfectly with the soft sweep of her thigh along his. “I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.”

This day had been more than six months in the making, but kind of dreamlike at the same time. Tanner hadn’t been ready to put up the sign yet, though he’d bought his mom out months ago. There’d been too much else to get going. Admissions and standards and the fine-tuning of what exactly he wanted out of the experience.

He’d have the chance to still surf and shape the future at the same time. Not that that didn’t make him sound a bit egotistical. But whatever, it was the truth. The truth that Avalon had helped him find. He had a bit of an ego problem sometimes, yeah. Wouldn’t have had the balls to go after a World Championship without one.

But the trick would be guiding the kids under him. Not turning them into miniature Tanners. He didn’t get to dictate terms to the people around him anymore. And that was a damned good thing.

He rubbed up and down Avalon’s slender arm, but he wasn’t sure whom he was comforting.

Of course she caught on to his nerves. She spread her
hand over his stomach, giving him a pat. “Breathe. It’ll be okay.”

Even her presence was enough to make him feel like he could rule the world. Tucking a couple fingers under her chin, he turned her face up to him. The kiss he skated over her lips was more promise than anything else. The rest could wait ’til they were alone.

Except his feelings. Those didn’t seem to want to wait anymore. “I love you, Avalon.”

The green of her eyes flashed brighter. She gave a cheeky grin. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he answered, just like he did every time they played this game. He kissed her again, this time because he couldn’t help himself. “You’re everything to me. I’ll never let you down. Because you’re my heart.”

Her smile could lead him around by the soul. He’d have to make sure she realized that. If ever there was a woman who ought to know her own power, it was his Avalon.

She combed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back. Her touch worked through him in happy waves. “I love you too.”

“Good.” He grinned at her and took another kiss because she was his girl and that made everything right in the world.

“Oh!” she gasped as she pulled her mouth away from his. “You’re going to miss it.”

Tanner was of the opinion that everything worth having was in his arms at that very moment, but he looked anyway. Just in time to see the sign snapped into place. Sage had designed the simple black and white with a clean blue graphic of a single wave as a favor to her brother. Even the name was simple. Wright School.

Wrapping his arms around Avalon, he tucked her head under his chin. “Thank you,” he said.

She startled a little bit. “But . . . why? This is all your thing.”

He shook his head. Explaining himself was still difficult sometimes. But Avalon was worth trying for. “I know none of this would be the same without you.”

She smiled and turned back toward the storefront. “Good. I’m glad you know that.”

He laughed. The part of his woman that gave herself up to smooth things over seemed to be long gone.

And he was damned glad of it.

Read on for a sneak peek

of Lorelie Brown’s next sexy Pacific Blue Novel,

 

AHEAD IN THE HEAT

 

Available from Signet Eclipse in February 2015.

S
ean Westin had been to physical therapists before. Once, he’d sprained his knee on the North Shore of Hawaii and had to check in with a therapist near his home turf in San Sebastian for three months. That guy had worked out of a standard stucco-walled complex across the street from the hospital. The building Sean pulled up in front of was about as far from a doctor’s office as humanly possible.

Sean double-checked his in-dash GPS. Right address. The California bungalow was where he was supposed to show up. The place looked more like a cottage than an office. There was a shallow porch decorated with white wicker chairs and a multitude of potted plants, which bloomed green or sprouted pink and blue flowers. Cupolas peeked out of the shingle roof, hinting at a second story. Lining the front of the porch were bushes with purplish pink blossoms the size of Sean’s fist.

Getting out of the car wasn’t pleasant. He moved slowly, bracing himself as he reached to unbuckle the seat belt. Didn’t matter. A dull ache of pain spiked from his collarbone and radiated down his shoulder. The black
sling he wore inhibited movement. The doctors said he’d need to work on mobility if he wanted to be able to regain his spot on the surfing World Championship Tour in time to keep his ranking in the top half of competitors.

He wanted to regain his spot.

He wanted to like hell. His entire career had been about consistency and determination. He had the skills, and he also had the means to move up.

This should have been Sean’s year. The reigning champion, Tanner Wright, had retired to open a surf school and boink his supersweet girlfriend, so the rankings had all been given an exciting shake-up. If Sean didn’t move into the top ten this year, he’d have to take a good, long, hard look at what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be the ’CT winner.

Sean wouldn’t allow that. It didn’t fit his plans.

A six-inch plaque by the doorbell confirmed yet again that he was in the right place. S
ANTA
B
ARBARA
R
EH
AB
on the first line. A
NNIE
B
AXTER,
DPT
,
was inscribed below. He rang the doorbell, but there was no response. He rang it again, hearing peals echo through the small house.

He wasn’t completely surprised, since he didn’t have an appointment. But he did have information that said Annie Baxter could always be found at her offices on Saturday mornings because she ran an unofficial drop-in program for disadvantaged teenagers.

He sighed, but damn if that didn’t send another spike of pain through him as his shoulders shifted. He ground his back teeth together. He needed to talk to Baxter. It wasn’t too much to expect the doctor to be where she was supposed to be.

A hollow wooden sound caught his attention. Even though he hadn’t heard the noise in person for at least
five or six years, he’d have known it anywhere. Skateboard wheels rolling over wood. More particularly, over a wooden ramp.

It was coming from the back of the house. He followed the echo down the porch stairs, then down a path lined with foxtail grasses, which were lush and verdant despite the barely waking spring.

The backyard was skater heaven. The Japanese wave painting Sean could never remember the name of decorated the sloping sides of an empty old-school-style pool. At the far end, a ten-foot-tall half-pipe filled the only bit of spare flat land.

A kid dropped his board from the table into the vert, knees bending into the dip. He slipped effortlessly back and forth, getting higher and higher until he finally launched into the air at the other end. He kept it easy, barely touching his board as he flew. He wore a helmet and a dark blue hoodie, which swallowed his small frame and contrasted with his slim-cut jeans.

Sean waited as patiently as he could until the skateboarder came to earth and drew to a stop. “Hey, bro, have you seen Dr. Baxter?” The skateboarder paused for a second before pulling off the black helmet and turning around. Stubby dark-haired ponytail. Delicate features with wide-set eyes.

Sean immediately rearranged his assumptions. “Sorry. I mean—may I have a moment of your time, Dr. Baxter?”

One finely arched eyebrow lifted even higher. “I don’t deal with pros.”

Being recognized wasn’t anything new for Sean. The first time, he had been at the mall in Brea, eating tacos at the food court, when a couple dudes fell all over
themselves talking about his first Prime tour win. And that had been before his pro career really took off, when he’d still been biking himself to the beach on the weekends and returning home to his mother’s filthy house.

He hoped he never really got used to being famous. Because, damn, did it still feel good. His chin lifted and he probably smiled some. The hot satisfaction lifted his mood so high that he almost forgot about the constant throb that arced through his shoulder.

“So, you know who I am?”

She made a soft little
psh
sound and tucked her helmet under her arm as she started toward the back door of the house. “Everyone in California knows who you are. And everyone who knows surfing knows you were drunk and shouldn’t have been on the water. Not to mention what the fallout could do to your career.”

That was the downside. Everyone
did
know what a douche he’d been in Bali. He’d been drinking mai tais with a pretty waitress, and he had taken a rollicking turn toward trouble from that moment. He knew he should have never surfed, but he had done it anyway because he was such a fucking sucker for a pretty face.

His fists curled, but he immediately drew a deep breath as he tried to loosen up. Tight meant pain lately. He’d learned his lesson.

“Then you know how desperate I am for help.”

She slanted a gaze at him out of the corner of her eyes, dropping her board to the ground and her helmet on a folding chair. “I’ve heard hints.”

“I have a tweaked collarbone. It’s causing some shoulder impingement. There’s more technical stuff, but I’d have to have the files sent over to you. I have six weeks. I can’t let recovery take any longer than that.”

The laugh she dropped into the air between them sounded almost bitter and completely disbelieving. Her mouth was small but plump. She was kind of small all over. If she stood next to him, she’d only come to his sternum. “Recovery for a collarbone injury could take up to sixteen weeks. Maybe longer if you’re foolish and push yourself harder than you need to.”

“I can’t allow that.” He moved toward her, but not too close. Women were delicately balanced creatures, and there was a fine line between charming and an icky kind of invasive. “Six weeks keeps me out of competition at Bells Beach and in Rio. I’m missing the Margaret River Pro this very minute. Six weeks means I’m in the water in time for Fiji. I have no choice with Margaret River and Bells Beach, and I’m going to have to choke that up. I can probably even afford zeroing August’s event. Probably. But I have to get back on the ’CT by Fiji. I can’t afford to drop out of the top twenty-two. Considering that I’ll still be in recovery, I’ll have a hard enough time requalifying for next year.”

“I can give you references to three very good physical therapists. They have a practice on the other side of San Sebastian.”

“I don’t want very good. I want
the best
.” And according to every bit of research he’d culled in the week since his injury, that was Annie Baxter.

But she didn’t give a crap. She wasn’t even bothering to look at him, which was like nails on a chalkboard to Sean. He thrived on attention, and he usually got it. He wasn’t above admitting that.

She pulled the blue sweatshirt off, revealing a cream button-down shirt with minuscule puff sleeves. Even though the blouse was completely feminine, the way it
was paired with slim, low-slung jeans emphasized her distinct lack of curves. She had little breasts and boyish hips. Exactly the opposite of Sean’s type, but that didn’t seem to matter when he looked at that mouth of hers. Adorably filthy. “Then you’re screwed.”

But Sean knew there was one thing Dr. Annie Baxter cared a whole hell of a lot about. Finding info on that had been dead easy. He tipped his head down, looking at the petite pixie, and he found himself using his silkiest tone of voice when he said, “Do you want your drop-in center funded?”

Her eyebrows flew up toward her hairline as she whipped back to face Sean. “You’ve got a spare three million sitting around?”

He smirked. Everyone had a price, even if they thought themselves the noble type. It was only a matter of finding it. “I do. Do you want it?”

She gave another of those laughs and stuck her hand out, palm up. “Sure. Right here. You can make the check out to the Clear Ride foundation.”

“Nothing is free.”

She dropped into one of the wicker seats, hands resting on the arms. Her legs stretched out in front of her, as short as they were. She crossed them at the ankles and laced her fingers in front of her stomach. Her buckle was round and yellow with a black X across it. “You mean to pay me three million for physical therapy for a collarbone injury?”

“Sure. Is that an X-Men belt buckle?”

Bright red washed across her cheeks, making her look both older and younger at the same time in a mix of innocence and chagrin. “I know, I know. I’m a total geek.”

He shrugged but instantly regretted it when pain smacked him upside the shoulder again. When he pushed too far, the hurt washed all the way through his chest and upper back. He was gonna be schooled out of shrugging right quick. Fuck, he was tired. “I recognized it. That’s gotta be equally geeky.”

She didn’t answer for a long moment, and at first Sean wondered if he’d gone too far. He’d never been a hundred percent sure which side of the social line he walked. It wasn’t like he’d had a normal childhood, which was when most people learned normal human interactions. He’d come from shit. Literally.

“Do you know
why
I’m the best?” Her eyes narrowed and a line knit between her straight brows. “Because I’ll own you. Your diet and your exercise. How many times a week you get to surf. Whether you’ll go running or do a stair-stepper. How much you stretch and
precisely
when you do it. How often you see me or any other
anything
. Including massages.”

“Deal.”

“Including sex.”

“Deal.”

She scoffed. “You’re fucking full of it. This is one of the reasons why I don’t work with pros. You’re too damn full of yourselves. You don’t even stop to question whether you can handle it.”

His impulse was to cross his arms over his chest, but of course that was out. He settled for widening his stance and tucked one hand in the pocket of his slacks. “There’s one thing you don’t understand. I
will
stay in the ’CT this year. The only question is whether I permanently fuck myself up in the process.”

Her mouth set into a mulish knot, but she pushed up out of her chair and stepped toward him. “You’re an arrogant, foolish asshole.”

“I am.” He grinned because he knew her body language: unwillingly intrigued. “But I’m an arrogant, foolish asshole who’s your patient.”