Sun Kissed (Crane Series) by Nancy Warren Page B

sand that had stuck to his chin. When he was focused on something other than getting her into bed, he could be a lot of fun, she decided, as they flapped their arms around and pretended they were perched on waves rather than sand-bound.
    “Okay,” he said, paddling his muscular arms while her own were already tiring, “you’re paddling for shore, right?”
    “Right.”
    “When you feel the wave grab the back of your board, jump to your feet and squat. Like this.” He jumped and crouched there, looking like the real thing with the balanced stance, feet moving like a fencer’s, arms out to the sides. “Okay,” he said, “you try.”
    It wasn’t so hard, except she didn’t feel like a surfer in control of her board; she felt dork-like and tippy. It was bad enough on the sand—she couldn’t imagine doing this with water wobbling away beneath her.
    “All right,” he said after they’d practiced about fifteen minutes. “Ready to have a go?”
    “What, already?”
    “Sure.”
    With a deep breath she rose and removed her sarong, the glasses, the hat, even the shoes. There was a leash that attached her board to her ankle, which she hung onto as she pushed and dragged her board, fighting the waves and the “soup,” the white choppy water after the break of a wave. By the time he told her to stop, she was soaked and the salt stung her eyes, but the water was warm and she was out of the office and doing something she’d always secretly dreamed of trying.
    “Right,” he said after they’d let a few waves go by and she thought she could let quite a few more go. “Here comes a wave. Ready? Up you get.”
    She scrambled to her feet and was tossed off the board like the cork out of a pop gun. Before she knew it, she was underwater, gargling salt water. When she dragged herself to the surface the tip of her board emerged, looking like the ocean was sticking out its tongue at her. She felt like making a rude gesture back. Cam didn’t laugh. Merely grinned. He made her try again. And again. Her arms were sore, her knees were scraped raw by the board, everything ached, but she was absolutely determined she was going to lick this thing.
    She set her jaw and listened to every word of advice Cam had for her. When she finally caught a wave and managed to ride it from her squat position she felt as though she were flying. The exhilaration had her whooping for joy, until she was dumped once more. But she didn’t care.
    “I did it,” she yelled at Cam, “I surfed.”
    “You did,” he yelled back, looking almost as pleased with his student as she was with herself. She jumped back on her board and paddled back out.
    “Getting tired?” he asked.
    “No. I want to go again.”
    Three more times she managed to squat-surf, out of about twenty attempts. She was exhausted, and this time when the surf spit her out, she let it. Dragging herself and the board to the sand, she collapsed on her back and closed her eyes. Her chest heaved, her skin felt crispy with drying salt, her throat and nose were salt-sore, every muscle ached. She let the sun warm her, breathed the balmy, sweet-smelling air, and decided she wasn’t moving for a very long time. A shadow fell across her face, and, knowing it was probably Cam, she ignored it. Harder to ignore was the full body kiss, when he laid himself right over top of her and kissed her softly, and with surprising sweetness. She opened one eye a slit.
    “What was that?”
    “Kiss of life.”
    “I’m not dead.”
    He grinned at her, devilish and silly and lovable. “See? I did a good job.” He kissed her again, at the junction of throat and neck, and she felt his stubbled chin, the firm, surprisingly warm lips, and the wet lick of his tongue. “You taste like someone took the salt shaker to you,” he said.
    “I feel like they took a meat mallet to me. What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Tasting you.”
    He moved slowly down to where her breasts swelled above the top of the suit,