cast gets
here.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I
replied dryly as he squatted down and
repositioned our boards a few feet apart
in the sand.
He winked up at me, and I told myself
it was because the breeze chose that exact
moment to send strands of golden hair into
his eyes and not because he was being a
sarcastic asshole.
“I’m not being a dick, Wills.” He
patted the purple and white board and
motioned his head from me down to it. I
ran my tongue along the inside of my
cheek, jabbing the tender flesh hard, to
keep from telling him to fuck off. When he
cocked an eyebrow, I sighed deeply and
kneeled beside of him, in front of my
board.
“Don’t tell me we’re going to
meditate.”
“Remember what I said about people
in the film industry?” he asked.
“You hate them?”
He looked down at his turquoise and
red board for a few moments, frowning
like he was trying to make up his mind
about something. “Don’t fuck with me or
I’ll drown you,” he finally muttered. He
was grinning when he said it.
I clenched my fingers into the sand,
grabbing up two big handfuls.
“We’re starting with some basics,” he
replied, his blue eyes gazing at me fixedly.
“No going out for you today.”
“What type of basics?” I released the
sand from my fingers and dusted my palms
together.
“For some reason I feel like you
wanted to throw that in my eyes,” he
teased. I wrinkled my nose at him. “Lie
down on your board, on your stomach.”
Reluctantly, I stretched out on the
smooth surface, so that my face was an
inch from the retro looking Channel
Islands logo. Tossing my long hair over
my shoulder, I looked up at him in time to
catch his eyes raking over my body. Jesus,
this guy wasn’t the least bit concerned
about being obvious, was he?
“Maybe I should have brought my
bodyguard,” I snapped.
He shuffled over to me, repositioning
me so that my body was completely
centered on the board. As he worked, he
said, “If we went to bed together it
wouldn’t be on the beach. Though I plan
on seeing you in that exact position, fully
unclothed.”
I scoffed, twisting my neck to follow
his movements as he crawled around me
to examine my form. “Confident, are
you?”
He paused. “It was a hypothetical
statement, but as a matter of fact, I am.”
“Are you this hypothetical about all
the girls you train?” I asked.
He lifted one of my feet, spending
entirely too long touching his fingertips to
its arch, before he placed it down against
the end of the board. “Put your other foot
just like that,” he ordered. I complied, and
he added, “And no, I’m not like this with
all the girls I train because I don’t get
involved with my clients. At least, I
haven’t yet.”
Why did that sound so hot coming
from him in that accent?
“And what makes me different?”
He came around to face me, to study
me a little more. I felt totally exposed
lying there facedown, and I placed my
head between the diamond-shape made by
my outstretched arms. “Who said you
were?” he asked finally.
I didn’t immediately lift my head back
up because I didn’t want him to see the
flush that spread across my face.
For the next two hours, we worked on
Cooper’s basics: popping up on the
surfboard and form. After the eightieth
time of doing it—the point where I felt
like my legs and arms were going to fall
off from pushing myself up and standing in
a lunge-like position in the middle of the
surfboard—he looked pleased.
“Did you just fist pump?” I groaned
irritably as I turned over onto my back in
the sand. I gave the purple board a glare. I
didn’t want to see the damn thing for at
least a day or two—that’s how badly my
muscles already ached.
Smiling, he said, “Proud of you, Wills.
You’re getting there.”
I rolled my eyes as he began dusting
the sand off both our surfboards. “I didn’t
do anything,” I pointed out,
here.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I
replied dryly as he squatted down and
repositioned our boards a few feet apart
in the sand.
He winked up at me, and I told myself
it was because the breeze chose that exact
moment to send strands of golden hair into
his eyes and not because he was being a
sarcastic asshole.
“I’m not being a dick, Wills.” He
patted the purple and white board and
motioned his head from me down to it. I
ran my tongue along the inside of my
cheek, jabbing the tender flesh hard, to
keep from telling him to fuck off. When he
cocked an eyebrow, I sighed deeply and
kneeled beside of him, in front of my
board.
“Don’t tell me we’re going to
meditate.”
“Remember what I said about people
in the film industry?” he asked.
“You hate them?”
He looked down at his turquoise and
red board for a few moments, frowning
like he was trying to make up his mind
about something. “Don’t fuck with me or
I’ll drown you,” he finally muttered. He
was grinning when he said it.
I clenched my fingers into the sand,
grabbing up two big handfuls.
“We’re starting with some basics,” he
replied, his blue eyes gazing at me fixedly.
“No going out for you today.”
“What type of basics?” I released the
sand from my fingers and dusted my palms
together.
“For some reason I feel like you
wanted to throw that in my eyes,” he
teased. I wrinkled my nose at him. “Lie
down on your board, on your stomach.”
Reluctantly, I stretched out on the
smooth surface, so that my face was an
inch from the retro looking Channel
Islands logo. Tossing my long hair over
my shoulder, I looked up at him in time to
catch his eyes raking over my body. Jesus,
this guy wasn’t the least bit concerned
about being obvious, was he?
“Maybe I should have brought my
bodyguard,” I snapped.
He shuffled over to me, repositioning
me so that my body was completely
centered on the board. As he worked, he
said, “If we went to bed together it
wouldn’t be on the beach. Though I plan
on seeing you in that exact position, fully
unclothed.”
I scoffed, twisting my neck to follow
his movements as he crawled around me
to examine my form. “Confident, are
you?”
He paused. “It was a hypothetical
statement, but as a matter of fact, I am.”
“Are you this hypothetical about all
the girls you train?” I asked.
He lifted one of my feet, spending
entirely too long touching his fingertips to
its arch, before he placed it down against
the end of the board. “Put your other foot
just like that,” he ordered. I complied, and
he added, “And no, I’m not like this with
all the girls I train because I don’t get
involved with my clients. At least, I
haven’t yet.”
Why did that sound so hot coming
from him in that accent?
“And what makes me different?”
He came around to face me, to study
me a little more. I felt totally exposed
lying there facedown, and I placed my
head between the diamond-shape made by
my outstretched arms. “Who said you
were?” he asked finally.
I didn’t immediately lift my head back
up because I didn’t want him to see the
flush that spread across my face.
For the next two hours, we worked on
Cooper’s basics: popping up on the
surfboard and form. After the eightieth
time of doing it—the point where I felt
like my legs and arms were going to fall
off from pushing myself up and standing in
a lunge-like position in the middle of the
surfboard—he looked pleased.
“Did you just fist pump?” I groaned
irritably as I turned over onto my back in
the sand. I gave the purple board a glare. I
didn’t want to see the damn thing for at
least a day or two—that’s how badly my
muscles already ached.
Smiling, he said, “Proud of you, Wills.
You’re getting there.”
I rolled my eyes as he began dusting
the sand off both our surfboards. “I didn’t
do anything,” I pointed out,
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