Lorelie Brown - Riding the Wave

“Funny, she hasn’t asked me a thing.” He walked with his hand still at the back of her neck. A sun-worshipping beast, his face turned up a little toward the sky. If she didn’t know how much he lived for the water, between his golden hair and prowling way of walking she’d call him a lion.

Who’d apparently decided to claim her for the foreseeable future. There was no way of telling how long the attention would last, but she’d enjoy it while it lasted.

They agreed on a sandwich place tucked behind two tourist traps specializing in souvenirs, even as Tanner teased her that she needed something a little more substantial to put some meat on her bones—along with a sneaky butt grab.

She swatted his hand off her ass as she stepped into the shadowy sandwich shop. To be honest, she didn’t mind. What red-blooded girl would mind if a hottie like Tanner was paying her attention? Not her.

But then her feet jerked to such an abrupt stop, she almost slid out of her flip-flops. And Tanner ran smack into her backside. She spun, flattening one hand over Tanner’s chest. “Go, let’s go.”

“What? What is it?” He looked over her head easily, and the golden cheer fell straight out of his expression. “Son of a bitch.”

Cold, shivering fear wove through her bones. Jack and Mako sat a mere three tables away, each with subs and fries in red plastic baskets before them. He’d seemed fairly ordinary the other night, but today it was like seeing the boogeyman. Her stomach gave a disconcerting flip. She set her back teeth together, letting the slight pain of wrenching them tight hold her together.

Jack hopped up immediately, but Mako only rested his elbows on the table. He twiddled his fingers in a smart-ass kind of wave. His dark hair fell across his forehead. Wiry shoulders filled out a plain T-shirt.

She’d liked him better when she hadn’t known who he was.

Nobody could help to whom they were born. If that were true, she wouldn’t have been born to her mother, not by a long shot. She’d have picked a family more like the Wrights. Which meant she couldn’t bear to watch it fall apart.

Really, if Mako was Hank’s son, that meant he ought to have a place in the family too. It only made sense that he’d want to know them. Except he’d gone about it in absolutely the shittiest way possible. The Wright family guarded their privacy fiercely.

She urged Tanner back out the door. She didn’t really want to be anywhere around Mako. Her skin would like to stop crawling anytime now. But she couldn’t let Tanner start trouble in the middle of a public place, either. “You don’t want to do this.”

The fists at his sides said otherwise. His dark glower set his jawline in a sharp angle.

On the street, he turned and started to stomp away, but the slam of the mesh-screened door stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder.

Jack stood in front of the plate-glass window, his arms crossed over his chest. “Look, mate,” he said, his Australian accent lilting. “I know you’ve always had a bit of a problem with me.”

Tanner’s shoulders bowed up. The man could work some intimidation when it suited him.

Avalon ought to be afraid, or at the very least a bit disgusted. Good guys didn’t solve problems with fists.

The warmth settling between her thighs said otherwise. She wasn’t exactly creaming her panties yet, but they were most certainly warm. Because Tanner wasn’t exactly solving his problems with fists—despite his obvious frustration and anger, he was holding back. Every sharp line of his body popped with restrained tension.

The very promise of danger held back was enough to make her inappropriately happy for the situation.

She forced a cough into her fingertips but it did nothing to batten down the heat weaving through her.

When Tanner stepped forward, his arms thick, it only got worse. “You’re damned right I do. You’re a showoff, Crews. If the fancy cars and the interviews weren’t enough, you’re a showoff on the water too.”

Jack lifted his hands, palms out, to his shoulders. Both men had blue eyes, but Jack’s were vibrant. Avalon liked the pure calm of Tanner’s much better. “I’m not looking to cause more problems. But you ought to know the bloke’s not here for trouble.”

“You have no idea what’s going on here.” Tanner’s mouth twisted, the faint scar turning white. “So why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”

Jack flicked a look at Avalon out of the corner of his eye. He rubbed one hand over the artful scruff covering his jaw. “I do know.”

“Motherfucker,” Tanner muttered. He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

Avalon couldn’t stay away, not when he was so obviously upset. She wrapped one hand around his arm, but even his forearm had gone rock hard. The touch she soothed over his back didn’t seem to make a dent. He was still hard as steel beneath the worn cotton of his shirt.

“Like it’s not enough he talked to that fucking magazine,” he said, somewhere between a grumble and a curse. He didn’t sound happy at the idea at all. “Now everyone in the universe is going to know.”

“Thanks, jackass. Nope, I’ve no idea of how to keep a secret. Lips like your turns in the last WavePro surf vid. Sloppy.” Jack leaned back on his heels, his expression as sardonic as possible. His eyebrows knotted and his finely carved mouth quirked.

“Fuck you, Crews.”

“Thanks. You’re not my type.”

“Jesus Christ, get you two together and it’s like you’re both in the UFC, not the ASP.” Avalon kept her words light, but really she couldn’t allow them to keep going down that path. “C’mon, Tanner, let’s go. You owe me lunch.”

“First, wait.” Jack waved a hand. “Listen, Mako’s in town for talks to buy a T-shirt line. It’s no big deal, nothing to do with you and your family.”

Tanner shook his head. “You might want to believe that, but I know better.”

“But look, it can’t hurt,” Jack went on.

“What can’t hurt?”

“Meet with Mako.”

A few seconds ago, Avalon wouldn’t have thought that Tanner could have gotten any more wound up. But she’d have been wrong. He rocked forward on his toes, his fists rolling. “I already did, against my will. Like fucking hell is it happening again.”

Jack shrugged. “Fine. No skin off my nose. Figured it was worth a try.” He tipped a wave at Avalon, along with one of the devastating smiles he was known for. Everything else aside, she’d kill for the opportunity to photograph him soon. “Take care, Avvie.” He slipped back into the sandwich shop.

She rolled her eyes at the nickname, but Tanner didn’t. His brows lowered and hard-etched lines marked his mouth. “Avvie? You’ve never told me that’s your nickname.”

“Because it’s not.” She tugged him by the arm and at least this time he came along. Her stomach wasn’t even in the mood for lunch anymore, but they needed somewhere to go. So she detoured into the nearest pizza place.

Dark ocher walls were draped with fake grapevines along the top. Tourists filled almost every table, and lined up at the aluminum service counter, looking both exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Not to mention, sunburned. Most of them looked two shades short of melanoma burned.

At least none of them noticed the barely leashed fury of the beast at her side. Tanner focused his gaze toward the menu board, but he didn’t seem to be seeing it. “If that’s not your nickname, why did Jack call you by it?”

“Why does that guy do anything? To irritate and crawl under your skin?” She lifted an eyebrow even as she traced fingertips over the inside of his wrist. His pulse still pounded at a breakneck pace. “That’s not what you’re really annoyed over, so don’t even try to make it a big deal. Understand?”

Fisted hands at his sides, Tanner popped his jaw to the side once, then twice. He hadn’t liked the way Jack smirked at Avalon. The sidelong glance he’d slanted at her had aimed straight at her tiny ass and right over her head. She hadn’t even seen it.

Avvie. It was a stupid nickname. Sounded like someone who had seen Avatar twenty-five too many times.

His teeth ground together. “I don’t like him giving you nicknames.”

Her mouth tweaked into a knot that looked suspiciously like she was holding back a smile. “So many things wrong with that, I’m not even sure where to start.”

The menu hanging on the back wall had been designed to look handwritten. Tanner rubbed two fingers over his temple. Pizza by the slice, calzones, and salads. None of it looked remotely appealing. “Are you even hungry?”

Avalon shook her head. “Not really. Wanna blow this Popsicle stand?”

Avalon led them to the pier. When Tanner had been young, the end had been topped with a full-sized restaurant that served bacon cheeseburgers worth ditching class for. Now a much smaller building had signs for an ice cream and slushy shop, plus a bait store. But the extra space made for plenty of room for benches with birds-eye views of the waves. At midday, there weren’t many fishermen left but for a single crusty old dude bouncing between three poles hanging off the very end.

Tanner and Avalon staked out a spot to the south side, sitting quietly side by side.

“That guy’s going to cream it.” He pointed at a surfer in a bright yellow rash guard way below them. Wiry arms and the boy’s relative height to his board said he was probably in his early teens. The grommet was about to get quite a dunking.

Avalon’s head tilted a little. She rested her hand on his thigh as she leaned forward to look past the dark brown railing. A single finger trailed across his bare skin, below the hem of his shorts. The back of her shirt rode up again, baring tanned, creamy skin.