He shrugged as he propped his board up next to the door. He dug a key out of the pocket on the inside of his shorts, then unlocked the door. “Changed my plans.”

The house he’d rented was pretty awesome. Definitely a step up from the WavePro flophouse he’d shared with seven other surfers his first years after breaking with his dad. The beachside house was cool and dim after a morning of hard work. He fished a Powerade out of the fridge, then chugged it down while he leaned against the marble counter. He was shedding sand everywhere probably, but it didn’t matter. The floors through the lower level were all made of reclaimed wood in small, highly polished rectangles that looked and acted like tile. It could take a beating and only look better for it.

Avalon followed him inside a moment later. “Thanks for the invite.”

“WavePro made sure you didn’t need one.”

Her bag went down on the counter next to him. He’d seen that dark gray canvas bag so often the past couple days, it felt almost as familiar as his own skin. But this time, there was something different. The corner of a black portfolio case poked out the flap this time. He tugged it free another couple inches. “What’s this?”

“My work.”

“Let me see.”

She grabbed a glass from an overhead cabinet while giving him a slant-eyed look. “I don’t take orders well.”

He hadn’t even known he had the stubby, flat-sided glasses she grabbed. The rental had come fully furnished, and it wasn’t a tiny place. There weren’t a lot of rooms but they were all spacious, airy, and perfectly decorated. Easier that way when he only needed it for a month. But at the same time, it was more comfortable than a hotel room.

When his kitchen wasn’t occupied with a faintly hostile female, that was.

Though he fully admitted part of that was his fault. He should have taken her surfing with him. It was bound to happen eventually. But between seeing both Jack and Mako, and then the shit Mako had sprung on him . . . He needed to take the edge off, pretty much.

He could go for a lot more time on the waves alone too.

She poured orange juice into her glass, then leaned against the far counter. In a kitchen as big as this one, that put plenty of distance between them. The smile that curved her mouth was all sharp angles and a tiny bit of contempt.

“Please, let me see your pictures,” he gritted out.

“Sure.” She grinned, but hid it behind the glass of juice. Seemed she liked making him twist. “Go ahead.”

He tugged the case free, then flipped it open. The shots were beautiful . . . but cold, in a way. Bright blue ocean, surfers doing their thing. Some of them were black-and-white and gritty in a style he’d seen a million times before. All very competent. “Nice,” he eventually said.

She put her juice down with a clink. The tendons climbing up the back of her neck popped into stark relief as white lines carved under her cheeks. She silently walked across the kitchen, flipped her portfolio closed, gathered up her camera bag, and then walked out of the kitchen without saying another word.

Shit, there was only one way to interpret that one. He’d hurt her feelings in a way he hadn’t meant to at all. In the heavy silence of the room, he sighed.

He couldn’t let it go. There was a vast difference between her being annoyed with him because he’d snuck out to surf or stolen an inappropriate kiss and her being actually hurt.

He found her in the living room.

She’d laid out two cameras, including their waterproof housings, and was quietly wiping away sand. Her mouth had acquired an upward turn, but it didn’t look real. Almost as if it had been scribbled over her real expression.

He leaned a shoulder against the stucco wall. The paint was cool and rough. “Look, I’m sorry.”

The look she angled up at him from under her brows seemed intentionally blank. She was sharper than that. He much preferred her being a smart-ass.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She snapped a lens from a camera body, then pulled out a soft brush. “Do you think you’ll be surfing a set again this afternoon? One I can actually photograph, I mean.”

“About your pictures. They’re nice, really. As good as anything I’ve seen in Surfer.”

“You said that.” She flashed another smile. “It’s fine. I get it.”

Something didn’t add up. “What do you get?”

Her mouth twisted into a bitter knot, but her gaze dropped to her hands. “Same shit I’ve been hearing from everywhere around me. I’m missing the spark. Fine for commercial. Maybe I should stick to magazine ads. But, you know, fuck that noise. I’m not giving up.”

“No one said you should.” Shit, the last thing he needed to do was give her more ammo, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’m not giving up on my goals, either.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Says the man who’s one competition away from winning the World Championship, pretty much. Good to know you’ll stick to it.” Her voice practically dripped sarcasm.

He wondered if she’d be quite that snarky if she knew her thin shirt revealed quite the view. Her breasts were small enough that she’d gone without a bra. There was nothing beneath her worn-soft T-shirt but her bare skin and the gentle swells of her breasts.

“Yeah. Make fun. That’s fine,” he managed to say.

He was probably one injury shy of over-the-hill. Didn’t it figure that the first time he managed to admit it to someone, she’d blown him off?

The hamstring injury that had kept him away from San Sebastian last year had been no joke, no exaggeration. Maybe previous years he’d made excuses to stay away, but not a year ago. No one but his physical therapist knew how hard it had been to come back from that injury, either.

He wasn’t some green kid fresh from the juniors anymore. Not made of rubber. If he didn’t nail the championship this year, he was pretty sure he’d never get another chance and he wouldn’t forget that.

One World Championship might be enough for most people. But he’d been twenty-one when he’d won his, barely conscious of a world beyond the nose of his board. Now he wanted to go out on top.

Retire in his thirties. The idea was a joke. But that was what he wanted. Take life all sorts of easy. Coronas on the back deck of a beach house, no more physical therapy or training or watching every move.

He scrubbed a hand over his head, breaking loose some of the sand. “Whatever. Not so easy for us old guys on the circuit, either.”

She snorted. “Old? Kelly Slater is forty-one.”

But he’d already walked out of the room, headed up the stairs to the master suite. There was a walk-in shower with his name all over it. He flicked the spigots on, then yanked his board shorts down and tossed them over the hamper in the corner. Then remembered he’d left his towels on the bench at the foot of his bed.

A surprise waited at the door to his bedroom. Avalon had followed. Bright red flashed over her cheeks. She slapped a hand over her mouth.

But she didn’t look away, either. Her eyes sparkled.

Tanner picked up one of the fluffy, dark gray towels from the bench. Deliberately, he took his time flicking it out, then wrapping it around his hips. Avalon bounced on her toes, excitement buzzing through her very pores.

“Can I help you?” he purred. The last thing he should do was sleep with her, not while she was officially covering him for WavePro but he didn’t mind setting the groundwork for later, either. Avalon was too luscious to pass up.

She lowered her hand but had to tap her sternum once or twice as she coughed. The red finally faded from her cheeks. “The door was open. I didn’t think . . .”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t let me stop you.”

She coughed again, glancing off to the side. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know you’ve had a few injuries. They must be getting harder and harder to bounce back from.”

Christ, that was true. He didn’t want to think about them any more than he had to, but that was why he had to win this year’s championship, why he couldn’t give up even a handful of points. He wasn’t likely to have another shot.

That didn’t mean he needed to listen to Avalon tell him how he was over-the-hill, either. He turned his smile sharp. “Don’t tell me you’ve been following my career.”

Another hot wash of pink rolled over her cheeks, even as she puffed an annoyed breath and flicked a glance up at the ceiling. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Except he’d seen it. The quick flash that gave her away. “Holy crap, you have.”

Then she genuinely laughed. “God, not like that. Don’t make it any more than it is. You’re Sage’s brother and I already have to keep up-to-date for market research. That’s it.”

He tucked the towel a little more snugly around his hips and looked out at her from under his brow. Was she really so relaxed, or was that her pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her throat? “You sure about that?”

In half a second, her eyes went wide and her lips parted on a quiet gasp. “Oh gee, Tanner. Don’t make me say it. How I’ve always felt.”

He couldn’t help but step forward, close enough to smell her sweet fragrance. “How’s that?”

“I’ve felt—” She rose up on her toes. The wash of her breath sent goose bumps down his neck. “I’ve felt like you were a huge jackass with an ego too big for your own good.”

With a giggle, she patted his cheek, then swished her way out of the room. Her ass twitched with each step she took, laughter echoing along behind her.

Tanner couldn’t help but chuckle as she walked away. Yeah, he’d deserved that one.

He tossed the towel onto the rack by the shower and stepped into the glassed enclosure. Water struck him from both sides, steaming away the stiffness of a morning of surfing. More proof he wasn’t as young as he used to be.