didn’t stop him wanting to have that time again.
Now.
The waves broke around his ankles as he sprinted into the sea and dived through the break, the invigorating brace of cold water slicing through his musings but doing little to obliterate his need for her.
He should have known this blasé flirting as a ploy to distract himself from the impending catch-up with his folks would morph into something more.
He had a feeling nothing would dull this ache for Callie. Nothing less than indulging in a mind-blowing physical encounter designed to slake his thirst and get this thing out of his system.
He could have damped down his need, could have kept things friendly and continued on his casual flirting way, if she hadn’t blown his mind in the shed.
She wanted this too.
She’d had a choice and she’d made it, leaning back into him, pressing against him, showing him she felt the buzz too.
He’d been stunned, considering the way she’d aborted their kiss a few hours ago. This time, why had he bolted?
As he sliced through the water, free-styling as if he had a shark on his tail, he knew.
Last night, when she’d divulged all that heavy stuff about her mum and he’d held her for ages comforting her, he’d started to feel something. He’d felt that sitting on the deck of his home for ages, with a woman he seriously cared about, content to just sit and not talk, was kind of nice.
It was the first time he’d ever been in Torquay and felt like staying. And that terrified him more than any Great White. He wasn’t a stayer. Even for a woman with doe eyes and a soft touch.
He rolled onto his back, letting the swell take him. He closed his eyes, savouring the sun warming his body.
This was where he felt at home. In the ocean, with all the time in the world to float, far from people he’d trusted who hadn’t returned the favour.
This was where he belonged.
Then why the urgent pull, like a rip dragging him where he didn’t want to go, that said belonging to Callie mightn’t be so bad after all?
* * *
Callie felt like a trussed-up turkey in the wetsuit. She hated the way the rubber stuck to her skin. She hated the way it moulded and delineated every incriminating bump, and she particularly hated how it made her feel.
Like a novice floundering way out of her depth.
She didn’t like floundering. She liked staying in control and staying on top and staying in charge.
She’d lost control once before. And the reason was staring at her with blatant appreciation as she trudged towards him.
‘By your foul expression, I’m guessing a wisecrack about rubber and being protected isn’t in my best interests?’
She glared at him. ‘I’m here under sufferance and you damn well know it.’
She could have sworn he muttered, ‘You weren’t suffering in the shed,’ but didn’t want to call him on it.
She didn’t need a reminder of the heat they’d generated in the shed. Not if she wanted to stay upright on this stupid piece of fibreglass for more than two seconds.
Errant, erotic thoughts of Archer were guaranteed wipe-out material.
She yelped as something brushed her ankle—only to discover Archer grinning up at her.
‘How about a crack about keeping a wild woman on a leash?’
She let him fasten the cord attached to the board around her ankle before nudging him away with her foot. ‘How about I crack you over the head with one of those boards?’
He laughed, straightened, and unkinked his back. ‘Just trying to get you to loosen up.’ He added a few side stretches. ‘The looser you are, the easier it’ll be to get the feel of balancing on the board.’
‘I’m loose.’
She took a step and tripped over the leash in the process. His hand shot out to grab her, and even through the rubber his touch sent a lick of heat through her.
‘You okay?’
An embarrassed blush flushed her cheeks. ‘Let’s do this.’
Concern tinged his glance before determination hardened his mouth, and she wondered if this was his game face—the one he used pre-competition. If so, she wasn’t surprised he’d won the world championship five times.
He pointed towards the sea. ‘We’re in luck. Surf’s up today and the waves are off the hook.’ She raised an eyebrow and he winced. ‘Habit. Surf-speak for the waves being a good size and shape.’
‘Gnarly dude,’ she muttered, earning a rueful grin.
‘We’ll concentrate on the basics today, and see if we can catch a wave or two.’
Basics sounded good to her. Basics wouldn’t involve tubes or rips or drowning, right?
‘I’ll break it down into steps and you copy, okay?’
She nodded and he dropped down on the board on his front, leaving her with a pretty great view of a rubber-moulded butt.
‘You’ll need to be in this position to paddle out.’
Got it, she thought. Paddling...butt...
‘Cal? You planning on joining me down here?’
With an exasperated grunt at her attention span—not entirely her fault, considering the distraction on offer—she lowered herself onto the board and imitated paddling.
‘Nice action,’ he said, and her head snapped up to check for the slightest hint of condescension.
Instead she caught him staring in the same vicinity she’d been looking at a moment ago, and a thrill of womanly pride shot through her.
‘Next is the pop-up.’ He demonstrated going from lying on his board to standing, all in one jump. ‘And gaining your balance.’
He held his arms out to his sides, looking so perfectly natural on the board it was as if it was an extension of his feet.
‘Now you try.’
And try she did. Over and over again. Until her arms, knees and back ached from her lousy pop-ups and her pride absolutely smarted.
Though she had to hand it to him. Archer was a patient teacher. He praised and cajoled and criticised when needed, eventually getting her from the sand into the water. Where the fun really began.
‘Don’t worry if you get caught inside,’ he said, paddling alongside her.
‘Huh?’ she mouthed, concentrating on keeping her belly on the board so she didn’t slip off as the swell buffeted.
‘It’s when a surfer paddles out and can’t get past the breaking surf to the calmer part of the ocean to catch a wave.’
‘Right.’ She tried a salute and almost fell off the board.
‘If you do, you can try to duck-dive by pushing the nose of the board under the oncoming wave, but it’s probably easier just to coast back into shore and we’ll try again later.’
She nodded, knowing there wouldn’t be a ‘later’. She reckoned she had enough first-hand experience now to facilitate the online forums. Perching on top of a wave wouldn’t give her much more beyond a momentary rush of adrenalin.
‘Follow me.’
And she did. Until she got caught inside, just as he’d predicted, and ended up paddling back to shore, where she gratefully dragged the board onto firm sand, plonked her butt, and watched Archer strut his stuff.
The guy was seriously good—cresting waves,