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Risking It All
Stephanie Tyler


Sassy heroines and irresistible heroes embark on sizzling sexual adventures as they play the game of modern love and lust. Expect fast paced reads with plenty of steamy encounters.Playboy surfer… Documentary maker Rina Calhoun had filmed risk-taking daredevils before, but no one like the delectably hot, deeply exasperating Cash. Mystery man… Enigmatic Cash refuses to let her record his dangerous stunts. Still, it’s not just his obstinacy that’s keeping Rina awake at night… Soldier hero! Cash’s secret life as a navy SEAL has him deep undercover.As Rina stumbles into the line of fire, he’ll risk everything to save her. But will it be enough?







“I never get involved with badboys like you.”

His hand closed around hers. She liked the power of his grip, decided that she might want to feel his hands on other parts of her body, too.

“Well, that’s good,” Cash replied, “because I don’t get involved with good girls.”

“How do you know I’m a good girl?” Rina asked.

“Trust me. I know.” He grabbed her arm when she pitched forward. “Let’s get you to your room safe and in one piece.”

“I’m not inviting you inside,” she said as she fumbled in her bag for the key.

“I think I should walk you back to your friend at the bar.”

“Why? So you can prove to everyone how uptight I am?”

“Now, that doesn’t even make sense,” he said.

“And neither does this.” Rina took Cash’s face in her hands and planted a bold kiss on his lips. His arms snaked around her waist and he deepened the kiss. She didn’t want him to stop. Ever.


STEPHANIE TYLER

writes what she loves to read – steamy romance with military heroes and happy endings. But she has long since given up trying to control her characters, especially the Navy SEAL alpha males. She lives in New york with her husband and her daughter. you can find out more about her by visiting her website, www.stephanietyler.com.



Dear Reader,

Pushing limits, going to extremes, taking risks… all of these things were going through my mind as I began to write RiskingIt All.

When Cash, a Navy SEAL who likes to indulge in big-wave surfing, walked onto the scene in my debut Blaze® novel, Coming Undone, I knew I had to find him a heroine of his own. So what happens when you mix a woman who’s afraid to take risks of her own with a man whose whole life involves taking himself to the very edge of danger?

Rina Calhoun is a driven documentary filmmaker focusing on seemingly ordinary people who do extraordinary things, always wondering what drives them to the extreme and wishing she could follow suit – and her dreams.

Since I’m a big believer in following your dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem, here’s to risk-taking! And, of course, falling in love…

Enjoy!

Stephanie

PS I love hearing from readers – please come on over and visit me at www.stephanietyler.com!




RISKING IT ALL


BY

STEPHANIE TYLER




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Zoo, for always being my hero.


1

THE MAN THE OTHER SURFERS called Cash was about to bring Rina Calhoun to an orgasm and he wasn’t even in the same room. Not in person, anyway.

She had to remember to thank him for that. Later. After she was done watching him fly through the deep blue waves in all his perfect, lean-muscled glory on the celluloid big screen. After she’d caught her breath and composed herself, since she’d already locked the door and turned down the lights completely, and after she’d made her own copy of this segment of the videotape to take home with her for those long, lonely nights.

Whoever said documentary filmmaking had loftier, more satisfying rewards than making money was definitely onto something.

Someone that talented on a surfboard, someone with that much…balance, well, such prowess had to extend to other areas, didn’t it? The thought of that extreme talent translating into the bedroom made the small area, where she’d been working all afternoon, suddenly stifling. In spite of the air-conditioning. The film equipment, which included various industrial computers, always ran hot, but this was ridiculous. She pulled her long hair back and off her neck and fanned herself with the folder that held the contract and terms of the short documentary.

Where on earth did the cameraman find this guy? He was the best part of this footage, which was saying a lot since it focused on filming some of the biggest waves she’d ever seen and the surfers crazy enough to hang ten on them.

Cash’s segment focused on demonstrating the evolution of the sport into something called extreme surfing. The cameras had followed him and others as they were towed into the most dangerous waters she’d ever seen, and showcased them riding the waves out. And occasionally, wiping out. Hard.

Very, very hard chest. And arms. And abs.

She couldn’t stop following his every single move. He mesmerized her by the way he swam, talked, moved as if he walked on water and owned those waves. In command and in control, the type of man she’d always fantasized about, but was never able to find in real life. Because, in the light of day and off the screen, most of the bad boys she’d met were really just plain bad, and did nothing to live up to their hype. The only thing they did tend to do was believe their own press. That was part of the reason she went for the calmer ones, with steady, regular jobs and steady, regular techniques in bed.

Which was why she was still unattached and unsatisfied. The perennial, hard-working good girl. And all work and no play was smothering her, until today.

She fiddled with the knobs on the control panel, bringing in sharp contrasts between the waves and Cash. She used a series of slow-motion special effects to make it appear that the wave was spraying the viewer the way it had apparently sprayed the camera screen. Zoot, the cameraman, must’ve been very close to the action on this one. And she could tell that filming Cash had been a last-minute decision, since Zoot’s attention, and the bulk of the film he’d dumped on her, had been of jet skiers and body boarders.

This video was the intended fourth in a series of documentaries, all of which fell under the heading, Going to the X-treme: Bigger, Faster, Better. This portion of the series dealt with the extreme side of water sports. She’d been the editor for the entire series, which included segments on drag racing, parachuting and bungee jumping. But nothing she’d seen so far in her year on this project brought her as close to the edge as Cash had.

She didn’t understand how something that dangerous could still hold the moniker of sport, but she had to admit that watching it was exhilarating. To actually be the one on the surfboard must be an adrenaline rush like nothing she’d ever considered experiencing.

She rewound the tape again, added a graphic and, save for the sound sweetening, she was done with the rough cut of the last segment. The most important segment, the piece that was always completed first, since it set the tone of the entire video for the editor. The piece that had to be shown to Vic for approval, because even though he trusted her, he was a control freak, and ultimately, the one in charge.

The doorknob rattled, and a voice called, “Are you alone in there?”

“Sort of,” she called back, and propelled the chair on wheels across the short distance to unlock and open the door. Stella Taylor stood on the other side balancing containers that held their lunch and two sodas. She wore a bikini, a pareo and smelled like suntan lotion.

“Oh, good, I’m starving.” Rina grabbed the food from Stella and placed it on a desk, away from all the equipment. She took one of the cold sodas and placed it against her cheek. “I see you’ve had time for the beach.”

“Hey, I needed to go over the post-production script. I needed light. And you’re way too preoccupied with your work,” Stella said, as only Stella could. Immediately, Rina knew her friend was morphing from scriptwriter to budding mystic and astrologer, and prepared herself for the coming lecture.

“Funny, I thought we were sent here to work,” she countered.

“All work and no play will not help your aura. You need another outlet.”

“You’re not going to pull out the tarot cards again, are you?”

Stella eyed her. “You don’t need a reading, sweetie. You need to get laid.”

“Enough.” She put her hand up before her friend could continue. “I don’t need sex right now. I need to finish this video because we need to get our grant.”

She did not want to edit X-treme videos for the rest of her life. The money and the experience were both great, but it was all just a stepping stone to the big prize—the annual grant contest sponsored by the World Film Organization.

Rina wanted to showcase people who made a difference in the world, and by doing so, she’d also be making a difference. It was her Uncle David’s legacy, a continuation of the work he’d started but had never completed. By submitting part of this footage, along with pieces she’d shot herself and Stella’s narrative in a mini-film version of this particular X-treme video—well, this would be the most important part of their grant application.

“And we will get it. But you really need to give your karma a shine. And I think he’s exactly the one to give it to you.” Stella pointed to the freeze-frame close-up of Cash, and Rina cursed herself for not turning off the footage before opening the door.

“My karma’s fine.”

“Your karma hasn’t been cleansed, so to speak, in over six months, and even then it wasn’t properly shined.”

Leave it to her friend to bring up her last relationship, which Rina could admit to herself was less than satisfying on many different levels. “I’ll bypass the bad boys. You go for it.” But even as she said it and motioned to Cash, her stomach tightened.

You’re pathetic.

“So you’re telling me that this guy does nothing for you?” Stella asked, arms crossed as she continued to stare at Cash’s image.

“I didn’t say that. But he’s not my type.”

“Because he’s not boring and predictable?”

“I prefer to think of my past boyfriends as stable.”

Her friend sniffed indignantly. “Many of the men I’ve dated are stable.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s a word I associate with a grown man who skateboards off the roof for fun.”

“I’ll have you know that Dan did that because he was practicing a new stunt. Besides, we broke up and I know you too well. Whenever you want to avoid talking about your love life, you bring up mine. Nice try, though, but I think that surfer’s definitely the one to break your dry spell.”

“The only thing he’s going to do is help me make this video the best one yet. And I thought you’d agreed to swear off bad boys to cleanse your own karma?” she countered, and Stella sighed with momentary defeat.

“Did you get the end done?”

“I did. And you’ve got to see it.” Rina rewound the tape to the spot, as she’d done at least a hundred times in the last hour or so.

Stella glanced at the screen where Rina had paused the video on an image of Cash, full-on, staring straight ahead toward the camera and smiling. Then Stella stole the remote from Rina’s hand while simultaneously pushing Rina’s chair out of the way to get a closer view. “I can’t wait to write this copy,” she murmured.

“Hey, I’m not done editing yet.” Rina snatched the remote back out of her friend’s hand. “Besides, don’t you have our grant proposal you’re supposed to be finishing up?”

Stella sat down, opened her sandwich and still didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “It’s all finished. The only thing left to include is a copy of the most kick-ass piece of work we’ve got.”

“It’s this one, Stel.”

“Nothing at all to do with the hottie on the board, right?”

Rina grinned. “Maybe just a little.” But she certainly wouldn’t do anything about it. A fantasy never hurt anyone—it was when you got to know the guy that the fantasy was ruined. Keeping him on screen guaranteed that he’d stay the perfect man. It was easier that way. She didn’t need to get bogged down in a bad relationship, couldn’t afford to have her focus torn away now, when she and Stella were so close to realizing their dream of being their own bosses.

Rina wasn’t the type to have her head turned by a pretty face anyway. Part of it was her inherent shyness, and the other part was the intensity with which she approached her work. It was an odd combination that didn’t sit well with many men. Or any men, if her past relationships were a means to judge.

Instead of spending time looking for love and having relationships, she and Stella had been furiously dedicated to getting the funding to one day make the documentary that would put their partnership on the map. Rina had been involved in documentary filmmaking since she’d graduated college, and she’d taken internships while she’d still been in school. She’d met Stella on one of those jobs, both of them nothing more than glorified gofer for the gofers, but in between coffee runs and changing camera batteries, they’d bonded. And they’d learned everything they could about short filmmaking.

The main topic of their shared thesis for the grant proposal dealt with the psychology of danger, and showcasing the way that ordinary people were pushed to do extraordinary things. So getting a chance to work on this X-treme series was a fantastic wrap-up session for both of them.

“Your uncle would be proud of you, Rina.” Stella smiled at her, put a hand on her shoulder, and Rina knew Stella was right. Her Uncle David had been the one to put the camera into her hands in the first place, the one to show her how and why pitch was important, the one to recognize her talent for drawing people out in front of the lens.

David had been killed by a land mine while filming a rebel outbreak along the Western Tanzanian border where it met Burundi when Rina was just fifteen. He’d also been one of the earliest journalists to embed with troops, long before the term was actually coined and the concept became popular.

Things were never the same in her family after that. Her mother tried to put her children in a protective bubble, especially after Rina’s father died a few years later and her aunt went wild and ended up impulsively marrying a Navy SEAL who was as much, if not more, of a wild man than her uncle had been.

And Rina had done a little of both extremes, a little pushing of boundaries and then retreating to safety. And, as much as she wanted the grant proposal to go through, as much as she wanted to travel and see the world and meet extraordinary people—people who made a difference—and continue her uncle’s work, she was scared.

One year behind the camera on projects that pushed men and women to their physical limits and beyond hadn’t helped matters any. A good filmmaker had to keep an emotional distance from the subject on the other side of the lens, and her fear of getting involved, pulled in to any of that, helped a great deal on this project. Impartiality, being able to look at what the subjects were doing with a critical and non-judgmental eye, was crucial.

Rina wasn’t sure what had happened when she saw Cash, but nothing would beyond watching the tape pretty often over the next few weeks, anyway.

Her uncle would have pushed her hard to get that grant as soon as possible to go into Africa and begin shooting the first segment in the proposal. And she was scared to death at the thought of moving forward like that, and of telling her mother her plans.

Cross that bridge, and a few oceans, when you get to it. Her uncle had been passionate enough about his work to put himself out there, at risk. When the time was right, she’d need to rise to the challenge. Until then, just getting to that opportunity took up her focus.

“My uncle would be out there on the board himself,” she said.

“Maybe that surfer could show you a few moves. Loosen you up and remind you that there’s more to life than what happens behind the scenes.”

“I’ll leave the wild-child act to you, okay?”

Stella shook her head. “Well, at least hurry up and show the video to Vic. Like, this afternoon would work,” Stella urged.

“Not going to be a problem,” she murmured, more to the man named Cash than herself, who still smiled at her from the screen. “Not going to be a problem at all.”

“WE’VE GOT A not-so-small problem,” Vic said, and her heart sank.

Rina stared at her boss, who’d managed to find the loudest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen and pair it with bright orange swim trunks. How everyone else on this project managed to slip time in for vacation while she’d been holed up in this cubicle was beyond her, but now wasn’t the time for complaints. “Okay. Tell me.”

“This is shaping up to be the best video in the series. The best work you’ve ever done,” he said, and she waited, held her breath because so far she hadn’t heard anything that constituted a problem. “But Zoot’s assistant never got a release form from one of the surfers. That guy named Cash.”

Without a signed release form, she wouldn’t be allowed to use Cash’s face on film. These days, many people even balked at being a faceless image on a screen, and Vic insisted on signed releases for everyone captured on film in his video productions.

Her stomach sank and she could literally feel her big chance slipping through her fingers. She fisted her hands in an attempt to stop that from happening.

“Are you sure? Maybe the paperwork just got misplaced.” She heard the panic in her voice and she wished Stella was here with her instead of with Zoot in a jeep headed to the other side of the island.

“I’m sure. You’ll have to cut him out.”

“Vic, cutting him out is going to ruin everything,” she said. Everything. It would also require days of work, and the video just wouldn’t have the same impact.

Cash’s face—and her career dreams—flashed before her eyes. To have to hire a big-name surfer would cost money the production company didn’t have, and their focus on this particular line of videos was not to showcase pros, but rather, rabid fanatics of the sport who wanted to turn pro and devoted all their time and energy to it.

“I don’t see any other choice.”

“I can track him down,” she said, and Vic sighed and shook his head.

“The footage was shot only yesterday morning over in Oahu, near the Pipeline,” he offered reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean you’ll find him there.”

“How could Zoot and Keith forget to get a release?” she asked, because the main cameraman on this series was usually far more on-the-ball about these things.

Her boss shrugged. “Keith said one minute the guy was there, and the next, he was gone.”

It was worth a shot trying to track him down. Because this film—this great film—was getting submitted as part of her grant proposal. The film was the part of the package that everything hinged on.

No way was she letting this go down without a fight. “Besides yesterday’s location, any idea where I could start to look?”

Vic handed her a piece of paper. “This guy runs a surf shop. Supposedly, he knows everybody who’s anybody in that area. If your surfer’s a regular, you might have some luck.”

“I KNOW CASH,” the man the natives called Bobo said.

Rina clutched the counter so hard she thought she’d leave dents. “Do you know where I can find him? This is really important,” she told him, but suddenly, everyone in the crowded surf shop seemed to have some sort of opinion on her wayward subject.

“Cash doesn’t live on the island. Dude comes here a few times a year to surf,” another man called out from the back of the store where he was setting up a display of surfboards.

“No one knows what his deal is, but the man can hang ten with the best of them. Could go pro if he wanted to.”

“Rumor has it he’s rich as hell, living off his inheritance and beach-bumming around the world,” surfboard display guy said.

“Another rumor says he’s got some kind of criminal past and he’s island-hopping and hiding from the feds,” a customer added, while Bobo rang up his purchases.

“I’m not sure you’re his type.” A tall, cool blonde, the opposite of everything Rina was, approached the counter and looked her up and down. “He likes blondes.”

“Don’t listen to her—she thinks everyone likes blondes,” Bobo said. “Cash is equal opportunity with women. He likes them all.”

“I’ll just bet,” she murmured, because that was par for the course with the men in these videos. Rina had learned from Stella’s example, since her friend had found out the hard way. She’d fallen for one of the drag racers from their first documentary in the series. It had been one of those “you’re so perfect for me, baby” scenarios, which left Stella floating on air. Until the creep never called her again.

Stella decided to quit trying to find true love, and to stick with flings with bad boys. That way she kept her heart uninvolved, while Rina vowed to stay away from guys all together. She realized that most people who did extraordinary things with their lives had problems staying in any kind of relationship—never mind long-term ones.

Taking risks with the camera was one thing, but taking risks in her personal life was another matter entirely.

According to her family, Rina’s whole career choice was a complete crapshoot, and far too risky for their tastes. They’d wanted her to do something safe, didn’t see her career for what it was—a calling. A love. Something she couldn’t possibly give up, even if she wanted to.

“Look, I don’t want to sleep with him. But I really need to find him as soon as possible,” she said, and explained about the video.

“Crews are always coming through here. You wouldn’t believe how often things like this happen. Cameras get so involved in filming that they forget the technicalities,” Bobo said, shaking his head as if it was all her fault.

“So, you can help me then?” she asked.

“Hang on a second,” he replied, rifling through some papers behind the counter. “Today’s your lucky day, lady,” he said proudly. “I’ve got some equipment on back order that I have to send to him. So I’ve got his address. His hotel’s address. But I’m not sure if I should give it out to you.”

“I’ll make sure your shop gets a lot of air time in the documentary,” she offered. “In fact, I think my cameraman interviewed you.”

“They all interview me.”

“This one had purple hair.”

“Now that one, I do remember.” He sighed. “I guess Cash can take care of himself. Just send me a copy of the tape when you’re done.”

She promised him she would, and once outside the shop, pulled her digital camera, complete with video capabilities, from her bag. She shot the shop at a few close-up angles that would fit in perfectly with what Zoot had captured so far, and then she worked it from across the road.

When Bobo himself stepped out of the shop and went into the small alleyway to the right, she got another great shot of him helping to unload what looked like surfing equipment from a serious-looking salesman.

The surf-shop owner was going to be thrilled at the exposure, she thought as she quickly copied the images onto two separate mini zip drives and stuck the originals in the small inner compartment in her bag. She’d lost film before, thanks to mechanical failure and other unforeseen events, but none of it had been nearly as important as anything to do with this particular video.

She wasn’t taking any chances on losing footage this time.

CASH’S CELL PHONE vibrated against his thigh, and he pulled the device out of his pocket and answered without bothering to look at the number. “Waves were killer,” he said, and the captain of the boat, who’d been out with him all afternoon while he tried to tackle some of those waves, gave him the thumbs-up.

Yeah, it was all about the image out here.

“Problem.” Justin’s voice crackled in his ear, the man’s drawl thicker, the way it always got when he was unhappy. “There’s some chick here taking pictures of our favorite man. Says she’s a documentary filmmaker.”

“Cool. Shouldn’t be a problem, dude,” he said, because the captain was still listening and because he knew it would annoy the crap out of Justin. One of them should be having some sort of fun this afternoon and dammit, it was going to be him.

“Dude, she was also asking about you. Wants to track you down.”

“Yeah, well, they all do.” He rolled his eyes and mouthed women to the captain, who laughed. And then Cash turned toward the back of the boat under the pretense of staring at the swells.

“According to Karen, she practically begged for your information. And I don’t want to hear your bullshit about how you’re used to women begging,” Justin continued.

“Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night. Or get enough of anything.”

“Bite me,” Justin muttered, and Cash laughed.

“What’d she get?”

“Hotel name. She’s there now. Leaving you her cell number.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Pretty. Dark hair. Not your type,” Justin said.

“Yeah, not like Karen.”

“Don’t even go there,” Justin warned him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. And you shouldn’t, either. Ever hear the old saying, ‘don’t dip your pen in the company ink’?”

“Karen’s technically not in my company. And I’m not about to listen to a lecture about my sex life, or the world of relationships according to Cash while I’m dressed like a goddamned tourist and sweating my balls off.”

“I’m just telling you to pick someone different.” Cash was no monk, not by a long shot, but when it came to women, there were a lot of guys who were much worse. “Can’t you grab the footage from her and be done with it? I’ve seen you pick a pocket or two when necessary.”

No harm, no foul, and Bobo’s face would stay out of the press until the DEA took him down next month on their timetable.

“I’d steal her camera, but Karen doesn’t want me to. She wants you to deal with it,” Justin said.

“I’ll take care of it, but I don’t understand what this woman wants with me.”

“Karen said something about you being in a surfing video. That you needed to sign a release.”

“I was caught on film?” Cash cursed softly under his breath.

“Brah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Bad enough she got Bobo, but I don’t think having your face plastered everywhere flying through the deep blue sea is going to make anyone we know happy.”

“Yeah, definitely not.”

“Want me to trail documentary woman until she finds you?” Justin interrupted. “It’s either that or I pick her up and she gets held by the DEA till it all goes down.”

Cash ran a hand through his hair, realized they only had three more days left on this assignment, and then the mothership of the SEALs would be calling them home. “But that could be weeks away. Besides, we’d have to hold her and her whole group, too.”

“Karen’s prepared to do that if necessary.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood to babysit anyone. Look, I’m on my way to paddle out and catch some waves at the main beach anyway. Tail her until she makes contact,” Cash instructed.

“Then it’s up to you to use your charms to snag that tape.”

“Hmmm, I get all the rough assignments,” he said, hoping he could simply poach the footage from her bag, somehow, without having to get involved any further.

“And I get to pound the pavement all damned day. From now on, you ask for my help, I’m not taking the shit jobs,” Justin threatened.

He laughed. “Not my fault you always refused my surf lessons in favor of those dumb bikes.”

“Wait, next time I get leave, I’m actually going to take it. On my dumb bike.”

“Like you know how to relax.”

“I’m planning on relaxing in a few hours, in fact. My own personal version of the night shift. So hang ten, brother,” Justin said before clicking off, and Cash wondered just how big a screwup this new plan could prove to be.


2

THREE HOURS and four beaches later, Rina was hot, exhausted and about to give up, call her mom and tell her that she’d been right—she should’ve gone to med school or law school like her brother and sister, because she was fairly certain that neither of them were currently searching out strange men on a beach.

Along the fifth stretch of beach, Rina saw the gaggle of high school girls gathered at the water’s edge. She let her gaze follow the horizon, saw the surfer they all watched cutting through the waves and cruising toward shore in what was left of the early evening light.

That has to be him. And just like that, the search had proved worth it. Forget med school. Forget everything else.

Her throat tightened, her pulse raced and she took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the butterflies in her stomach.

Cash emerged from the surf, water running off his tanned body. Tall, lean, with neon-blue eyes, blond hair longer than she normally liked on men and slicked back from his face. He looked even better here in person, wearing only a pair of blue trunks that went down to his knees and hung off his hips. Hung so low that she could probably pull them right off without using much strength.

This meeting promised to be…interesting.

From where she stood, right at the water’s edge, she put her hand up and gave him a small wave to gain his attention. He’d already focused his gaze on her, didn’t hesitate to walk right over to her, bypassing the group of girls who giggled and called nice ride. This could actually be a fantasy come true. She pictured her and Cash rolling together in the foaming surf, sun setting in the background, Cash saying her name as he peeled her bikini top off her body.

“Hey,” he said casually, and she was so glad she’d worn her bikini for this little meet-and-greet. Her tiny, blue-flowered bikini that she ran five miles every morning to look good in because she was blessed with curves instead of eat-anything-you-want slimness. And she’d finally learned to embrace it, even if the blonde at the surf shop had given her a moment of self-consciousness about her body.

Cash looked like he appreciated it, too. He checked her out without bothering to hide it, and then sent her a half smile as he stuck his surfboard into the sand next to him.

“Are you Cash?” she asked.

“Depends on who’s asking.” His smile just devastated her and this was all so inappropriate. She was supposed to be working. Keeping her mind on her future, not picturing herself in a tangle of arms and legs, caught up in some kind of sandy Cash sandwich.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Rina,” she said. She couldn’t place his accent. It wasn’t fully Americanized, it had a touch of something else. A bit of a British accent, maybe?

Whatever it is, it had to be the best voice in the world. Low, husky, soothing. Keep him talking….

“What’s your name short for?” he asked.

“Carina,” she replied. She’d never used her more formal name, having been nicknamed almost at birth by her sister. “What’s Cash short for?”

“What can I do for you, Rina from New York?”

“How did you know I was from New York?”

“Your voice gave you away.” He leaned against his surfboard with one arm, used the other hand to trace a slow caress down her cheek toward her lips. It left a trail of cool, salt water, and she licked the corner of her mouth without thinking. He grinned. “Do you need surfing lessons?”

“No. I’m a documentary filmmaker,” she began, and wondered when the heck she’d become so stupid-sounding, like some schoolgirl who didn’t think before she spoke.

You have got to get out more.

“So, documentary filmmakers aren’t allowed to surf?” he asked, as he took his hand off her cheek and shook the water out of his hair. There was still a wide grin on his face that told her he knew he’d made her blush, and that he liked it.

“Um, I guess we are. But it’s not something I’m really interested in learning.”

“You sure? You’re dressed for it, and the water’s beautiful today, especially for your first time.” He started to ease the bag off her shoulder as he gestured toward the ocean, and it would be so easy to let him take her out into the waves.

“I’d just slow you down, but thanks.” She pushed the bag back up to her shoulder.

“I’m pretty patient,” he said, moved in a little closer to her, and she knew that had to be a complete lie. The man radiated energy from every limb, like a panther on the prowl for something. Or someone.

She rubbed her bare arms with her palms. “I’m going to have to pass on the lesson.”

“So, what are you interested in then?”

“You,” she said, and she wanted to sink into the sand the moment she said it, although Cash was smiling at her again. A wicked kind of smile. He was throwing her right off her game by living up to the larger-than-life image the way she knew he would.

She took a deep breath. “Let me start over. I’m editing a documentary on big-wave surfing. The cameraman on the project shot some film of you yesterday, over at the Pipeline….”

“Man, those waves at Pipe were killer,” he said then, turned to check out the waves currently crashing to shore. “I got rocked a few times.”

“I noticed. Didn’t that hurt?”

“Part of the thrill. Line between pleasure and pain, love and hate,” he said, and oh, how she wanted to cross that line now. Meeting him in person had somehow changed everything for her. “I don’t remember seeing you yesterday.”

“It wasn’t me behind the camera. I’m just the editor on this project.”

“I didn’t know I was being filmed.”

“Well, you looked great in the video,” she said, and he smiled when she blushed again. “I mean, your surfing form looks great. Not that I know much about surfing, but you made me want to learn more about it.”

“So I inspired you, then? Even though documentary filmmakers don’t surf?”

Yes, inspired was the one word she’d definitely use. “It does you justice.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. It definitely highlights all your…abilities.”

“Not all of them, Rina,” he said and oh, my God, what was she supposed to do with that?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“From what I’ve learned about the surfing world, having companies sponsor you is the only way to make a living at it as a professional,” she said.

“I’m not a pro.”

“Not yet. This documentary will do it for you though. Maybe you’ve seen the video series this is going to be a part of. It’s been showcased in some pretty big markets—the first one got high ratings. It was all about drag racing and it’s called X-treme Sports.”

He groaned, and she had a sinking suspicion that things were about to go off the rails. “You’re not spelling extreme with an X, are you?”

“Yes, we are.” She’d cringed when the project had first been pitched, but it had strong commercial appeal, based on the widespread popularity of these kinds of sports. Discovery Network was optioning the series, as well. This was a significant chance to get her name in front of some important people and they could put a bow on it and call it a pig for all she cared, as long as the end result of grant money was the same.

“It’s worse than I thought. And, for the record, I can go slowly when I need to. When it counts.”

She ignored his comments and pressed on. “You never signed the release form, and I can’t use you in the film unless you sign off. And I’ve got the paper right here,” she explained, holding it out toward him.

“Can’t,” he said, shaking his head after a momentary glance at the form. And suddenly, with the threat of her best video crashing like the surf, all bets, and thoughts of taking this man to bed, were off. Over. And, after pulling an all-nighter to get the film ready for Vic’s viewing, her patience, always in short supply to begin with, was gone.

“Why not? I mean, it’s all legal. It only says that we’ve got permission to use your images.”

“I don’t want in,” he said.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of compromise,” she suggested, mentally calculating the amount of effort it was going to take in order to cut his scenes completely from the tape and still hand it in to the producer on time.

“Afraid not.” He grabbed his board and tried to move past her, but she blocked his way.

God, he was big. Broad shoulders, broad chest, and he really did tower over her. And he didn’t look happy. “If I have to take you out of the video, it’ll ruin everything,” she tried.

“You don’t give up, do you?” he asked.

“Never. What can I do to convince you?”

He sighed. “There’s nothing you can do, honey.”

“Look, this could be a big break for you,” she implored.

“But I’m not looking for a big break.”

“I don’t see a reason why you’d say no,” she argued. Unless he really was a criminal with something to hide. Either way, she’d have to resort to begging and pleading. “Please, I’ll do anything….”

Wait, had she said anything? Because she certainly hadn’t meant anything, but it was out there and Cash wasn’t about to let it go.

“Anything?” he asked. He’d cocked one eyebrow and his gaze swept over her.

“I didn’t… I won’t sleep with you….” Not now, anyway. If he’d brought it up earlier, when she was still drooling and her fantasy hadn’t disintegrated, who knew?

“I didn’t ask you to. You’re the one who brought it up,” he interrupted her stammering explanation. “Do you always proposition men to get them to sign release forms?”

“No!”

“So I’m just one of the lucky ones?” he demanded. “Maybe I should talk with your boss because I’ve got a bad feeling about this, like even if I say no, I’ll still end up on that tape.”

“I wouldn’t do that. It’s not legal.”

“Well, you seem desperate enough to do anything. Said so yourself.” He grabbed the release papers from her hand and studied them for a second.

Yeah, the surfer named Cash had something to hide. And he was making her see red. “All the information’s on that paper. Company name, contact information. I’m not desperate enough to do something illegal. But truly, I don’t see what the huge deal is. This is a win-win situation for both of us.”

“Not for me. If I don’t sign, you can’t use my image and that’s your tough luck. Not my fault if you can’t find someone as good.”

“You know, all of you X-treme types are alike,” she said, making sure to put extra emphasis on the X, and enjoyed seeing him wince. “You all think the world should bow down to you, like you’re all something special.”

He shrugged. “Obviously, your videos wouldn’t get produced if others didn’t feel the same way. But that still doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with you in exchange for using my image on film.”

“I’m not sleeping with you, either,” she said, a little too loudly, because the group of teenage girls, who’d moved nearby, giggled. And she thought she heard one of them say that they’d sleep with him without any problem, and yeah, Cash would no doubt take them up on it, jailbait or not.

“Well, that’s settled then. Unless world peace depends on it, this is a no go.”

“My future jobs depend on it. But that’s something you wouldn’t understand,” she stated, unable to keep the anger from bubbling up. And it was so damned easy for him to throw away something that her future was riding on.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, his laid-back surfer attitude disappearing, his blue eyes darkening.

“It means, you can go back to your surfer-dude, beach-bum ways or your criminal ways or whatever ways you have and not worry about the rest of us who actually have to work for a living.”

He stared at her hard for just a second, and then he was back to being cool, calm and collected. “No one says, surfer dude, anymore.”

“Thanks for your help. All of it. Especially since I won’t be able to quote you on it,” she fumed. “Just go be with your waves, because I wouldn’t want to interfere with letting you ride another one or hang ten or whatever it is you do with your life.”

He took a step toward her so there were mere inches separating them, kept his voice low. “And what you do with your life is so all-fired important?”

“More than playing some trumped-up version of a water sport.” She grit her teeth so hard her jaw ached, the anger pumping through her faster than she knew what to do with it, except aim it at the guy who’d caused it. Sure yes, there was always next time, but to come so close and have it ripped from her grasp hurt too badly.

“You know, it must be so easy to make judgments from that side of the lens, splicing the story together to make sure all of it fits together seamlessly. Perfectly. But real life’s not like that.” He ran a hand over her bare shoulder and her body reacted before she pushed his fingers away. But it didn’t stop him. “Real life’s dirty. Messy. Imperfect. But you’re too uptight to let go and enjoy those parts.”

“I’m not uptight,” she said as every muscle in her body screamed with tension. And he had the nerve to laugh.

“Really? Are you sure? Because right now, you look like the dictionary definition,” he said.

He grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it in the sand when they’d started arguing and held it and the release papers out to her. She grabbed both from him and crumpled the papers in her fist.

“I’m calling your boss about this,” he said over his shoulder as he’d turned to walk away.

Then she opened her mouth, came up blank and flipped him off instead. He just shook his head at her and threw his free hand in the air.

“Thanks for nothing,” she finally muttered and stomped up the beach.

Things were so much easier behind the lens, and that’s exactly where she was headed. It was time to cut Cash right out of the video and out of her thoughts. Permanently.


3

THREE SEPARATE FIGHTS with three separate surfers, all of whom kept trying to drop in on his territory, and one broken board later, Cash cursed his way back into the boat. His using several different languages to mix together a nice, potent string of words made even the captain of the boat whistle in appreciation.

“Haole, I think I need to start writing this stuff down,” he said. “The Wahines are getting to you.”

“I need another board,” Cash demanded of no one in particular, grabbed one from the corner of the boat and started waxing it up. He was going to catch another ride if it killed him. And he was not going to think of women or wahines or whatever else they were called.

“Surfboard climb up your ass on that ride, brah?” his friend and surfing buddy, Mike, asked as he jet skied up to the bow of the boat, tied it off and climbed aboard. “You seem uptight.”

Mike was a native Hawaiian, lived, worked and raised a family on the main island and was always ready for some major surfing when Cash came calling. They’d been up since before dawn, searching for the perfect swells, and now, as the sun shone his mood only worsened.

“Me? Uptight? Me?” Cash asked, before he threw the disk of sex wax across the boat.

“Yeah. Just a touch.”

You’re supposed to be pretending to be on vacation, dude, so chill the hell out. Don’t blow this.

Cash shook his head, took a deep breath and got his shit together. “Sorry, man. It’s nothing. Nothing important.”

It shouldn’t have mattered how upset Rina was about her film, because he had his own problems. Beyond that, he didn’t do the “oh you’re my savior” kind of thing. He left that part of the job to Justin and some of his other teammates who had that gift for helping women and coming out the hero. His chosen path of just steering clear always worked out best in his personal life. When he was on the job as a Navy SEAL, then sure, he needed to come out the hero, and so far, he’d been lucky.

Beach bum my ass.

Normally, it didn’t bother him when someone made assumptions about his life. And it especially shouldn’t have mattered what the hell Rina thought because it was his duty to get the tape and disappear from her life. But there was something about her, something that had stopped him from pulling his regular “come to bed with me and I’ll show you my stick” line of bullshit that seemed to get to most of the women who approached him.

Then again, most of the women who approached him were looking for one thing and one thing only, portraying a big wave surfer for this current job didn’t discourage them. For the purpose of this mission, he was simply known as Cash, the rogue surfer, and no one but the DEA—and Justin, his partner in crime and SEAL team member—knew he was actually here as part of a Gray Ops mission to bust a major drug runner. And he’d screwed up majorly by letting his emotions get the better of him yesterday when he should’ve been picking Rina’s pockets.

Gray or Black Ops missions were common enough in the Special Forces community. Usually, they didn’t involve a major Government Agency like the DEA, but one of Justin’s childhood friends who’d recently made agent had gotten him involved with an offer neither man wanted to refuse.

The money was good, the experience and networking even better and the rush the best part of it all. Cash would stay with the SEALs as far as the teams could take him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in the military once he got sidelined. The higher up the ranks he climbed, the less action he was going to see—a fact of all military life, and he planned on keeping all his options open.

Most of the women who hung around the beaches and weren’t serious surfers themselves weren’t looking for much more than a good tan and great sex, and that was fine by him. A lot of them were already taken, too, married or otherwise, and to them, Cash gave the impression of being a walking, talking vacation, twenty-four seven. He did nothing to try and change this perception of himself, because it didn’t matter. It was all part of the pattern.

A pattern he blamed on his mother’s love for Johnny Cash, the singer. It was an ironic twist of fate, since her son wasn’t sure any woman would ever be able to walk the line for him. His mother hadn’t been able to for his father, and that betrayal always stayed with him.

Rina didn’t fit that pattern at all. Dedicated. Determined. And those serious brown eyes that noticed everything. She was adorable, even when pissed off, her accent deepening.

He flexed his hands as even now he thought about running them along the swell of her breasts until she said his name in a way that signaled passion, not annoyance.

The fact that he was still bothered about her had him tossing and turning last night after he’d followed her back to her hotel, told him something was definitely up with this one. And that it went beyond needing to grab that tape she’d recorded at the surf shop. The one she’d likely ditched at her editing facilities before hitting the beach, but after Justin had moved onto other surveillance as per the DEA’s orders.

He and Justin had come up with an alternate plan to grab the footage of the surf shop, once Cash assured him that Rina was a filmmaker and not any kind of undercover agent herself. Cash would run interference with Rina. Justin would grab the Bobo footage, as well as the footage of Cash. Which would mean getting the keys, since the industrial building that housed the documentary’s production offices would be a real bitch to break in to and attracting attention was not a main goal.

There was no way Cash could be seen in that video, even if it did somehow hold the balance of her future as a professional filmmaker, like she’d said. He’d worked too hard to screw it up on something like that. Besides, he didn’t need the ego boost, no matter how hard she’d tried to sell him on the idea.

The DEA would have his ass if he messed this up now, and his CO would take the rest and stomp it if Cash allowed a traceable image of himself on film that was possibly distributed worldwide.

He didn’t remember being filmed yesterday, but then again, when he was being pulled into some of the biggest waves Pipe had to offer, he was more concerned with getting his adrenaline rush and coming out in one piece. Because his CO would kill him if he came back from vacation hurt. And really, he could understand that, since his job necessitated that he be ready for action at a moment’s notice.

Still, putting himself—and keeping himself in danger was all part of the game to keep him sharp, to let the fear find him so he could conquer it over and over. He liked to meet life head on on a daily basis, to stay busy enough so he didn’t have to think about the one thing he refused to meet head on.

Besides, it would be too big of a blow to his pride to let a wave—or anything else—take him down. He’d been battling them, and the stormy past they represented, for a while now, and as long as he could keep his head above water, he was winning.

And he was all about winning.

“Hey, can you take us to shore? There’s someone I’ve got to find,” he said to the captain of the small boat even as he muttered something about now he hated having a goddamned conscience under his breath. The day had been a bust, anyway. Nothing to see out here but waves, and unfortunately, waves weren’t the only thing he had left to find.

“I thought we were surfing,” Mike said, once Cash was through having the conversation with himself, and the boat had turned around. The salt sprayed their faces as the craft picked up some serious speed.

“We are,” he said. “You’re just going to do it for the camera today.”

RINA HADN’T BEEN ABLE to do anything at all with the film. She’d worked through the better part of the night before she’d finally given in and slept with her head down on her arm on the console, then woken up with marks from her watch on her cheek and a bad attitude. She’d tried to fix the video with a determination she hadn’t even known she’d possessed. But, in the end, even Stella, normally her biggest cheerleader, had to admit that it just wasn’t good enough.

Rina knew she was going to have to reconfigure the whole thing, and that she and Stella would need to choose something else to send in with the grant proposal. None of the other men fit in with the theme of hero as well as Cash had, and she shook her head at the irony of that, especially since her hero turned out to be some kind of shady character.

Typical.

Five days in Hawaii and her one trip to the most beautiful beaches on earth had turned into a complete and utter disaster.

Stella had eventually dragged her away from the editing room, forced her to shower and put on something fun and cute. And then they’d gone to dinner, but ended up with an hour’s wait at most places, and settled in at the nearest bar instead.

“You’d better slow down, or you’ll never be able to fix that film in the morning before we leave,” Stella told her. But Rina batted her friend’s back away when she tried to take away the Mai Tai.

The third, very strong Mai Tai she’d had over the course of two hours. “Stel, maybe if you talked to him…”

“From what you said, he sounded pretty adamant about it.”

“But you’re his type.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re every man’s type. Tall. Thin. Blo-o-o-ond.” She strung out the last word and Stella laughed.

The two women looked as opposite as night and day, and Rina often bemoaned Stella’s tall, slim figure while she had to work to keep her own curves under control. Stella also had long, blond hair and deep green eyes that had men drooling after her. Rina had always done fine with her share of guys, but if Stella wasn’t such a good friend, she might seriously hate her.

“It was your job to convince him. Besides, you seemed very proprietary,” Stella reminded her.

“Not anymore,” she said. “Not when he’s an arrogant, obnoxious, ‘look at me I’m a surfing God’—”

“Talking about me?”

She almost fell off the stool when she heard that low, sexy “do it to me baby” voice behind her.

Hold it together, she told herself firmly. You don’t owe this guy a thing.

“Not everything is about you,” she said, turning to look up into his eyes. Big mistake. That electric current she’d felt running between them was still there and strong, and yes, it certainly was all about him because he looked just as good dry.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Cash said, and when did his eyes get bluer?

“Can I help you with something?” she asked finally.

“Actually, this arrogant, obnoxious, surfing God is here to help you,” he said.

“You’ve already done enough,” she said. “We had a fight,” she told the dark-haired man standing next to Cash.

“Who won?” the man asked, and Rina reluctantly pointed a finger at Cash, who shook his head and looked up toward the sky as if some divine intervention could save him from all of this.

“Mike, this is Rina,” Cash said.

“Mike, your friend ruined my video and threatened to call my boss,” she said, and noted that Stella watched the whole scene with growing amusement.

“She doesn’t seem that uptight to me,” Mike said to Cash.

“You told him I was uptight?”

“You are uptight. Too much city and not enough of the beach in you,” Cash explained.

“And I suppose you’re the man to change all that, right? The one to set me on the path to a Zenlike relaxation, beginning with what? I’d bet you’d suggest a mind-blowing orgasm,” she said, before she could stop herself, because the Mai Tai’s were in control now.

Funny thing, Cash didn’t seem to mind a bit. And she wanted him to mind, although she wasn’t sure why.

Note to self—no sleep plus Mai Tais does not equal a great combination.

“She won’t remember this come morning, so I’ll tell you,” Cash addressed Stella.

“Yeah, that’s it. Talk to the blonde,” Rina muttered. Stella kicked her shin lightly, and Mike looked amused by the whole thing. “Well, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you,” she said to Cash, who threw her one last scowl before shifting his attention to Stella.

“Your cameraman’s Zoot, right? Purple hair?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Stella said.

“Well, I had him film some footage of Mike, the man who taught me everything I know about big-wave surfing. I had Zoot show me what he’d shot of me and we tried to recreate it, using Mike, so Rina, the non-blonde with the attitude over here, wouldn’t have too much work to do.”

“Wow. That’s great of you.” Stella turned to her. “Did you hear that? This could really work.”

“It won’t be the same,” Rina replied, even as Stella and the other surfer began talking about release forms.

“Hey, it’s the best I could do,” Cash told her. He then murmured something about stubborn women never being satisfied, and walked off into the crowd.

Even in her Mai Tai haze, she knew she owed him an apology. He didn’t have to find a replacement, didn’t have to seek her out at all. But why he did…now that was worth finding out.

“Hey!” she called over the crowd that was gathered at the door to the bar. He didn’t acknowledge her and she was forced to half chase him through the parking lot. “Cash, please wait,” she said.

He finally turned, so fast she kind of crashed against him. “You smell good,” she whispered, from where her nose was buried against his shirt. Smelled like sun, sand and beach, and she’d bet he tasted like the beach, too, all hot and tangy and salty.

“That’s what you followed me out here to say?”

She lifted her head. “No. I wanted to apologize.”

“By smelling me?”

“By telling you I’m sorry,” she said, backing away from him.

“I’m not sure if that’s how they give apologies up north, but I’ve got to say, as apologies go, that’s probably the worst one I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the way it happens up north, so take it or leave it,” she said.

“Guess I’ll leave it then.” He turned to go, but she grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, suddenly dizzy from the walk and the alcohol. Things seemed to be spinning when all she wanted was for everything to hold still. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go back in there,” she told him. Cash really shouldn’t care. He sighed, looked up at the sky as if that would offer him some way out of all this. She looked up, too. “That’s a beautiful sky.”

“Surfing’s going to kick ass tomorrow,” he said. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the hotel.”

He took her by the elbow, mainly because she’d started walking in the opposite direction from the hotel and together they strolled the two blocks, taking the beach route instead of the road.

She followed his lead, kicked off her shoes once they hit the beach, and she liked the way the cool sand moved between her toes. Liked it so much that she just stopped and flexed her toes.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“This just feels nice. I haven’t gotten to the beach much this trip.”

“Except to yell at me.”

He took her arm and they began to move forward, the sound of the waves rushing toward shore in the background, the cool air blowing her hair back and her skirt around and everything felt so good. Heightened.

“Speaking of yelling, in the film, you were fighting with some guy. Something about dropping in.”

He laughed. “Saw me at my best, did you?”

“You were really pissed.”

“I guess you’d recognize that emotion,” he teased. “Dropping in’s when someone jumps into the wave you’re already riding. Screws the ride up majorly, and there’s nothing that ticks me off more than someone who can’t wait their turn.”

“Why did you make that new tape for me?” she asked. He looked at her for a second before he answered, the look that made her body tingle and her blood heat.

“Because it seemed important enough to you.”

“It was,” she said quietly.

“But you don’t think it’ll work.”

She couldn’t lie. “He’s not you, Cash. It’s hard to explain but, when I watched you on the video, you were flying. Does it feel like that?”

“Yeah, it does. You’re weightless, suspended between time and space and even though you’re balancing, your feet are moving out from under you. Like no matter how hard you try, you’re never going to be fully in control, and that’s pretty damned cool.”

He stared off toward the waves as he spoke, at the water crashing against the shore with a pounding, intense rhythm that seemed a lot like Cash himself. The sensations vibrated through her entire body.

She wanted to stay angry at him for ruining her film, but the way he sounded when he talked about surfing wouldn’t let her. It was the way she imagined she must sound when she talked about her passion for filmmaking.

“You love surfing,” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“Then I still don’t get it.”

“Why I won’t sign the release?” he asked, and she nodded. “My future depends on it. Same as yours. And don’t ask me to explain.”

“Fine. But I think you like being mysterious, just as the people at the surf shop said.”

“And I still think you need to relax a little more,” he informed her. “What, exactly, did the people at the surf shop tell you about me?”

“They said you were some kind of criminal or trust fund baby or something. And that all women were your type,” she repeated. They’d paused in front of the stretch of Oceanside hotel rooms and she stared at one door then another because everything looked a little fuzzy.

Cash grinned. “Not all women,” he said, but he didn’t deny the rest.

“I think you need to know that I don’t get involved with bad boys like you,” she told him. Even poked him in his big, broad chest a few times to bring her point home.

His hand closed around hers, held it. She liked the power in his grip, decided that she might want to feel those hands on other parts of her body, too.

“Well, that’s good, since I don’t get involved with good girls.”

“How do you know I’m a good girl?” she asked.

“Trust me. I know.” He caught her arm when she pitched forward. “Come on, now. Let’s get you to your room safe and in one piece.”

“I’m not inviting you inside,” she insisted, even as she fumbled in her bag for the key. And he was standing so close that suddenly, she didn’t want to be the damned good girl anymore.

“You don’t even seem to know which room is yours,” he said. “I think I should take you back to your friend at the bar.”

“Why? So you can prove to everyone how uptight I am?”

“Now that didn’t even make sense,” he said.

“And neither does this.” She planted her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself up on tiptoe so that she could kiss him. Really kiss him.

He grabbed her around the waist, held her against him and deepened the kiss. She didn’t want him to ever stop. And when the rough rasp of his tongue played with the soft, sensitive underside of hers, she moaned into his mouth and tightened her grip on his hair.

Eventually, he pulled away, she bit her bottom lip and tried to calm her breathing, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not when he was holding her so close to him.

“Are you still not inviting me in?” he asked.

She searched her bag again and came up empty. “I don’t have a key,” she announced. “All my keys are gone.”

“Does your friend have a copy?”

“We’re not sharing a room,” she murmured. “I guess I’d better go to the front desk and get a new key.”

“Are you sure this is your room?” he asked.

“Yes, this is it.”

He moved her aside and fiddled with the doorknob for half a second before the door opened. She stared between it and him. “You are a criminal, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Don’t ask things you don’t really want answers to,” he said. Then he picked her up, crushed his mouth against hers and took them both inside the room.


4

INSTINCT TOLD CASH to take Rina’s keys, the ones he’d swiped easily on the walk to the hotel, and leave. However, the current brains of the operation were pressing solidly against her hip and let him know in no uncertain terms that Cash wasn’t going anywhere fast.

He dropped the keys outside the door for Justin to grab and knew he’d never hear the end of it when they didn’t meet up later. But Justin could easily get the tapes from the production offices by himself, and right now, Cash wasn’t ready to let this woman go. That, any man could understand.

He closed and locked the door behind them, put Rina down on the end of the king-sized bed and pulled her to him. But he didn’t kiss her again. Not right away.

Again, not his style. Normally, he liked hard and fast, no rules and no talking, but the way Rina watched him, her alcohol-fueled bravado fading quickly, he knew he had to slow down. Wanted to, even, and he wondered what the hell was going on here.

“I’m not your type,” she whispered, but he noticed she didn’t move away from him, fit against his chest better than most.

“I know. And I’m not yours, remember?”

“I’m not very experienced.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “When was the last time you just let it all go?”

“In bed?”

“In bed, in life,” he murmured and she bit her bottom lip in concentration. Before he spoke again, he cupped her chin in his palm and forced her to meet his eyes. “If you’ve got to think about it, it’s been too long.”

She couldn’t argue with him. “So, you’re my big chance?”

“Yeah, guess I am.”

“This is only for one night,” she said.

“Does that mean we’re done talking?” he asked, right before he put his mouth back on hers and kissed her until she kissed him in earnest, the way she had outside the door when she’d been beyond caring about anything. His mouth traced the path down her neck toward her collarbone, and he took a few seconds to work his tongue along that magic area behind her ear, the one that made Rina squirm under him as his fingers found the buttons on her top.

After a moment of debate, he turned her gently away from him and onto her stomach because she kept ducking her face into his neck as if she couldn’t bear to look at him as he exposed the lace bra she wore underneath her sheer top.

“You’ve got to loosen up, baby,” he murmured, and rubbed her bare back between her shoulder blades as he trailed kisses on her neck. “Time to let vacation mode take you over.”

“I’m not on vacation,” she said.

“Everyone’s on vacation in Hawaii. Trust me.”

“I’m working.”

“Too hard. Much too hard. You’ve got to find some time to play,” he said as his fingers trailed along her spine, traced a buttock and then moved to her inner thigh. When he touched her through the fabric of her lace panties, her mouth opened and a small moan escaped. And when his fingers worked their way under the fabric, he watched as her hands clutched the pillow in response.

He freed her from her bra and shirt completely so that her nipples rubbed the soft cotton of the sheets as her hips began to rock under his touch, faster and faster until she begged, “Please, Cash, please stop.”

“Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“Then why would you want me to stop?” he asked. His fingers moved faster against her, his free hand reaching around underneath her to pull her hips slightly up and forward off the mattress.

He traced circles around her clit, wanting to give her a quick first release so she could stop worrying about everything else and just concentrate on feeling good. And when her hips began to rock faster than the pace he’d set and her shoulders loosened, he knew he had her.

She sounded beautiful when she came, half whimpering with his name on her lips. And then he turned her because he’d wanted to touch her breasts from the second he’d seen them in that bikini she’d worn on the beach yesterday, had wanted to have his way with her nipples until she screamed for more.

One nipple, sucked between his teeth, and she was begging again, even as he worked her underwear off completely. Her fingers wound in his hair and yeah, he was in heaven or damned near close to it. And she’d stopped worrying, evidenced by her moaning his name over and over, rubbing against him, and letting it all go.

Why it was so important to him was something he didn’t plan on investigating right now.

Speaking of investigating, his cell phone was vibrating in his pocket. He nuzzled against her neck while he took it out of his pocket and snuck a peek at the screen. The number came up as unknown, just like he’d figured. None of his teammates ever used a listed number and he never programmed the numbers into his phone. Everything from memory was the motto drilled into him from the earliest training he’d had in covert ops.

She pushed him onto his back while he considered answering his phone, only because he was technically still on the clock. But then she straddled him and smiled and oh, yeah, that decision was made for him. He threw the phone down on the floor, wondered what she’d do if he picked her up and carried her outside, right out onto the beach or even the small patio attached to her room, and made a mental note to try that out after she came again.

“YOU’RE UP TO SOMETHING,” Rina accused, right after Cash threw the phone to the ground, because he had a gleam in his eye and one corner of his mouth tugged up slightly.

He didn’t argue, but he didn’t answer her, either. Instead, he put his hands behind his head and waited, watched her, his eyes trailing over her body.

For a split second, her shyness came back full force, but she knew she wouldn’t have another chance like this one again. Whatever pull this surfer had over her was going to end when the plane pulled off the runway tomorrow, and she was on it. So, she’d take her fantasy now, thank you very much.

There was something so incredibly wanton, so freeing, about being naked against his fully clothed body. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed the back of her bare thighs, the center of her body pressed against his shaft as the weight of her body pinned his against the bed, letting her take claim over him. She let herself go, just the way he wanted her to.

“Take this off,” she ordered, then started to unbutton his shirt from the bottom and he helped her finish the job. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and she ran her hands over his bare chest even as his fingers brushed her already taut nipples.

She moaned, leaned forward and murmured his name against his mouth. She moved her hands down to his waist and started to unbutton his jeans as her mouth played with his, nipping his bottom lip and pulling it between hers before she couldn’t help but move in for some deep kisses.

When she put her hands between his legs, he groaned against her mouth and she knew she had to explore every inch of him. She slid her hands inside the opened zipper and touched him, moved her hands up and down his long, hard length without fully freeing him.

And when neither of them could stand the slow bump-and-grind anymore, she rolled to the side and helped him strip off his jeans because she wanted him inside her.

He eased her back, covered her body with his and spread her legs. He pushed inside of her, gently at first, more firmly when she grabbed him and began to thrust back against him.

“Rina,” he groaned as he arched his neck while she hooked her ankles around his lower back, wanting him deeper.

“So good,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, although the way he looked at her after she’d said it made her turn inside out. “Knew you’d be so good at this. Knew from the way you looked on the video.”

“You liked watching me ride the waves?”

“I’m going to like watching you ride me better.” she said, and he groaned again, louder this time. One hand cupped the smooth curve of her ass while he used the other, palm down on the mattress, to steady himself above her.

God, he was big and she was tight. Very tight, and it felt so much better than she remembered. Probably because it had never been that good—except in her dreams.

This was no dream. And, watching Cash poised above her, the muscles in his arms sleek with sweat and straining as he kept them both in motion and oh, she would never let him stop.

Who cared about videos and X-treme sports and grants? Who cared about anything but her arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, his thumb reaching down to hit the spot that most men ignored in favor of their own pleasure.

Cash didn’t seem to be finding any shortage of his own pleasure, either. He’d closed his eyes and tipped his head back, and the smile on his face told her that he was having as good a time as she was.

When he picked her up, mid-stroke, and carried her outside to the terrace, she didn’t bother to protest. She stayed wrapped around him on the lounge chair, let the night air waft around her and her cries mingle with the sounds of the ocean rolling in to shore.

“THAT’S MY KIND OF APOLOGY,” he murmured against her neck hours later, his skin damp against hers, from sweat and salt water and, oh, yeah, that was amazing. More so because Rina hadn’t known what she wanted—instead, she’d just wanted.

The sex had been hot and sweet. And he had to get out of there before he found out that she was engaged or married or something, even though he knew that wasn’t going to be the case. And that might prove to be even more dangerous than anything else that had happened to him.

“Aren’t you a little bit sorry you didn’t sign the release?” she said out of nowhere, pulling him right back into reality. Justin was sure to kill him.

“Not at all,” he said. He pulled the sheets around her because he noticed her shivering slightly. She hadn’t wanted to come in from the patio, wanted to sleep under the stars, but he’d insisted on bringing her back to bed.

And now, he didn’t want to leave.

“And you called me rude,” she said sleepily. “And, for the record, I didn’t sleep with you to apologize.”

“I know.”

“Did it to prove to you that I’m not uptight.”

“Well, yeah, not anymore. But if you keep talking work, you will be soon enough.”

“I won’t be seeing you again,” she murmured. He didn’t bother to agree with her, because yeah, that’s usually the way these things worked. No matter how that thought churned his gut this time.

“You’re leaving later today?” He asked because he had to know for sure. She’d already made it clear that this was a one-night stand. If she ever found out why exactly, no doubt there’d be hell to pay.

“Leaving tomorrow,” she murmured dreamily. “Going to Africa.”

“Africa?” he asked, wondering what kind of cosmic joke the universe was playing on him.

She nodded against his chest. “Hoping to do a documentary there. Getting a grant. Finally get to do what I want to do.” Then she looked up at him. “See? I’m not that scared after all.”

“No, I guess you’re not,” he agreed and swore to himself he would follow his gut from that moment on, no matter what his other body parts stood up and told him.

RINA’S WAKE-UP CALL came at five that morning. Cash was already long gone. He’d left her aspirin and a bottle of water on the bedside table, his scent on her pillows and a sexual experience that easily outdid the videotape in terms of fantasy material.

Last night, with her ass balanced on the balcony railing, and her legs wrapped around his waist, she’d experienced Hawaii in a way she’d never dreamed she would. Being held in his strong arms, her breasts pressed tight against his chest, she remembered repeating his name. And she was pretty sure he’d been saying hers like a prayer, too, at one point.

Yes, Cash the surfer did have an excellent sense of balance. Even if he did ruin her video.

Every time she thought about that, her head throbbed more. And, she was annoyed to note, she was turned on as well. Stella would never let her live this one down.

Yes, Cash had lived up to his bad-boy promise, and then some. Still, he could’ve at least waited around until breakfast.

“Jerk,” she muttered, and covered her head with the pillow. Then she remembered that they’d ventured outside, on the terrace and the beach and she was so glad to be checking out today because how could she face the hotel’s patrons?

Between the darkness and the sounds of the ocean, and Cash supporting her, she’d felt comfortable enough to forget the fact that they had been outside. In public. Naked.

He had, at some point, assured her that no one had seen them.

But I can’t promise that no one heard us, he’d said, and then he’d grinned and done that thing with his tongue and she hadn’t cared.

Now, huddled in bed alone, she cared very much. And when her phone rang, she winced for a second, pictured the hotel manager calling to tell her about the complaints they’d received. Until she realized that it was her cell phone and not the hotel phone.

“Rina, it’s Jenny. Is this a bad time? I know it’s early.”

“Not at all,” she said. She’d hadn’t been close to her mother’s younger sister until recently, and now she thought of her aunt more like a sister. Jenny had even told her to drop the aunt-and-uncle stuff because it made her feel old.

Growing up, Jenny and Mac never came to Rina’s house for the holidays. Together, the couple had remained something of a cross between the black sheep and a mystery in her family. And then, Rina’s uncle had called her with an opportunity to do a recruitment video, which she shot a few months ago, so she’d grown close with her aunt in a very short period of time.

It was something Rina’s mother wasn’t too happy about, claimed her aunt was going to be a bad influence on her. It was partially the reason Rina hadn’t told her mother about the possible Africa project. She knew her mother would blame Jenny for influencing her, and she wouldn’t have been all that wrong. She and Jenny had spent hours talking about her uncle and Jenny’s brother, thumbing through photo albums and old letters and when Jenny had told her that she reminded her of David, she’d never felt prouder.

“I tried your home phone first and then I remembered you’d mentioned being away,” Jenny said, drawing Rina into the present.

She sat up and groaned, then fell against the stacked pillows. “Yes, I’m living the glamorous life in Hawaii.”

“I’m jealous, since we’re expecting snow here today. And hey, I won’t keep you, but Mac wanted me to let you know that the Navy big shots love what you did with the recruiting video. They think it’s a major coup to drum up business, half rock video, half Survivor.”

“That’s what I was aiming for, so I’m glad they didn’t think it was too progressive.” She’d agreed to shoot the video to help his uncle, who was a high-ranking Navy officer—she and Stella were on the Little Creek base in Virginia for two days last month in order to get proper footage and the necessary clearances. It had been a good video, highlighted her and Stella’s skills, but wasn’t long enough to be included in their grant proposal. No, that film needed to be bigger.

“He’d tell you himself, but he’s away,” her aunt continued. “He’s so proud of the work you’ve done.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Jenny, with Mac away all the time,” she said, thinking she sounded an awful lot like her mother.

“Practice,” her aunt replied. “It helps that he’s hot, too.” She and Rina both laughed at that. Rina had to agree that Mac was a good-looking guy. But Jenny’s marriage to Mac was a frequent source of tension in the family, even though Mac had tried his best in the beginning to win her mother over, it became painfully apparent that that wasn’t going to happen.

Of course, Stella found the whole thing completely romantic, and even though Rina would never admit it out loud, she had to agree.

Eloping in the middle of the night after a first date—well, Jenny told her that even she had to finally admit that what had happened between her and Mac technically wasn’t a date—but she and Mac were still solidly together after eleven years, Mac’s numerous travels with the SEALs and her two miscarriages.

They were talking about adopting. Jenny planned to try until she was forty—two more years—and then she’d consider the alternatives. And Mac seemed more than willing to do whatever it took to make her happy.

But Mac had more than one strike against him, at least in Rina’s mother’s eyes. Not only was his Navy SEAL job and lifestyle completely unconventional, he was also fifteen years older than Jenny. They’d also married right after Rina’s Uncle David had been killed, another strike, since her mom blamed the military for what had happened to David in Africa.

Even though her Uncle was a retired Special Forces Soldier and now worked for JAG, he still did what was considered highly classified and confidential work for the government, which required his schedule to be top secret most of the time.

“It was great having you here. You’re welcome back any time,” Jenny was saying, but Rina barely heard her. Her mind had already begun a steady turn, and her imagination took off.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to apply for the grant this year after all…. “I might take you up on that one. Soon,” Rina said, her pulse racing nearly as fast as it had been last night.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Could you have Mac call me when he gets back? I’ve got another video idea I think the Navy might like.”

“Will do,” Jenny promised.

Rina hung up and dialed Vic’s cell phone number immediately. “I’ve got a pitch for you,” she said, dispensing with the usual hello.

“You’re supposed to be finishing up the job you’re on now. But I’m listening.”

“Bigger, Badder, Faster—X-treme jobs,” she said, scribbling notes to herself on a napkin even as she spoke.

“I like it. Tell me more.”

“We could do things like roughnecks, race car drivers, stunt men. Navy SEALs,” she continued, encouraged by the way Vic sounded.

“We’d need some kind of in,” he said.

“I think I’ve got the in for the SEALs,” she said. “And I want behind the camera on this one.”

Her mom was always saying how crazy her Uncle Mac was. So really, what could be more extreme, more exciting, than a day in the life of a Navy SEAL?


5

Two weeks later

“HOW BAD IS IT?” Cash asked Hunt, his SEAL teammate. Cash leaned forward to see the damage for himself while he shot off a round of fire to keep the enemy at bay. His muscles tensed and gut tightened, the way they always did whenever the situation involved adrenaline and explosives.

“Get out of here now before you’re trapped,” Hunt told him. The men had been inserted into Morocco an hour earlier, and Mission Tank Battle was already well underway.

Cash shifted, and mentally calculated their options. “Can’t we get around the side wall?”

“Not unless we want to die immediately. It’s too late and I’m too hurt to be helped, so go,” Hunt insisted.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” Cash said. He’d sacrificed too much to let something like this happen, the last half hour was pure blood, sweat and tears. He’d been shot, as well. Using every available resource he had, he grabbed Hunt, swung him over his shoulder and started to run.

“Watch behind you,” Rev, another teammate, urged and Cash swung to the left to avoid another grenade. And promptly dropped Hunt.

“I thought you were trying to save me?” Hunt demanded as the TV screen turned white and Game Over emerged in large blue letters.

“I can’t help it if you slipped,” Cash said, wondering why the hell anyone ever played these SOCOM3 games. Once you’d lived the real thing, the on-screen version paled in comparison.

“You suck at this,” Hunt declared, and took the controls out of Cash’s hands. “Good thing your track record’s better where it counts.”

From the room’s far corner, Justin snorted, where he lay on his back playing Texas Hold ’Em on his cell phone. Etienne, better known as Rev, had been trying to put some order to the paperwork blanketing the massive, scarred oak table where the SEALs held their meetings. But he’d given up at least an hour ago in favor of seeing just how far he could tip his chair back on two legs without falling over. He also offered commentary on the video game Cash and Hunt had been playing for an hour, since they’d all been benched with injuries, albeit minor ones, after last night’s training mission.

A stimulating afternoon. Of course, compared to the excitement of the Gray Ops mission in Hawaii, the just sitting around part was that much more frustrating. He and Justin had completed their end of the mission, had gotten lauded for their part in helping to bring down a major drug running operation. It was hard to come down from something like that.

Hunt’s phone rang. “What?” he asked, instead of hello, listened for a second and then stood. “Hollywood said the admiral’s on his way over here,” he told them. “Bringing his niece.”

Hollywood, aka Captain Jason Andrews, was their CO. Born and raised in that legendary California town, it was rumored that his parents were both film stars.

Cash surveyed the room, thought about tidying up and then decided that the doc’s orders to take it easy applied to anything that seemed remotely like cleaning. He’d taken the worst of last night’s hit, and wasn’t about to let any of them forget it, either. At least his ribs were bruised and not broken—they’d be healed before the surfing competition in Baja next month, and he had no doubt he’d be cleared for duty tomorrow—Thursday at the latest.

“What for?” Rev drawled, and Hunt shrugged.

“No clue. He did say not to worry about cleaning the place up,” Hunt said. He moved to the window, and abruptly let out a low wolf whistle. “And man, his niece is hot.”

“What’re you looking for? You’re an old married man,” Justin said.

“Carly and I aren’t married. Yet.” Hunt smiled, and Cash rolled his eyes. Hunt and his very own surfer girl were getting hitched in three months and they were happy as hell. It was sickening.

“What’s Mac’s niece look like?” Rev asked.

“Long dark hair, about halfway down her back, maybe five foot five,” Hunt said, and Cash came up behind him to take a look. Cash froze for a second, not wanting to believe what was happening. But it was—happening like a freakin’ nightmare. It was Rina, Rina from Hawaii, and the admiral, known as Mac to his men, marching this way. Together. Directly toward him.

No fucking way.

Luckily, they moved into the officers’ tent rather than continue to head toward him like a guided missile on a path of pure destruction. If there was any means for escape, a trap door, a way to get up to the roof and go over and away as far as he possibly could…but that wouldn’t last for long.

Mac would still hunt him down like a rabid dog in the street, make his death a slow and painful process.

If Mac knew. Cash started to pray, hard.

“You okay?” Hunt clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re breathing kind of funny. Ribs hurt?”

Cash nodded. He couldn’t trust anything to come out of his mouth at the moment. Justin looked over both their shoulders.

Cash wondered if his face was the same ashen color as Justin’s when he asked, “Are you sure that’s Mac’s niece?”

Hunt studied the two of them and crossed his arms. “That’s what Mac said. Why? Has one of you slept with her?” Hunt laughed, and Rev joined in. Justin still hadn’t moved and Cash speculated as to how honestly he should answer that question, and figured there was no way around this one.

“Yes,” he said.

Rev, who’d been rocking his chair on its back legs, pushed a little too hard at Cash’s statement and toppled over. Hunt just stared at Cash, just stared, and he knew that it was as bad as he thought.

“You’re sleeping with Mac’s niece?” Rev’s voice came up from the floor. “Are you out of your mind?”

“The answer to that is yes. It’s always been yes, but even for you, this is bad,” Hunt told him.

“Sleeping with makes it sound like it’s present tense. It happened once. Okay, four times, but over the course of one night.” Four amazing times.

“Do you want to explain how this happened? His niece only got into Little Creek last night, and you were in the hospital until midnight,” Hunt said.

Just thinking about the fall he’d taken last night during training made Cash’s ribs ache.

Justin chimed in with the explanation. “She was the documentary maker from Hawaii.”

Cash was unable to actually process how something like that could happen. How did the world get so small and thrown off its axis at the same time?

“Does she know you took the zip drive from her bag?” Justin asked him. Justin had been in charge of taking the film from the office in Hawaii where she edited.

Cash shrugged. “I’m not sure. I left early that next morning, and I didn’t exactly say goodbye.”

“Holy crap.” Justin buried his face in his hands and Hunt just shook his head.

“You’re screwed, brother. And not in any good way.”

“She’s supposed to be out of here. She told me she was leaving for Africa,” Cash said quickly, even though it was obvious that Rina was no closer to Africa than he was. His teammates continued to stare at him as if he was a dead man walking. “Aw, come on, tell me it’s not as bad as I think it is.”

“Bad? It’s worse than bad.” Justin snorted. “Careerending. Life-as-you-know-and-love-it-ending bad.”

“And now it’s about to get worse,” Hunt said.

“How’s that possible?” Cash asked.

“Gentlemen,” the admiral’s voice rang out through the tent. “At ease. This is a social call.”

They all turned to face their superior.

Cash stood halfway between Rev and Hunt and behind Justin, and for the first time was grateful to be the runt of this particular SEAL litter, standing at six feet two inches.




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