Surf's Up Read online

  He dove into the ocean, and thanks to his teenage years spent as a lifeguard, he reached the person in seconds—and was shocked to discover that it was his neighbor, Claire, who’d gotten trapped in the current. Her eyes were filled with terror and she looked exhausted, as though she was barely hanging on.

  He wrapped his arm around her midsection so she no longer had to struggle to stay afloat. “Just relax against me and I’ll get you back to the beach safely,” he said, and was glad when she trusted him enough to let him do all the work, which wasn’t always the case when you were trying to save someone in a panic.

  With Claire secured in his embrace, he began hauling her limp, buoyant body parallel to the strong channel of water until they were out of danger of the riptide, then started back toward the shore. Once they were there, he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the dry sand, and laid her down, wanting to make sure that she was okay and didn’t need CPR or any other type of medical treatment. She rolled to her side, coughing and gasping for air, and he gave her a moment to calm down and get her bearings.

  He quickly assessed her stability. At least she was breathing on her own, but he had no doubt she was shaken badly by the incident—as he was, Shea realized. His heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest, and a surge of adrenaline raced through his blood.

  Thank God Goldie had found her in time.

  Kneeling beside Claire, he reached out and gently pushed wet strands of her golden blond hair away from her face, waiting for her to catch her breath and for her panic to subside. Her cheek was so smooth and soft against his fingertips, as he had always imagined it would be. Despite the gravity of the situation, the attraction he’d always felt toward Claire swelled to the surface in a rush of desire and lust and wanting.

  Swallowing hard against those emotions, he reminded himself that she was a married woman. Even if her husband was an arrogant jackass and didn’t deserve someone as warm, sweet, and caring as she seemed to be. Caressing her skin for the sheer pleasure of it was strictly off-limits for him.

  He blew out a harsh breath, clamped his hands against his thighs so he didn’t touch her again, and refocused on what had just happened. “Claire, are you okay?”

  “Yes . . . I think so.” She glanced up and met his gaze, her vivid blue eyes shining with a wealth of gratitude. “You saved me.”

  A grin tipped the corner of his mouth. “Technically, yes, but all the credit actually goes to Goldie,” he said, and hooked a finger over his shoulder where his faithful dog was sitting a few feet away from them—panting, but no longer distressed now that Claire was safe. “She’s the one who knew something was wrong and kept barking until I came out to see what was up and saw you out there.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was swimming close to shore, and the next thing I knew I was being pulled out to sea.” She flopped onto her back again and slung her arm over her eyes, the long, lithe length of her body shuddering. “It all happened so fast, and I didn’t have the strength to swim back. I honestly thought I was going to drown.”

  He stared at the rise and fall of her full, firm breasts, and the taut nipples he could clearly see pressing against the stretchy, clinging fabric of her swimsuit. She was wearing a modest black one-piece trimmed in gold that covered more skin than it exposed. But the form-fitting suit definitely showed off her nicely endowed chest, the curve of her waist, the shapely swell of her hips, and those long, slender legs of hers that he’d imagined having wrapped tight around his waist.

  He shook that particular fantasy from his head before it got him into trouble. “You were caught in a riptide, which is like a channel of backwash,” he explained as he pushed his fingers through his wet hair and away from his face. “When that happens, the current pulls you out into the ocean and is way too strong to swim against.”

  She lifted her arm from her eyes and frowned up at him. “Then how did you get me out of it?”

  “Lifeguard training. We’re taught that you always swim parallel to the shore instead of against the current. Eventually, you’ll break past the channel of water dragging you out to sea and you can swim back to shore.”

  She exhaled a shaky breath. “I swim out here all the time, and I had no idea.”

  “Most people don’t know much about riptides.” And sometimes it costs them their lives, as Shea knew well from living in the area. “You just need to be careful and more aware of where the currents are.”

  “You can bet I will be from now on,” she said, and struggled to push herself into a sitting position, which seemed to take a whole lot of effort.

  He could tell she was still wiped out from her ordeal and knew she’d be more comfortable if she wasn’t on public display on the beach. “Come on, let’s get you back up to your house.”

  “Okay,” she said with a nod of agreement.

  He stood, and helped her up, too. As soon as she was back on her feet, she wobbled and stumbled, her legs still weak and her equilibrium off. Certain she’d never make it back to her place on her own, he settled one of her arms across his shoulders so she could hold onto him, then secured his own arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Grabbing her towel from the sand, he guided her up to the house with Goldie following at their side—all too aware of the sensual glide of Claire’s hip sliding against his, and the way her fingers clutched the back of his neck.

  By the time they reached the stairs leading up to her deck, she was able to walk on her own. He let her go, and she crossed the wooden veranda to an outdoor shower situated in the corner and turned it on.

  She glanced back at him as she tested the temperature of the water with her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so covered in sand,” she said with a laugh. The fine granules coated her skin from her shoulders all the way down to her feet.

  He stopped by a lounge chair and sent her an apologetic grin. “That would be my fault for setting you down on the dry sand once I pulled you out of the water.” As for him, it was stuck to his legs from kneeling at her side, and he could feel the uncomfortable scratch of sand beneath his T-shirt from being caught in the current.

  Then his own discomfort became a nonissue when Claire stepped beneath the shower spray and unwittingly treated him to an erotic display of pure female sensuality at its finest. He watched in fascination as water flowed down the length of her body, washing away the sand and causing her swimsuit to mold to her curves like a second skin, revealing every nuance of her womanly figure.

  When she tipped her head back and lifted her arms to rinse her hair, the graceful arch of her back pushed the generous swells of her breasts out to him like an offering. Her nipples were tight and hard, and the lower part of his anatomy reacted accordingly to the arousing sight.

  Shifting on his bare feet, he swore beneath his breath at his lack of control. Christ, she might as well have been naked considering how hard he was getting from just watching, and envying, the tempting way the water sluiced over her slick, wet skin.

  He forced himself to glance away and realized Goldie was sitting at his side. Desperately needing some kind of distraction, he gave the dog an affectionate rub on her head along with verbal praise for a job well done.

  The shower turned off, and feeling as though he had a better grip on his physical reaction to Claire, he grabbed the towel he’d brought up from the beach and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She dried off her face then smiled at him as she rubbed the towel along her arms. “That felt good. Would you like to rinse off, too?”

  He opened his mouth to turn down her offer, but reconsidered. He figured not only could he wash off the drying salt and sand that was making his skin feel tight and itchy, but a cold shower would do him good, too.

  “Yeah, I would. Thanks.” He stripped off his damp shirt and tossed it over the nearby railing, then turned the cold water on.

  He stood beneath the showerhead and winced as the freezing water pounded against his back, w
hich definitely doused any last lingering bit of arousal thrumming through his veins. Suppressing a shiver, he glanced up to find Claire staring at him much like he’d been watching her only minutes before. Her face was flushed, she was biting the corner of her bottom lip, and she had her towel clutched to her breasts. But it was the quick glimpse of what looked like smoldering desire in her eyes that stunned him the most.

  “I’ll go get you a dry towel,” she said, her voice sounding breathless.

  Or was the rush of water near his ears distorting what Shea was hearing?

  She turned and quickly retreated into the house, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the entire heated exchange. He shook his head. Of course he had. Claire had never, ever, looked at him like that before—like she wanted to touch him. Stroke his wet skin with her hands. Maybe even kiss him.

  He groaned at his wishful thinking and dipped his entire head beneath the chilling spray.

  She returned just as he finished rinsing off. She’d taken the time to wrap one of those sarong things around her waist, which did little to conceal her figure. If anything, it accentuated the sway of her hips as she walked, along with those endlessly long legs. Her hair was beginning to dry into loose, shoulder-length curls that made him want to run his fingers through all that sensual softness.

  And then he made the mistake of dropping his gaze to her mouth. Her lips were parted and looked so sweet and moist he ached to close the distance between them and taste her deep inside.

  The knot of lust in his stomach tightened, and he took the towel she offered before he did something incredibly stupid. “Thanks.” He ruffled the towel over his head and ran it across his bare chest, curious to know where her husband was.

  “Is Alan around?” As a topic of conversation, it was a definite buzzkill, and that was exactly what he needed at the moment. Mentioning her spouse put everything back into proper perspective.

  She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Alan,” he said, just in case she hadn’t heard him clearly the first time. “Is he here?”

  “Actually, no, he’s not,” she said softly, and met his gaze with a directness that took him by surprise. “We’re divorced.”

  He stared at her, stunned and unsure how to react to that bit of news. A part of him wanted to punch his fist in the air with a resounding and satisfying yes, but he was certain his enthusiasm wasn’t an appropriate response for the end to her marriage.

  So, instead, he opted to take the safe route with his reply. “I’m sorry,” he said, even though his sentiment was a lie. In truth, he couldn’t even sum up an ounce of regret that she’d finally dumped her jerk of a husband—a man with an overblown ego and an irritatingly superior attitude. He never could figure out what Claire saw in the guy. “I had no idea the two of you split up.”

  “No need to be sorry. I’m actually okay with the divorce,” she said with a smile that told him she truly had no regrets and was happy with her single status. “Besides, I got this beautiful beach house out of the deal, so I can’t complain too much.”

  Another bombshell he wasn’t expecting, but he liked what he was hearing. A whole lot. “So, you’re living here now? In San Diego?” Finished with drying off, he hung his damp towel over the deck railing.

  She nodded and glanced out toward the ocean. “Yep. It became my permanent home two weeks ago. I’ve always loved it here, where it’s so calm and relaxing. More so than the hectic pace of New York City.”

  Another ecstatic yes resonated through Shea. Now that Claire was unattached and eligible, his mind spun with all sorts of tempting possibilities that involved him and her, together.

  He realized that her recent divorce changed the dynamics of their friendship. His strong desire for her was no longer forbidden, and neither was the attraction evident between them. But until he had more time to assess the situation, and Claire’s interest, he didn’t want to come on too strong, too fast, and risk scaring her off.

  “After swallowing half of the ocean, I could use something to help wash the taste of salt water out of my mouth,” she said, bringing him back to the present. “How about you?”

  “That would be great.” And it would also buy him more time with her.

  Leaving Goldie out on the deck, he followed Claire into the house. He waited in the living room while she headed into the adjoining kitchen to get them something to drink. Catching sight of a large drafting table tucked into the corner of the room, he strolled over to the workdesk and took in the sketches of a ring spread out on the surface, along with a beautiful pendant set with diamonds and a brilliant pink sapphire.

  He picked up the piece, admiring the color and clarity of the oval stone. He was familiar with gems and jewels, and this one was a beauty. Out of nowhere, a gray tabby jumped up onto the table with an engaging meow. She rubbed against his arm and glanced up at him with wide green eyes that begged him for some attention.

  He couldn’t resist petting the feline, and was rewarded with a deep, rumbling purr. “Aren’t you a friendly thing,” he murmured with a grin.

  “That’s Zoey,” Claire said as she came up beside Shea and handed him a glass of iced tea. “And she’s a shameless hussy when it comes to getting attention.”

  After enjoying one last scratch behind her ears, Zoey attacked a crumpled piece of paper and began batting it around with her paws. It tumbled across the table, and she chased after it until it finally fell to the floor. She jumped down and continued playing with her new toy.

  Shea chuckled at the cat’s exuberance and energy. “She’s also very feisty,” he said, and took a long drink of the cold iced tea, which felt so good on his dry throat.

  “That she is,” Claire agreed wryly, and shook her head. “She’s always getting into stuff she shouldn’t and playing with it.”

  He redirected his gaze back to the pendant and sketches on the table. “So, you design jewelry?” he guessed.

  “Yes. It’s something I’ve done for years as a hobby, and now I’m finally free to make it a business.” She paused for a moment, her fingers absently stroking along the condensation gathering on her glass. “I’ve recently worked out a deal with Seaport Jewelers to commission the pieces I design, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to make a living at it.”

  He got the distinct impression that this was very important to her, beyond making a success of her designs. The hint of insecurity he detected when she’d hesitated made him wonder if her ex-husband had been the one to hold her back from pursing her interest in jewelry design while they were married. Having witnessed Alan’s need to keep Claire under his control, Shea wouldn’t doubt it at all.

  “Well, your talent and creativity speaks for itself,” he said, wanting to boost her confidence any way he could. “You do beautiful work with quality stones. That’s one gorgeous pink Ceylon sapphire in that pendant you designed.”

  A fine blond brow arched in surprise. “I’m impressed,” she said of his obvious knowledge of gemstones. “What do you know about Ceylon sapphires, let alone a pink one?”

  He’d spoken without thinking. He hadn’t meant to shift the conversation to him, nor had he anticipated her too-direct question that had the ability to unearth a shocking secret lingering in his past. One he had no wish to reveal to Claire. At least not yet. He didn’t think they knew one another well enough for him to admit that his father was a jewel thief, or that he’d almost followed in the old man’s footsteps. He doubted she was ready to hear that he’d spent time in jail for a foolish attempt to please his parent.

  Before he laid himself bare to Claire, they needed time to get to know one another, to build trust between them before he told her about his checkered past. And asked for her understanding and acceptance.

  But in the meantime, he had some explaining to do, and he grasped the most logical answer that came to mind. “My father used to collect rare and exotic gemstones,” he said with a shrug.

  It wasn’t a complete fabrication—his father had been an expert
in acquiring all types of jewels. And in a moment of pure cockiness, and with the foolish hope of gaining his father’s admiration, Shea had beat his old man at his own game. His father had definitely been impressed with his son’s skills, but that stint had cost Shea in more ways than one, as he’d also been betrayed by the one woman he thought he could trust.

  Claire’s eyes lit up, obviously delighted they shared a common interest and knowledge of gemstones. “Have you ever heard of a Padparadsha?”

  He wasn’t above cultivating their common link, however, and he nodded as he set aside his glass of iced tea. “It’s a rare and exotic sapphire that combines the three colors of pink, purple, and orange, and it’s named after the Sri Lankan lotus flower for its beauty.”

  “Wow, you really do know your gems.” She bit her bottom lip, her features glowing with an alluring combination of enthusiasm and giddy excitement. “Would you believe I have one?”

  “You’re kidding.” Padparadshas weren’t easy to come by, and they certainly weren’t cheap to purchase.

  “I’m very serious. I bought it with a part of my divorce settlement, and I plan on putting the stone in a ring I’m designing. Would you like to see it?”

  He found her eagerness endearing, and couldn’t help but indulge her. “I’d love to see it.” Besides, he was curious to behold such an exquisite jewel up close and personal.

  She grinned, and he felt ridiculously pleased that he’d made her so happy. “It’s in my safe. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared down the hall and returned a minute later with a small velvet pouch. She opened the sack and let the sparkling oval gem fall into her open palm, about a carat and a half in size. “Take a closer look,” she urged, and handed him a jeweler’s loupe to better inspect the stone.

  Picking up the Padparadsha between his fingers, he brought the magnifying lense to his eye and was blown away by the brilliant color and the impeccable clarity of the gem. “Jesus,” he breathed in awe. “It’s virtually flawless.” The stone was just the kind of bauble his father would have loved to have in his collection.