Making Waves: A Perfect Kisses Novella Page 2

  Justine knew if she played her cards right and scored an interview with Ryder, her boss would be forced to print it. Hawaiian surfing news would go over about as huge as reports of a new formula of Botox with West Coast readers. Her first real byline. The big break that could save her from unemployment.

  Now, if she could only find Ryder. Thank goodness for the internet. There were no photos of him close up—just shots of him riding waves that looked to be a terrifying twenty feet high. But she knew Ryder had an elaborate tattoo on his right shoulder blade, depicting a wave that’s top curl turned into a dragon. Ominous, but kind of sexy. Dangerous—a trait she usually didn’t go for, especially now.

  She flashed her press credentials and was allowed to cross the rope barricade halfway down the beach. Thirty colorful surfboards standing on end lined an area ten feet from the shore. She hoped she wouldn’t have to get any closer to the water. Different pockets of people—some dressed in swim trunks and others in shorts and T-shirts—stood in groups. The largest was crowded around a tall man. Not knowing who to talk to first and pretty out of her element, Justine figured she would start there. As she drew closer, she couldn’t see the tall guy’s face, but she did grab a quick peek at his back…more specifically, his right shoulder blade.

  Bingo. Chase Ryder.

  She moved toward the crowd around him. Some people were engaging him in conversation, but most were getting his autograph and doing the guy fist-bump thing. She waited behind him, three people still between them. She didn’t mind waiting because, even from the back, Chase Ryder was an impressive specimen. He was nice and tall, lanky but with muscles—a delicious combo. He was wearing only black trunks, his shoulders were broad, his biceps flexed with lean muscles, and his skin was a smooth, golden suntanned brown. And, dude, were those boyish freckles on the tops of his shoulders? Very nice. He had dark hair, kind of long on top, but cut more conservatively than she would have expected from a surfer boy.

  Once she was next in line, she gripped her notebook, ready to flash him the most pleasant, professional smile she could muster, then promise the guy anything under the Hawaiian sun for a ten-minute interview that might possibly save her career.

  “You got it,” she heard Ryder say to the teenaged boy opposite her. His voice was smooth and deep, friendly. “Always cool to meet fans,” he added, shaking the kid’s hand. “Mahalo.”

  Justine zeroed in on the tattoo on Ryder’s shoulder and tapped him just below the cresting wave. “Excuse me, Mr. Ryder?”

  When he turned around, Justine’s heart stopped mid-beat. Ryder froze, too, his big brown eyes staring back at her.

  “Juss?” he whispered.

  That longing to be anywhere but here crashed over Justine’s head like a tsunami, as she stared into the eyes of Will Davenport.

  Chapter Two

  Will couldn’t move.

  Was he hallucinating? The guys at the resort last night had joked about spiking his Corona to put him out of commission, but surely…

  “Juss,” he repeated, his brain void of anything else to say.

  She’d called him Ryder; did she not recognize him at first? It had been a year since they’d seen each other, though he could have sketched every line of her face by heart.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

  Smooth, dude. Why don’t you follow up with a weather forecast?

  “Um, fine,” she said, her huge eyes not blinking.

  Will instantly recalled the day they’d met, how he’d inwardly compared her eyes to the color of the waves in Australia, clear and sparkly. Deep-water blue. Looking into them now caused his breath to slow, his body remembering how being near her made him feel like he was floating on the crest of a wave.

  “What are you doing in Hawaii?” Her voice held hints of confusion, and more than a hint of distrust.

  So, she still hadn’t forgiven him.

  Will opened his mouth, ready to rattle off the answer he’d perfected over the years. But he couldn’t give that story to Justine. After what happened between them last year, she deserved the detailed explanation he’d intended to give her.

  But any explanation would have to wait until they weren’t in front of half the North American surfing community.

  She was staring up at him, a pensive tilt to her lips. Those lips that had starred in more than one of Will’s daydreams.

  “Your tattoo,” she said, gesturing behind him. “It’s the same as—”

  “Juss, hold on a sec.” He lifted a hand and Justine’s mouth froze in an O. While keeping one eye on her, he quickly signed autographs for the remaining fans, then slid his hand around the inside of Justine’s elbow and began to walk them away. “Catch you guys after, okay?” he said over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Justine struggled against his grip as he dragged her along. “Will—”

  “Shhh.” He glanced down at her. “Don’t say another word, please.”

  “Chase, great to see you back,” a guy said as he passed. “Good luck today.”

  “Appreciate it, mahalo,” Will replied, not stopping until he had the wriggling Justine a good few yards behind the lifeguard tower.

  “Hi,” he said breezily, letting go of her. She snatched back her hand and rubbed her wrist. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just surprised to…” Her gaze landed on his hand that had been holding her, then moved up to his face.

  Her hair had grown out. When he’d known her in L.A., her blond hair had been straight to her shoulders and her bangs cut across her eyebrows. It was longer now, hanging in loose, natural waves.

  “Why is everyone calling you Chase?”

  Will was ready to give the explanation he shared with his family and only a handful of his closest friends over the years: During the summer months, he lived in L.A. and made a full-time living as a computer programmer, but in the winter, he worked remotely while chasing waves from Mexico to Peru to Australia. And never—if he had anything to do about it—would the two personalities merge.

  Then he caught sight of the notebook tucked under her arm, and it felt like a gallon of ice water was being dumped over his head.

  One of the first things he’d learned about Justine Simms was that she was charming to the point of captivating. Also, that she was a green reporter, starving for a scoop. For someone in Will’s suddenly vulnerable position, that was a dangerous combination to be facing.

  “You were sent here to cover the story?” he asked, feeling his own heat of indignity. The very last thing he needed was a nosy journalist blowing his cover, not after all these years of being careful to live incognito.

  “I’m here on vacation,” she answered, attempting to stand taller than her five-foot-four stature.

  Okay, so maybe it isn’t time to panic yet…not until I find out what she wants.

  “And I just happened to hear about Chase Ryder coming out of retirement for the Eddie,” she added, pulling a pen from behind her ear.

  Will tilted his head. “How did you know about the Eddie? Or Chase Ryder? You never mentioned you were interested in surfing.”

  She actually rolled her eyes. “I’m not the one keeping secrets, Chase.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “Or going by two names.”

  “Shhh,” he hissed again. When her mouth fell open, Will took half a step back and ran a hand through his hair.

  Maybe it’s time to panic, after all.

  “Okay, fine, yes. I’m both Chase Ryder and…”—he dropped his voice a notch—“and William Davenport. Two completely different people—not like multiple personalities, just…” He paused and exhaled, shifting his weight. “It sounds confusing but it’s not. I’ll explain the whole thing.”

  “You sure will,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “I want an interview.”

  His mouth went dry, two sides of his brain fighting between hauling this woman to her car and making her go away, and hauling
her forward into his arms and kissing her like he’d wanted to for a year…pesky journalist or not.

  Never had he felt more like two completely separate people.

  “Ryder doesn’t give interviews,” he stated, his private persona taking over.

  Justine lifted her eyebrows. “Really?” She turned her back to him and cleared her voice dramatically, like she was about to address the crowd. “I might be short,” she said under her breath, “but you’re about to find out how loud I can be.”

  “Justine.” He took her by the shoulders and swiveled her around. He liked how her skin felt under his hands, soft and warm from the morning sun. She glanced at his hands touching her, then up at him. He couldn’t begin to interpret her expression, so he let go.

  “I’m sorry to tell you, Chase Ryder, but I am here for a story, and you’re it. My exclusive.”

  With a half-cocked grin on her face, she didn’t look sorry at all. She looked beautiful…like the last time he’d seen her.

  “Dammit,” Will muttered between his teeth, trying to ignore the way her blond hair blew in the breeze around her face. “What kind of exclusive?”

  She took a step toward him and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “I want you, Will. For one hour. Completely alone.” She paused, keeping her eyes locked on his. Then she blinked and her cheeks turned bright red. “No, no—” she cleared her throat “—that came out wrong. I mean, I’d like to sit down with you, in a very public place, and have an interview for an hour.”

  Will couldn’t help chuckling as Justine adorably swore under her breath for a few moments. She hadn’t been much of a blusher before. It was pretty. No, it’s captivating, damn it.

  “Okay, let me start over.” She blew out a breath and wiped her palms down the sides of her dress, making Will want to laugh again. “What I meant to say was, I want the exclusive story about why you retired…”

  Will didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

  “Why you decided to make a comeback,” she continued, “why you have two names, and…and then I want…” She broke off and bit her lip.

  “And then?” Will prompted, lifting an easy smile, trying to give the impression he wasn’t completely at her mercy.

  She blinked and glanced away, shuffling her feet in the sand. A moment later, she looked up at him, her chin jutting out. “Then I want you to tell me what happened that last night in L.A.”

  Oh. That.

  So, not only had she not forgiven him, but she also didn’t remember.

  Will had hoped she wouldn’t; he knew it would hurt her and that was the whole reason he’d done what he had back then. He hadn’t considered that for her, not knowing might be worse.

  Suddenly, she seemed so small, not like a journalist threatening to blow his cover, but like the girl he knew back home, the woman he’d led into his bedroom that night a year ago, then never saw again.

  “That’s four things,” he said. “I don’t see why I should tell you anything if you plan on disclosing my real name. You’re not giving me a reason.”

  Justine opened her mouth but then closed it. He had her there. Finally, one point for Davenport.

  “I don’t like my life being messed with, Justine. And I don’t appreciate being blackmailed.”

  “Blackmail sounds calculating.” Her voice had turned light and innocent, matching her expression. “It’s not like I planned to…run into you. All I want is an interview—I need this interview. And don’t you think you might owe me that much?” She shrugged and twisted her lips, doing that captivating thing. Was she meaning to do it, or was it natural?

  Didn’t matter. It was not going to work on Will. At least he hoped it wouldn’t.

  He pushed out a sharp exhale. “I guess I can agree to an interview. But you have to keep my real name out of it.”

  “But that’s the crux of the story. I’ve already got the first line written in my head.”

  He wanted to growl as the situation spiraled further away from him. But then he took a breath and smiled, plotting his own form of blackmail.

  How badly does she want to know what happened a year ago?

  “Okay, Justine. I’ll make you a deal. If you keep my real name out of it,” he rephrased calmly, “then I’ll tell you about that night.”

  He didn’t want to tell her, though. But why was he protecting her now? He was her story—nothing more.

  “Well?”

  Her eyes narrowed at him as she gnawed pensively on her bottom lip. “Fine.” She sounded defeated.

  Will felt like giving himself a high five at his victory, until he remembered Chase Ryder finally agreeing to an interview was hardly a win.

  “When?” she asked.

  “As you can see, I’m pretty busy now.” He gestured toward the ocean. “I’m in the first heat and this won’t be over for a few hours. We can have our, uh, sit-down then.”

  “Fine,” she repeated. She stared toward the water with a wary look in her eyes, and Will could’ve made a very good guess at the reason.

  She still didn’t trust him—for more reasons now than before. Not only had he left her with a shitty impression back in L.A., but now, for all she knew, he was also the Big Kahuna of liars.

  “Ryder,” one of the officials called, waving him over.

  “Two seconds.” Will waved back.

  The opening ceremonies were about to start. The Eddie wasn’t just a competition; it was a celebration of the ocean and water safety and the extraordinary life of Eddie Aikau, the first lifeguard at Waimea Bay. This hadn’t been Will’s first year invited to the Eddie, but it was the first year he’d been invited and the waves were big enough for the competition to take place.

  “I have to go.”

  Justine tucked some of her wavy blond hair behind an ear and nodded.

  “You’ll be hanging around here?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She laughed under her breath. He liked the sound, and he’d missed it. “That’s why I drove all the way up from Waikiki.”

  He wanted to ask when she’d arrived in Hawaii and who she was staying with and about a million other questions, but he didn’t have time. The other twenty-seven invited surfers were starting to gather.

  He grabbed his board and took his place in the ceremonial circle, but his eyes kept drifting to Justine, who was off to the side behind the rope. Every time her little yellow dress got caught in a gust of wind, he completely lost his concentration. It was a damn good thing he wouldn’t be able to see her when he was shooting the curl.

  Chapter Three

  Even after several hours, Justine was still having trouble processing this new info. Not in a million years would she have suspected the Will Davenport she’d known in L.A. was the same guy she was looking at now—trying not to gawk at now, if she was being honest.

  Yes, he was smokin’ hot, but was that enough reason to go all gooey? A year ago, she’d been frustrated by his restrained personality, and now he was a surfer…meaning he spent countless hours in the water. A familiar shiver raced up her spine, pinching off her breath. Obviously that was another reason she could never be with him, not after what happened to Anna. The thought of Will being hurt in the water…

  Enough, Juss, she scolded herself. You’re here to work—to observe Chase Ryder, not obsess over Will.

  She didn’t know much about surfing competitions, but she did grasp that the idea was to stay on the board for as long as possible. And she guessed the size of the waves played a factor. Although every wave looked enormous to her. Will—or Chase Ryder, rather—got the loudest cheers, but she didn’t know if that was because he was doing well or because he was the fan favorite.

  He was definitely her favorite. The way he sailed over the crests, water spraying up behind him as he cut across the waves. His legs and abs were surely uber-toned and rock-hard to keep him upright like that. She hadn’t been to the beach in so long, let alone to watch anyone surf. It was a little breathtaking how sexy it was. Or maybe…how sexy Will was.

>   After a while, she got caught up in the excitement and was cheering along with the rest of the audience gathered on the beach and lining the tops of the sand dunes behind her.

  According to the boards, Will took second place in his first round, having scored high points due to one particularly ginormous wave. The final heat was next. Justine held her breath as three surfers hit the same wave. The thing was massive—at least five stories high—and she could’ve sworn it looked like it was chasing them. She squinted into the sun, straining to find the exceptionally built surfer on the red board, wearing black trunks and a dark blue Quicksilver wetsuit shirt.

  She spotted Will in the middle of the other two. The one above him flipped, his body and board flying over the peak of the wave, disappearing inside the thirty-foot wall of foam. A moment later, the other surfer slowed, fell behind, and then seemed to be swallowed by the angry white water.

  It was just Will now.

  Out there. In the crashing, murderous, unforgiving waves.

  Images of worst-case scenarios flashed through her mind like a horror movie. Suddenly, her heart was pounding so hard it actually rattled her teeth. The desire to scream Will’s name into the wind, to warn him of danger, squeezed her around the throat. Her feet felt stuck in the sand, paralyzed and helpless as her hands pressed against her hammering heart.

  The person next to her knocked against her shoulder, snapping Justine out of the nightmare. Another sudden eruption from the crowd had her zeroing in on Will again. He looked fine, still upright on his board, perfectly safe. In fact…

  As he cruised the rest of the way in, arms overhead, the crowd exploded in even louder cheers. Justine couldn’t help laughing, relief mixed with excitement at his evident success and obvious safety.

  Will trotted to shore, a huge, animated smile on his face. Had he smiled like that when she knew him before? Had it made her toes curl like right now? She felt the urge to break from the crowd and hurdle the rope barricade just to be near him.