Risking It All

“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.