“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