Coming Undone
Stephanie Tyler

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For my daughter Lily,

who is my very favorite surfer girl and

who has more courage than anyone I know.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

1

“I STARTED WITH, I THINK it’s sexy when we cuddle.”

At her best friend’s words, Carly tried hard not to laugh into the phone’s receiver, but she was unsuccessful. Cuddling was not sexy. Cuddling was for dogs and cats; it wasn’t appropriate fantasy material. Not the erotic kind, anyway, which is what Samantha had attempted to write for her boyfriend.

Carly sat back in her chair and tried to compose herself. After a minute, she managed to choke out, “Sam, I don’t think cuddling’s going to get Joe all hot and bothered. Telling him that you want to cuddle after he strips off your clothes slowly, gets you spread-eagled on the bed and has his way with you thoroughly might get him revved up. But you’d have to be more explicit. You could start with something like, I want to feel your tongue tracing a path down my neck, while your hand reaches between my…”

“Ha. I’m surprised you remember what a man’s touching you is like.”

“Why are we friends again?” Sam’s easy laughter made Carly smile into the phone.

“Because I’m here to remind that you need to get back to your wild ways. Mainly so I can live vicariously through you,” Sam said.

“It’s time for you to get a little wild. Let yourself go and try again. Joe will love it.”

The inspiration for her friend’s truly awful creation was an article in Total Woman Magazine, written by Candy

Valentine, titled: “Take Him Over The Falls: Revealing Your Most Erotic Fantasy To Your Man.”

Sam had lent her the magazine last week, and Carly had had a good chuckle over the title of the piece, an old surfing term that literally meant losing control. Apparently, the article had started some kind of erotic fantasy-writing craze, and her best friend had decided to jump on the bandwagon.

The article had given Carly food for thought. Lots and lots of thought.

“I’m not good at this kind of stuff,” Sam said.

“You’re confusing sexual fantasy with romance. They’re very different animals, according to Candy. You’ve got to forget the cozy-up by the fire routine and think about turning up the heat from the inside instead,” Carly explained.

“Obviously it’s something I’m not accomplishing in real life or on paper.”

The hurt in her friend’s voice was clear. Carly knew that Samantha and her boyfriend of a few months had hit a snag in the bedroom department.

Personally, Carly thought Joe was less than deserving of her friend, but she had to admit Samantha was slightly puritanical in her views on sex. If Carly could get her to loosen up, maybe she’d see that there was more to life than Joe.

Of course, this was coming from someone who hadn’t had a date in months, let alone anything close to a relationship, and she didn’t plan on changing that status anytime soon. “Maybe the problem’s not you, Sam.”

“Maybe, but I’m willing to give this a shot. Hey, are you ready for your parents’ visit?”

“Yes, and a root canal without Novocain.”

“More wedding talk, right? And you still don’t have a date.”

“Don’t remind me.” Carly pinched the bridge of her nose at the thought of how not well the visit was about to go. “And I have got an article due for the magazine, and the charity event’s coming up—”

“I’ll make you a deal. If you start the fantasy for me, I’ll help you with the event,” Samantha offered.

“Fine. I’ll start it, but you’ll have to finish it.” Carly knew she could use the help to plan her part of the charity event. And she’d known she was going to help Sam fix her writing from the second she’d heard that woeful attempt. “Let me get myself into fantasy mode and I’ll e-mail it to you in a while.”

“My computer’s down. Fax it instead. And don’t let your parents see it.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” She could imagine what her mother would say if she caught her eldest daughter writing erotic fantasies.

Women, especially women who were born into society, as her mother often termed it, weren’t supposed to have fantasies. Women with Carly’s social standing were to marry well, have children, work for various charities and generally do all things ladylike.

She had no problem with the charities per se, especially since her family had a legacy of service to the community, beginning with her great-grandmother and continuing into the present, thanks to her mother’s pageant work. Except the event her mother had volunteered Carly for truly inspired mixed feelings, ones she was trying hard not to think about, yet couldn’t seem to escape.

“Go write,” Sam said.

“Will do. I’ll also fax the lists I need you to go over.” She rooted around her desk for the list of names, all the people who’d RSVP’d that they’d attend the event and contribute, as well, and the master list of invitees. She’d set up an office in the guest bedroom of the old house she’d bought a few months earlier. The magazine gig, which she’d deemed her transitional career, was freelance and allowed her to work from the comfort of her home.

“Hey, did you go down to the water today?” Sam asked quietly.

There was no judgment in her friend’s tone, but Carly still felt her back go up for a moment.

She’s only trying to help you.

“No. I didn’t get a chance to,” she lied. Bitter disappointment surged through her at the fact that she had indeed tried. She’d threaded her toes through the sand at the top of the dunes, stared at the crashing waves a mile or so beyond and had been unable to walk any farther toward them. Breathing the calming ocean air hadn’t helped much, either, and she’d admitted defeat and headed back toward the house before she had the chance to panic. When she’d returned to her place, she’d closed the windows in her office so she couldn’t hear the ocean.

Maybe buying a house on the beach hadn’t been the smartest move after all. It had seemed right when she’d retired, or been forced into retirement, depending on how you looked at it, from professional surfing nearly ten months earlier. She’d sold her surfing school in Hawaii and moved to the Northern Florida Coast, settling near Daytona, a two-hour drive from Vero Beach, where she’d grown up. At twenty-five, she’d been nearing the end of her career, and the younger, faster women were snapping at her heels. She’d had a good run, and an even greater scare in that last tournament, never mind the accident that capped her career.

“Well, you’ll try again tomorrow, then. I know you will.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“It’s going to get better. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I know you’ll surf again, and then you’ll be happy.”

Carly wasn’t nearly as sure as her friend was, but it was good to know she wasn’t alone in the world. “I’ll have the fantasy for you in about an hour.” She clicked the speaker phone off, wound her long, unruly blond hair up into a messy knot and took a drink of Red Bull for fortification. Then she let her palms run over the smooth oak of the old desk she’d picked up at an antique store last month while she brooded.

It was a gorgeous day outside, all blue skies and perfect swells, and she was unable to come out from behind this desk and catch a hollow.

She’d never admit it to anyone, but when she crashed in her last tournament, she’d been more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She’d been much more hurt, too, since she’d garnered a catalogue of horrific injuries, including a fractured vertebra, a broken femur and a fractured skull. Those were just the biggies, and she’d been lucky to get out of the hospital with only a titanium rod in her thigh as a souvenir. She hadn’t needed one in her spine, which most likely would’ve meant never surfing again.

After ten months of extensive rehab, her thigh and back still ached occasionally, and even though the PCL muscle in her knee had been surgically repaired, it would never be the same, and neither would she.

She’d been planning to retire after one last circuit of the major tournaments, but she hadn’t wanted to go out like that. At the time, her repetitive stress injuries were slowing her down, compounded by the fact that she’d kept up with the big dogs. She’d pushed her fears aside with her competitive nature and ridden in some surfing holes that were not for the squeamish. She’d been pounded and had worn her scars with pride.

At the time she was hospitalized, doctors had told her that leaving the competitive world of surfing behind might be the only chance she’d have of getting on a board again. It would have to be for recreation only. She couldn’t imagine not climbing on a board ever again, and so she’d agreed with the medical professionals.

She comforted herself with the fact that she hadn’t made that decision based on fear, however, she hadn’t realized how deeply the accident had rooted itself into her psyche.

She did realize it now, since she still hadn’t been able to get herself onto a board although the doctors had given her the thumbs up. That was a whole different kind of fantasy she needed to fulfill.

She picked up the magazine and flipped to the article on the art of fantasy and seduction by Candy Valentine.

For Carly, fantasizing wasn’t the problem.

It wasn’t easy to find someone to live up to those dreams. Most of the men she’d met never stayed in one place long enough to even think about a relationship. And a commitment was the last thing on anyone’s mind in the happy-go-lucky world of beach bums, who didn’t want to grow up. She had to admit, she’d been commitment-shy, too. Until Dan, another professional surfer, cruised into town and swept her away.

The relationship ended in disaster when she’d been hurt. He couldn’t handle it, he’d told her, and then added, besides, now we have nothing in common. From then on, she’d been reluctant about making promises. Casual flings were fine, but she wasn’t wading in deeper in the emotion.

Truth be told, most of the men she dated fell far short of her expectations, both in and out of bed. And now she was supposed to be helping Samantha spice up her reality with a healthy dose of fantasy.

The irony was enough to make her choke on her Red Bull.

She couldn’t worry about that now. Fantasize, she ordered herself. She’d use positive visualization, just like her old coach had taught her. Set your sights on your goal and picture yourself attaining it.

She opened a new Word document and began to type quickly, not thinking too hard about the words that flew from her fingers. That was the key to these things, and that’s what Candy had written in her latest article:

1 Loosen up, forget the embarrassment.

2 Ask for what you want.

3 Write what thrills you, what turns you on.

4 Explore your deepest sexual secrets.

What was her ultimate fantasy? Beyond getting back up on the board again, of course.

Take the reins and please me.

Really, the line between catching a swell and an orgasm was pretty fine. Both gave that in-the-pit-of-your-belly thrill, and both ended up leaving you wiped out and breathless in the best way possible. The only problem was that surfing was a solitary sport, and she didn’t want her orgasms to follow suit.

Let me lose control like I’ve never lost control before.

She thought about her prince charming, her hero, her everything rolled into one man, and then thought about how, even though she could more than handle herself, she’d like to be handled by him.

Just take me, dammit.

Yep, fantasy was much better than reality.

“YOU NEED A DATE FOR YOUR sister’s wedding, Carolyn, and so does Evan. I don’t understand the problem.”

No, of course her mother wouldn’t. Carly bit her tongue. For the millionth time that day, she wished she was still getting her stress-relief from a ride on a wave. Catching a sick double-overhead, especially, and riding through to the crest would’ve been the perfect remedy for this situation. But she knew she’d been lucky to have avoided her sister’s wedding hoopla for this long. The day was imminent now, and it was only a matter of time before her command performance as Carolyn Winters, society maven-to-be.

As if the lime-green bridesmaid’s dress wasn’t humiliation enough. And she couldn’t bear to think about the ridiculous hairstyle she’d have to endure on Nicole’s behalf. She’d heard rumors about mini-tiaras, and she hadn’t had the heart to investigate it any further.

“Evan’s not my type,” Carly said.

“But he likes you,” her father pointed out.

For your money, she thought. For me, all by my lonesome, not so much.

“He’s not going to be my date for Nicole’s wedding.” It came out louder than intended. Across the table, her father winced and her mother shook her head with impatience, and Carly was glad they’d chosen to eat in at her house, rather than make a public spectacle of themselves.

She’d fallen in love with the old place the second she’d laid eyes on it, despite the real estate agent’s pleas to forget about it and find something newer. Hurricane-proof was the exact term she’d used. But the small Mediterranean had a charm, a grace one didn’t find easily in a house for sale in this part of Florida anymore. The area was rife with McMansions and ranch houses. It had become her safe haven, close enough to the ocean for her to know it was there, but not too close to cause her concern. Until today’s fiasco.

“Will you please talk to her?” her mother said to her father while waving a perfectly French-manicured hand in the air.

Everything about her mother was perfect. Shelia Winters was still beautiful, still resembled that young woman who’d won the Miss Florida pageant when she was eighteen and caught the eye of the very wealthy Carl Winters III. Today, her mother’s light blue linen suit set off her blue eyes. Her skin seemed untouched by the sun. How someone lived in Florida and managed not to get a tan had always been a mystery to Carly, who only had to think about sun before her skin turned golden brown.

Her mother was already investigating dermabrasion and face lifts for her daughter.

“I’m still in the room,” Carly reminded them, dishing herself another helping of the complicated Shrimp Risotto she’d ordered from the gourmet restaurant in town. Cooking had never been her forte, and she’d lived in and out of hotel rooms and rental houses so often that she’d never had the time nor the inclination to learn to cook.

“Honestly, she’s impossible.” Her mother ran a hand over her own blond hair pulled back in a chic twist.

Carly ran a hand through her mess of blond locks that tumbled loosely around her shoulders. As far from a beauty queen as you could get. Thank goodness her sister had taken on that role willingly, or Carly’s teen years would’ve truly been a nightmare.

“I don’t understand the problem, Carolyn,” her father said. He was a good match for her mother, still handsome with streaks of silver feathering his dark hair. “You two always enjoyed being together.”

“When we were twelve. And it was more of a forced being together, since we were the only two kids of the same age on the yacht,” she pointed out.

“We’ve always talked about the two of you becoming a couple, honey,” her mother tried again in her best I’m-trying-to-be-patient-with-you voice. “It seems so right. You’re single, he’s single…”

Carly sighed, fighting the urge to lie on the floor in the middle of her kitchen and throw a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum. She was a mature, independent and successful woman who happened to be single, but she felt anything but mature right now. Her parents’ nagging about dating always seemed to bring out the worst in her, and she’d promised herself their comments wouldn’t get to her tonight.

A pairing between Carly and Evan Tremont III was always the family joke, since their parents were best friends. She’d run into Evan maybe three times over the past five years, and none of those events had been memorable. Obviously, both families thought that attending a wedding together might spark some ideas. Evan had no problem with this theory, and no backbone, either, since he’d sent her an e-mail offering to be her date. He’d apologized for being out of the country and unable to ask her in person, but knew they’d have a nice time.

A nice time. Not a great time, an awesome time, a killer-wicked time, not even a good time, but a nice time.

Ultra-formal, ultra-stuffy and ultra-boring. Carly could not live her life like that at all. Evan needed a healthy dose of Candy Valentine and then some.

Evan would’ve been perfect for Nicole, but her sister always managed to find her own suitably wealthy men their parents approved of. The man she was set to marry in two weeks’ time was no exception.

“We’re only trying to help, honey. It’s been a long time since we’ve heard about you dating anyone,” her mother spoke up.

“I go on dates,” Carly insisted. “I didn’t realize I had to file a report every time I went out with someone.”

She’d had exactly two dates since she’d been back. One was a double date with Samantha and Joe and one of Joe’s friends, an experience she’d never repeat. The other was a blind date, the son of someone she knew from the magazine. A total and complete disaster. She’d find her own dates from now on.

“We think you need to start doing something serious with your life, some settling down,” her mother continued.

“I was doing something serious. I had a career, remember?”

Her mother rolled her eyes as though she’d sooner forget and her father patted her hand. “Yes, sweetie, but it was time for you to give that up. There’s important charity work for you to do in the family’s name. People are counting on you.”

Inwardly she cringed at the thought of her entire career being so easily dismissed even though she should be used to it by now. Besides, in surfing, you were only as good as your last ride.

“And I spoke to a plastic surgeon. He said he could remove that with no problem.” Her mother pointed to the small tattoo of a shark Carly had on her right ankle as though it were a disease spreading over her daughter’s body. “I’m sure he could do something about those, too.” This time, her mother pointed to the constant reminders of the accident on Carly’s thigh and knee, then waved her hand around, as though making it all disappear.

“I’m not seeing a plastic surgeon. The scars stay. And so does the tattoo.” She didn’t bother to use the plural. Her mother would never find out about the other one, anyway.

“She’s always been so stubborn, Carl.” Her mother shook her head and her father sighed.

“Maybe if you gave Evan another chance,” her father began. “Nicole doesn’t want you dateless at her wedding.”

In actuality, she didn’t give a flying crap what her perfect younger sister, and former Miss Florida, wanted, but Carly’s next words came as much of a surprise to her as they did to her parents. “I’m already seeing someone.”

The declaration stopped her parents short and Carly gave herself a mental pat on the back. The technique that had proven successful in several top-grossing movies was obviously as effective in real life.

Time to watch those films again to figure out exactly how these women found their made-up boyfriends.

“You said you were dating, but you didn’t mention anyone serious, Carolyn. Why haven’t we met this mystery man?” her mother asked.

She’d been thinking the same thing. “He’s been away. Traveling. I was going to introduce you at the wedding.” The overactive imagination was good for a lot of things, including making up men in her life. And the traveling excuse came naturally, since she’d done it often for her own career. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

“Why not bring him to the rehearsal dinner?” her mother asked.

Yes. That was why.

“Or, better yet, the party we’re throwing this weekend?” her father suggested.

Sure. She’d get right on that magic voodoo doll and conjure herself up a man. At least, her parents had stopped mentioning Evan.

The phone rang, saving her momentarily.

Sam’s number flashed on the cell phone’s screen. “Hey,” Carly whispered, “parents are here.” She leaned her back against the cool, white stucco wall in her front hallway.

“Is it as bad as we thought?”

“Worse. Remind me to tell you about the trouble I’ve created for myself.” She heard her parents move into the living room and she made a dash into the now deserted kitchen to start the strong coffee she knew she was going to need.

Sam groaned. “With your imagination, I can only imagine. And I don’t mean to bug you, but Joe’s coming over tonight and I really wanted to give him that letter.”

“It should be easy for you to finish it off. Didn’t you like what I wrote?” Carly asked as she crumbled coconut onto the white icing of the cake she’d baked earlier from a box mix. Coconut therapy, she’d joked to herself when she’d made it, and she’d used an extra thick layer of frosting to hide the lopsidedness.

“I’m sure I will, once you send it.”

A slight chill went through her at Sam’s words. “I sent it hours ago. It went through, because I got the confirmation.”

“It didn’t come through here,” Samantha said quickly. “Can you resend it?”

Resending it was not the most immediate problem. That fax contained some erotic stuff, and whoever got it would most certainly be in for a thrill.

“Sam,” Carly said, trying to swallow her panic. “If you didn’t get the fax, then who did?”

“Maybe it didn’t go through and you only thought it did,” Sam tried to reassure her, as she forgot her parents and headed to her office, taking the stairs two at a time.

She pulled the fax confirmation out of the recycling bin where she’d tossed it earlier. She scanned for the number and read it out loud, number by number until…

“I reversed the last two numbers and somehow I added a dash,” she said. Oh crap. And then she saw the initials underneath the confirmation. USN. “What the heck does USN stand for?”

“I don’t know what it stands for, but I’m sure whoever gets it will just ignore it.”

This certainly made finding a man a little less intense, but at least she’d signed Candy’s name as a joke and not her own. She hadn’t used a cover letter, either.

Whoever got it wasn’t going to know it was her personal secret fantasy. “I hope so. And I’ll fax it to you again now, okay?” Carly snapped the cell phone shut and double- checked the fax number twice before pushing Send.

“Carolyn, someone’s at the door,” her mother called up the stairs.

“I’ve got it,” she called back. She crumpled up the confirmation paper and threw it back into the bin before heading down to the front door. She opened it without looking through the peephole.

Camouflage greeted her. A brick wall of camouflage, leaning against her doorjamb with a very serious look on his very good-looking face.

A face she had to look up to see, which, at her own height of five feet, ten inches, meant this man was much taller than that. He was well over six feet and filled out in all the right places.

The army-green T-shirt fit more than fine across his broad chest and shoulders and showed off his sculpted biceps. His dark blond hair was sun-bleached in places, fell across his forehead casually. She was close enough to notice the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, and a primitive thrill coiled in her belly.

Maybe just thinking about the voodoo doll had worked, because this was more magic than she could’ve hoped for.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, you can.” His voice was husky and unhurried as he leaned in toward her, his arm still resting on the doorjamb. “You want to explain why you’re sending pornographic faxes to a United States Navy SEAL team?”

2

HUNT HADN’T BEEN SURE what to expect from someone named Candy Valentine, but the woman who’d answered the door looked genuinely surprised, which was a good sign. It meant the letter had been faxed by mistake, that she wasn’t some kind of SEAL groupie or, worse, hadn’t been trying to hack the system. In truth, the teams got letters like this one all the time, by mail. But when it came through a secure fax line, it had to be investigated, and he’d been the lucky one pulling office duty at the Mayport Military Base when the fax rolled through the nearest printer.

He was checking in regularly while on partial leave, and he’d never expected to find himself making the hour or so drive down the coast toward Daytona to investigate something like this.

I want you to start by running your tongue slowly around my ear….

Hooyah.

“Who are you?” she asked, keeping her voice low and giving a quick look over her shoulder.

She wasn’t home alone. Married, maybe?

“Lieutenant Jonathan Huntington, United States Navy,” he announced, letting his gaze drop to her hand. No ring and no tan line. “Did you send this fax?” He held the papers up, page one on top so she could read it.

She licked her bottom lip nervously, and then nodded.

Damn, she was sexy.

Let your hand drift down to my breasts….

He’d needed a frozen-cold shower before venturing to find the author. A cursory check through records told him that the owner of the fax line was a woman. He was relieved, but now…

Get down on your knees….

If a fantasy was going to turn him on this much, he sure as hell wanted it to be from someone who looked like her.

A beautiful woman. A woman with tousled blond curls and deep brown eyes and a lithe, athletic-looking body, showcased in a pair of shorts and a tank top.

Spread my thighs….

She had the longest legs he’d ever seen, tanned and slim and finely muscled, and if he wasn’t mistaken there was a shark tattoo on her left ankle.

Make me lose control.

You have been OUTCONUS for too long, Hunt—out of the country and out of the bedroom. This was a hell of a welcome home. It was time for some much needed R & R, and he wondered what this Candy Valentine was up to.

A list of names had been faxed along with the fantasy, some of which read like a who’s who of Florida society. He’d grown up in the area, close enough to know the wealthy by name but not close enough for any of it to rub off on him. And there was an expensive, top-of-the-line Mercedes convertible in her driveway.

Was it possible she was some kind of high-priced call girl?

“This is an extremely serious offense.” He continued to play the hard ass, although now his curiosity was more than piqued. Especially because of the thin, healing scars running vertically along her right thigh and knee. “The military doesn’t look kindly on solicitations of this kind.”

But this letter sure as hell does it for me.

“It…this…wasn’t supposed to be,” she stuttered, and then she stopped and gained her composure. “I’m sorry about the mistake. This was supposed to go to a friend and I obviously faxed it to the wrong number. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“A male friend?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said it was supposed to go to a friend….”

“Oh. No. It was for a female friend.” Her blush was visible through her tan, and she shifted from one bare foot to the other as she crossed her arms. “It’s not what you think.”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” he said.

“I don’t see how the specifics are any of your business. I’ll take those back and you can be on your way.” She reached out for the papers but he pulled them away.

“No can do. It’s official government property.”

“What does the government want with something like that?”

“It’s become part of our records. Any and all unauthorized documents that come through our fax lines have to be investigated and properly recorded.” That wasn’t exactly true. It was also up to his discretion as to whether or not to drop this matter, but watching her defend herself was turning him on almost as much as her words on paper had.

“So there’s going to be a file somewhere in our federal government titled Carly’s Fantasy?” she demanded.

Hell yes, only it’s going to be in my personal file.

“I don’t know who Carly is,” he spoke with a formal tone. “This fax was sent by Candy Valentine.”

Busted. Her mouth dropped for a second, but again, he gave her credit for her quick pick-up. “Carly’s my nickname,” she offered, and then looked angry at herself for giving him that information. The nickname fit her—she looked like a Carly. She looked really, really good, too, and he wondered if it would be against any and all regulations to ask her out on a date, right then and there.

After he did his job and got this mess sorted out, of course. After he found out that she wasn’t a hooker.

“I’d appreciate it if you could tell me how you got ahold of a secure fax number. And why you’re using an alias.”

“It was a mistake. I reversed the last two numbers and I’m not using an alias. And I’d appreciate it if we could let the whole matter go.” She was telling the truth on both counts. He could tell by the way her gaze held his steadily and the way she kept her voice low, so whoever was in the next room couldn’t overhear.

She was a woman with a secret, but she’d already spilled some pretty personal ones on the papers he held in his hand.

“You look familiar,” he said suddenly, and that wasn’t just a pick-up line. “I’ve seen you somewhere before….”

“Well, you haven’t. So if you’ll give me back those pages, I won’t tell anyone about this.”

He could do that. Or he could take this whole thing one step further and risk having her call his superiors.

He was used to tougher risks than this. “So tell me, Carly. Is this one of your fantasies?”

The flush spread again, over her nose and the smattering of freckles. “Are you here to make fun of me or to find out if I’m some kind of terrorist fantasy-writer?”

“I’m not here to make fun of you,” he said.

“Then what are you going to do about this? Are you letting it drop?”

“There are two problems I have to deal with before I can do that.”

“And what would those be?”

“First of all, I need to know how and why you have a list like this, complete with addresses and phone numbers of some of the wealthiest people in Palm Beach.”

“And what’s the second problem?”

He leaned in and smiled. “You didn’t finish the fantasy.”

“Carolyn? What’s going on?” An attractive woman, who looked much younger than she probably was, came up behind Carly and smiled when she saw him. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t realize you had company. Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

THE CHANCES OF A situation like this happening were slim to none.

The chance of you taking that wave is slim to none, Carly, her old coach’s voice echoed in her ear. On that particular day, the odds had been in her favor. The trophy was situated proudly in her office.

It seemed as if her life was full of chances the book-makers wouldn’t dare gamble on. So what was one more?

Oh, this was so not good.

“Mother,” she began, well aware this man could probably read the slight panic that had to be showing on her face.

Said man stepped forward and extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jonathan Huntington, but you can call me Hunt.”

“Hello, Hunt.” Carly would’ve laughed at the way her mother said the nickname, but she was beyond having fun. “I’m Carolyn’s mother, Sheila Winters.”

Her father came from nowhere and shook Hunt’s hand. “Carl Winters III. You must be related to the West Palm Huntingtons.”

“No, sir.”

“Ah, the New York Huntingtons then. Huntington Oil.”

Again, Hunt shook his head. “I grew up a short distance from here, but my family wasn’t in the oil business.”

This was like living in some alternative universe where things like erotic faxes and sailors and parents ended up together in one place. This was not the planet Earth Carly knew and loved.

“And you’re in the military?” her mother asked, and Carly gave her mental kudos for changing the subject so deftly. Part of the whole white-glove upbringing.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, we’re very patriotic. In fact, I ran a charity auction for our troops last month.”

“We appreciate the support,” he said.

“So, this is the gentleman you were telling us about, Carolyn?” her mother asked.

Just kill me now.

Heck, for all she knew, Hunt could be an axe murderer.

“Um,” she said, looking into Hunt’s eyes and wondering how far he would be willing to go with this ruse. He hadn’t mentioned the fax yet, so maybe she could get through this with some pride intact.

“I guess that’s why my ears were burning. I just got off work and stopped by to see if Carly wanted to catch some dinner,” he said without a trace of hesitation in his voice. He grabbed her hand, his thumb traced her palm and then he brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

Okay. Not an axe murderer, but he was definitely going to kill her if he kept doing things like that.

Samantha was right. It had been way too long for Carly. And she wanted a lot more than dinner. She wanted to sink into the sand, never to be seen again. Then again, a big part of her wouldn’t mind pulling Hunt down with her.

He knew her fantasy, knew how she wanted to be touched and where….

No, he didn’t know anything, she told herself firmly. When her parents left, she’d explain things to this Hunt person. He was in the military, and they must have a code, or some kind of moral obligation that would make him keep his mouth shut and protect her secret.

Why else was he playing along with this dinner thing?

“We’ve finished dinner, but we haven’t had dessert yet. Why don’t you join us?” Sheila Winters asked.

“Dessert sounds great,” Hunt said with obvious enthusiasm. Carly fought a gasp and squeezed his hand instead, since he hadn’t released hers. He took the opportunity to pull her closer and she swore he was hypnotizing her parents, right in front of her.

Granted, it was a trick she’d be more than happy to learn.

“I’ll pour the coffee. Come help me, Carl,” her mother urged with a smile on her face. A smile. Hunt definitely had to have some kind of special superpowers, which didn’t bode well for her.

When her parents were a safe distance away, she whispered, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Apparently, helping you out of a jam,” he said with an innocent shrug. It would have worked, too, except the man was far from innocent. There was something so commanding about his presence that she’d been ready to spill everything, until common sense had taken over.

Hunt was in the military, and all the guys probably gave off that air. Still, she’d known him for less than five minutes and she already knew he was nothing like any man she’d ever met. What were the chances…

“Wait a minute. I thought SEALs were stationed in California and Virginia?”

“We pop up in a lot of unexpected places,” he said.

“I’ll bet you do. And how will you pull this off?” she asked.

“How will we pull this off, is the bigger question? Because your parents think I’m your significant other, and you didn’t tell them I’m not.”

“You went along with it.”

“You seemed a little desperate.”

“Why are you doing this?” Why wasn’t he letting go of her hand?

“I want to know what happens at the end.”

He obviously wasn’t aware that the fantasy was always better than the reality. The problem was that the two had, moments ago, collided head-on, and she was caught inside the wave, while he’d aced her with a total 360, leaving her nowhere to bail.

In a surfer’s world that signaled a potential wipe-out. It was definitely time to kick out of this man’s wave. “You go home, and I have to tell my parents you’re not my boyfriend.” She took her hand back from his and immediately missed the contact.

“I’m nobody’s boyfriend, Carly. But I wasn’t talking about after dessert. I was talking about the end of this fantasy.” Hunt smiled a wide, wicked grin and winked, then he sauntered past her into the house. “I hope you made my favorite, honey,” he said loudly. “Because I’m in the mood for some sugar.”

3

SUGAR HAD BEEN THE first thing on his mind, too. Maybe that could finally put some of the pieces of this puzzle together.

Maybe he could get Carly to reveal more of her fantasy, although he’d finished it off a dozen different ways in his mind already.

It had been a long drive, and the steady hum of the bike vibrating between his legs made the highway one long pre-orgasmic stretch.

Now, he forced himself to tamp down the enthusiastic buzz as he sat across the table from Sheila and Carl Winters. He’d recognized their names immediately when he’d seen them on the list. They were upper high society in the small Vero Beach community, always making the papers for one thing or another.

Carly Winters was one interesting lady even without the fax. And, from the strained look on her face, he had to guess that the erotic fax thing wouldn’t go over well with this set.

How he’d suddenly become the long-lost boyfriend was anybody’s guess.

“So Hunt, are you a Marine?”

He fought the urge to yell, hell no, and instead said calmly, “No, ma’am. I’m a Navy SEAL.”

“Would you mind my asking what a SEAL is?”

He smiled at Sheila Winters, because at least that answer was easy. “We’re part of the Special Operations division. SEAL is an acronym for sea, air and land. Although we’re primarily known for our water ability we can pretty much handle any assignment, regardless of the terrain. We’re Navy and we work in small teams.”

“So you’ve probably traveled all over the world.”

To crapholes you haven’t even dreamed of visiting. “Yes, ma’am, although I can’t say much more than that. All of our missions are classified.”

“Well, is how you and Carly met classified information?” Sheila asked him, a tiny smile on her face. From behind her parents, Carly smirked at him as she brought the coconut cake to the table in the center of the large kitchen.

He raised his eyebrows and she jumped in hurriedly. “At the beach. We met at the beach.”

Safe enough answer. Safer than the truth, and he could work with it.

“Was it at one of her competitions?” Carl Winters asked.

“Oh, Carl, please. Do we have to discuss that? I’m so happy she’s not doing that surfing thing anymore. I was always so worried about her.”

He’d seen two longboards propped up outside the house. And suddenly, he remembered where he’d seen Carly Winters. The local paper had run a lengthy article on her a few months back when he’d been in town for training and when she’d retired her pro-surfing status.

Wow. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see her in action,” he said, watching the blush spread across her cheeks again. He could think of a lot better ways to make her blush.

“She had a good career,” Carl said. “I have some old tapes I could lend you that show her competing.”

“That’d be great. From what I hear, she was amazing to watch.”

Carly threw him a strange look, somewhere between appreciation and pain. He pictured her in a bikini, riding the hell out of a wave along the swells of the ocean. Had to be a thing of beauty.

A SEAL and a surfer. There were worse combinations, and this particular one could prove to be a hell of a ride.

“She was a wonderful surfer,” Carl agreed.

Sheila changed the subject with a wave of her hand to her husband. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other?”

“Six months,” Hunt answered, figuring a nice, even number was the way to go. Besides, if he’d guessed wrong, it would be okay. Guys were supposed to screw up stuff like anniversaries and birthdays.

“So you met before she moved back here, then.”

Ah, screwed that one up. Still, he nodded, mind firmly set in interrogation mode. They didn’t need to know he wasn’t permanently stationed around here.

“Yes. He was training in Hawaii,” Carly said. And that made sense. Surfing. Hawaii.

“And you’ve been traveling, Carolyn tells us,” Sheila Winters continued.

Sounds about right…. “Yes. I’ve been overseas, so I’m looking forward to spending more time with Carly.” Where was this stuff coming from? Maybe he had an acting career after his SEAL stint?

“And he’s back just in time for the wedding,” Carly added.

Whoa. Wedding? Hell, he’d do anything for his country, and obviously a lot to help out and help himself to a beautiful stranger, but no how, no way was he getting roped into marriage. Suddenly, the kitchen shrank to the size of a cell and a strong survival urge kicked in. He was telling himself to get out, hit the open road and rock on.

Although the thought of tossing the surfer over his shoulder, before giving her parents the peace out, didn’t seem too bad.

THE WEDDING QUESTION HAD stopped him cold. Nice to know the thought of commitment could bring even a tough-guy, Navy SEAL to his knees.

Carly should’ve let him choke, but she needed him. This had gone too far, and she didn’t want to look like a bigger fool than she already was. “You remember, I told you my sister’s getting married, right?” She gave him a look with a raise of her eyebrows as she slid the plate in front of him. “The wedding’s in two weeks.”

“Right. I must’ve forgotten,” he said, and took a bite of the cake.

“I’m sure you had many other things on your mind while you were away.” Her mother took a demure sip of coffee and pushed her cake away after only a cursory bite.

This was a way for Carly to get her parents off her back. She could show up at the wedding alone, claim a last minute breakup. By then, it would be too late to pair her with Evan, and hopefully, he’d have his own date.

“There’s a party we’re throwing next week, and then there’s the rehearsal dinner, too. I need to tell the chef if we’re expecting another person, you understand,” her mother explained.

This wasn’t happening. There wasn’t enough coconut therapy in the world to help Carly now.

“Yes, I do.” Hunt finished his piece of cake and slung an arm around her shoulders. His closeness was comforting, like a protective shield. “I’m actually on partial duty for the next month, so my schedule’s pretty light.”

And it was getting worse by the second, like a complete train wreck she couldn’t do a thing to stop. Like it was happening in somebody else’s life, not hers, and she’d wake up to find out this was all a strange dream. A strange dream that included a dark blond, green-eyed, handsome man, who made her toes curl every time she looked at him.

She crossed her arms in front of her and he looked at her as if he could read her mind.

Then again, he didn’t need to. She’d written it all out on paper.

“So you’re coming to the wedding, then?” her mother repeated.

“Wouldn’t miss it. I don’t like disappointing Carly,” Hunt said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

She could imagine what was going through her mother’s mind right now. Organizing a charity event for the military was one thing, but having her eldest daughter bring a Navy SEAL to a family wedding was quite another, especially when said daughter was supposed to have her hand spoken for.

It almost made up for the fact that later on, Carly would have to explain this whole thing to Hunt. She was going to owe him big-time, and she had a sneaking suspicion about what he’d want for payment.

“Sheila, we should go and leave these kids alone. I’m sure they don’t want us hanging around.” Her father stood to leave and Hunt stood as well.

“Please don’t leave on my account.”

“We’ve got a drive ahead of us back to Vero,” her mother said. “We’ll see you both on the sixteenth for the party.”

They’d see her there, but she and Hunt would be long broken up by then, because this was a big mistake. Or maybe they’d be visiting her in a military prison reserved for erotic-fantasy writers. Either way, she was screwed.

She walked her parents to the door.

“Dinner was lovely, Carolyn. And Hunt seems like a very nice young man.” Her mother gave her a quick peck on the cheek and Carly wondered if Hunt had ever been called a very nice young man. “You will have to let Evan know about your change of plans. Perhaps he’ll realize he’s got to work a little harder to get through to you.”

Useless to argue. Obviously, Hunt’s powers of mind control only worked during direct contact. “I’ll talk to Evan. And I’ll see you guys next week.” Carly gave a quick wave as they got into their car and backed out of the driveway.

When she returned she found Hunt comfortably ensconced on her sofa, flipping through a surfing magazine. He’d kicked off his flip-flops, which didn’t look as if they belonged to any official Navy uniform, and his cell phone and beeper were strewn on her coffee table. He’d also cut himself a second piece of coconut cake and poured another cup of coffee. He appeared to be camping out for a while.

Meaning it was time for her to decide how far to take this situation. “Look, I don’t know why you did what you did—”

“Think they bought it?” he interrupted, and she found herself staring at him again. He was so handsome. Quickly, a dozen different fantasies, all involving Hunt and his uniform and a nice hot game of “Yes, ma’am” seemed like a great way to pass the night.

But it was a fantasy that had gotten her into this particular mess to start with. “Yes, they did buy it. Now, I’ll have to think up some excuse as to why you won’t be attending any Winters family functions. What were you thinking?”

“You started it. You were the one who sent me the fantasy.”

“I didn’t send you any fantasy. I told you, it was a mistake.” A giant, horrifically embarrassing mistake.

“I like a woman who knows what she wants.” His voice dropped an octave as his gaze swept over her. “And you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

“Are you going to turn that document in?”

“No, I’m not,” he replied, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he handed it to her, along with the guest lists.

“Well, thanks. And thanks for trying to help tonight. I didn’t mean to pull you into this.”

“Looks like you owe me,” he told her, watching her with that I’ve-got-plans-for-you gaze.

“The cake wasn’t enough?”

“Not nearly enough.” He’d abandoned the coffee as he stood, stretched and stared at her appreciatively. On any other guy, it would’ve been obscene. On him, it made her want to take off her clothes. Or better yet, let him take them off. Slowly.

“We just met, Hunt. I don’t even know you,” she said, as more of a reminder to herself than anything.

“I’m an open book,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, and Carly thought about asking him to reveal one of his fantasies, so that they’d be on a level playing field. “It’s not like we had a date or anything,” she continued, realizing he didn’t need any more ammunition than what he already had on her. He didn’t seem the type who’d have any problem spilling his fantasies. Fantasies involving his removing that T-shirt and letting her check out what she was sure was the best chest she’d ever seen, which probably had a light dusting of blond hair leading down to his…

“You don’t seem like a woman who’d get caught up in conventions. And I am invited to the wedding.” He grinned, and she wondered if this man could indeed read minds.

Carly narrowed her eyes. “And what’s in this for you?”

“I already told you. I want to know how the fantasy ends.” Hunt moved closer, and she wanted to walk away, to tell him to go right out her front door and not come back, but she couldn’t. Her feet remained rooted in place as he stood inches from her, and tension crackled the air between them.

What was in that coconut cake? Aphrodisiac therapy. Coconut covered SEAL.

She needed to get a grip.

But the memory of what she’d written was almost too much to bear, and the thought of putting it to practice, and putting Hunt to the test, was making her hot.

His scent reminded her of the beach in the early morning, so full of promise, hinting of sunshine and ideal waves. It was her favorite smell and a longing echoed inside of her. It would be so easy to kiss him, to make her fantasy come true. There was nothing stopping her from stripping off her clothes and having Hunt press his body against hers, letting him take her against the couch, or on the floor, or anywhere else he wanted to.

It would be the easiest thing.

He remained close to her, his lips parted in a seductive smile before he spoke. “Are you going to tell me how it ends? Or do you want me to show you first how I’d finish it?”

4

HE DIDN’T WAIT TO HEAR her answer before he brought his mouth down on hers. It was a slow, warm kiss that threatened to turn into something molten. Hunt’s hands were in her hair. Carly’s hands were fisted against his chest, unsure if they were there to pull him closer or push him away.

She had an open invitation to show him how she’d end it, any way she wanted. Who could pass that up?

Choosing the road less taken, Carly knew she’d regret it one way or another. She pulled back, breaking the kiss without finesse.

His smile was wider than it had been before. His green eyes slightly more golden, and his thick blond hair begged for her to thread her hands in it. She knew taking him to bed was the only right thing to do. “I think you need to leave, Hunt,” she said.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Of course she didn’t, but it had taken every ounce of strength to stop and still have a coherent thought. He tasted like coconut. He tasted delicious and he kissed her the way someone who knew how to kiss should. He should teach courses in kissing, because that’s how good it was. Over the falls paled in comparison.

She didn’t need any more distractions.

He stepped back and released her, but made no move to leave. “So tell me again why a professional surfer girl is faxing erotic fantasies to strangers.”

“Former pro surfer girl,” she corrected. “And I told you. I was helping out a friend.”

“Right, a friend. So where did this idea for the fax come from, anyway?”

She thought for a second about not telling him, and then figured he might as well know the whole truth rather than continue thinking she was plain crazy.

Carly dug out the magazine from the pile next to her couch and handed it to him. He read for a minute in silence and she got a chance to stare at him a little more. Because there was something about this man in uniform that made her tingle.

“So you needed to spice up your sex life?” he asked finally.

“I told you, it wasn’t for me. My friend needed to spice up hers. I was giving her a start with the fantasy.”

“And how did things work out for your friend?”

“I’ll find out in the morning,” she said, smiling.

“Candy Valentine’s a good name, but it sounds like a stripper. Is that part of your fantasy?”

“I’m sure it’s part of yours.”

“Oh, yeah. That would work.” He eyed the matching decorative columns that ran, floor to ceiling, in her living room.

Oh boy.

“These are really cool,” he said. He’d moved into an alcove, scanning the pictures she’d hung there. Most of them were photos of her having just come off a ride, and a few boasted her on the covers of some surfing magazines, one of them a national publication. She’d debated not hanging them up at all, but hoped having that daily public reminder would inspire her to get better. Fixed. Something.

Seeing a therapist was the next step. She didn’t want it to have to come to that. Admitting the problem had been hard enough.

Admitting the problem to her parents was something she didn’t plan on doing, period. And really, she could easily back out of her mother’s upcoming charity event by citing pain. There were plenty of other surfers and body boarders participating. Some recognizable names were giving their time to raise money for spinal cord injury research. But she’d booked herself as one of the attractions because her pride wouldn’t let her do otherwise. She still held out more than a spark of hope that she could give an impromptu, two-minute ride on a longboard, and influence some girl the way she’d been influenced so many years ago. And now, two weeks and counting, she couldn’t make it mid-beach, never mind into the water. She had her strength back, and enough flexibility to let her give a decent ride.

“Where’d you learn to surf?” Hunt asked, pulling her from her reverie. She realized she been fisting her hands so tightly that her nails had left marks in her palms. She straightened her hands and rubbed them against each other as she spoke.

“I grew up hanging around on the beach,” she replied. “It was the thing to do.”

A charity event her mother dragged her to. She remembered being hot and itchy in the stupid dress she’d been forced into. Aged ten, and already more trouble than her parents cared to handle. She’d wandered off after the event, which was some kind of Save Our Oceans campaign, and she’d happened upon a woman who stood by the water’s edge carrying a surfboard.

All the surfers Carly had seen in her life up till that point had been men, and she’d been curious. The woman took off in the water, paddled out and caught a ride. It left Carly fascinated. The next day, she’d begged her dad for surfing lessons and he’d agreed.

“And you made a career out of it,” Hunt said.

“I did. Pretty cool to make a living doing something you love.” She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered how awesome it was.

“So what are you going to do now that you’ve retired? It has to be something that lets you get your kicks because I can’t imagine you driving a desk.” Instead of thinking about his words, she wanted to rub her cheek against the slight rough on his face and let it tickle her. “More dessert?” she asked. She didn’t wait for his response before grabbing his plate and heading for the kitchen.

CARLY RETURNED A FEW minutes later with what looked like half the cake. He’d stretched out on her couch again, planned on getting, and staying, comfortable, then smiled as he took the plate from her. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“So, we were talking about what you’re planning now, career-wise.” he said.

“Right. Well, what are you going to do when you leave the SEALs?” she asked finally, and he caught more than a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

Yeah, it was more than a touchy subject for her.

Her body posture changed, tensed up, almost the way it had when her parents mentioned her career. Too many people had asked her that question and she didn’t have a sure-fire answer yet. He was almost sorry he’d brought it up. But he lived by instinct and something told him there was more to her retirement than met the eye, scars or no scars. Every professional athlete had their share of those, and he wondered if they had anything to do with her bowing out early.

“Hadn’t thought about it much, since I don’t have plans to leave the military anytime soon.”

“I didn’t have plans, either,” she said quietly. Too quietly.

“Sometimes plans aren’t always the answer.”

She nodded and then seemed to realize she’d given away more than she’d wanted to. “This has been an interesting night, but—”

“But it’s not over yet,” he said. “Let’s take a walk on the beach. It’s a perfect way to end our date.

She hesitated long enough for him to know something wasn’t right. It had nothing to do with her wanting him out of there. She didn’t want him gone; her body was giving off all the wrong signals.

He knew when a body turned traitor, and besides that, Carly Winters didn’t have a poker face. And she hadn’t even bitten on the date comment.

“I’m kind of tired,” she said.

“It’s only eight o’clock.”

“I’ve got an early day ahead of me.”

“More faxing?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. A quick walk.” She slid the glass door open and they stepped out onto her portico and headed to the dunes just beyond.

All the stars were out. A beautiful, calm evening, a sight he always looked for when he was on a mission and one he rarely got. He stopped and stared up, drew in a deep breath of sea air before continuing on.

Carly had walked ahead of him, and he watched her outline, silhouetted in the moonlight. She moved easily, with the grace of someone who had a natural athletic ability, and he wondered if he’d get the chance to see her surf anytime soon. Or naked. With or without the surfboard.

Now that would be a fantasy come true.

“Are you coming?” she asked.

He bit his tongue and caught up to her with a few easy strides. They walked in silence for several seconds, until they hit the dunes. He jumped over into the soft sand that led to the surf, where high tide had crested, but she remained behind.

“I’m going back,” she told him.

“We just got here. And it looks like the night for a swim.”

“I’m not wearing my bathing suit.” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked anything but comfortable.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never skinny-dipped.”

“I’ll leave that one to your imagination,” she said. “And now you’re staring.”

“Not staring—imagining.”

That got a slight smile from her and yeah, he liked that smile.

“Have you gotten your fill yet?” she asked, even as his eyes lingered on her legs and continued upward, traveling slowly until his gaze met hers.

“Not by a long shot.”

“Hunt, look…”

“I’m going in,” he called out before she could start talking about heading for the house again. He threw his T-shirt toward her and quickly shed his pants. Modesty in the military wasn’t possible, and getting naked was something he’d never been much shy about anyway. “Watch my back.”

He broke into a swift run as he got closer to the edge of the surf, and once his feet hit the water he moved faster until he could dive into the dark waves and roll with the undertow. Night swimming had always been his favorite, even as a kid growing up along the beach. The sound of the rushing water wasn’t drowned out by a noisy, touristy beach crowd, and the thrill of doing something he wasn’t supposed to only added to the pleasure.

Funny, he’d have bet money a surfer would feel the same way, but Carly was no closer to joining him than she was at the start. If anything, it looked as though she’d backed away from the dunes, but she was still watching him.

Yes, there was a lot more he wanted to find out about that.

5

CARLY WANTED NOTHING more than to strip and run into those dark waves with him. Her muscles ached for it, but her mind wouldn’t give in. Before the accident ten months ago, she wouldn’t have given his offer a second thought, probably would’ve been the one suggesting the skinny-dip.

She was no fun anymore.

And when she lost sight of Hunt for a second after a crashing wave broke over him, she held her breath until he resurfaced.

Damn. She hated this, hated herself for being so scared. She held on to Hunt’s T-shirt in one hand, picked up his pants with the other and shook the sand from them while he frolicked in the water. There was no underwear to be found, and she guessed the term going commando was indeed coined by the military for a reason.

How did she get involved in all of this?

Right, the movie thing. The I’m-dating-someone-already excuse. The Candy Valentine fantasy.

She would have a lot more fun if she brought along Hunt. The parties she was expected to attend would be boring and stuffy and Hunt could do his magic hypnotizing act on the whole lot of them. He’d probably be a big hit, but had he actually agreed to help her?

He ran back up the sand and stopped in front of her. Salt water dripped off his body which, even with only the moonlight to see by, looked better than anything she’d ever seen in a gym or on a surfer.

Her hands fisted at her sides, nails biting palms again until he let a lazy half smile tug at his mouth. He was standing so close, so naked, daring her to do something, anything. She thought about the way he’d swum out, how powerful his body looked cutting through the moonlit waves.

She wanted some of that power for her own, needed to release the tension that was making her body ache. And her fantasy was standing right there.

She reached out, touched his shoulder, wanting to feel the water on her before it possibly brought on another panic attack. But somehow the combination of Hunt and the sea wasn’t scary, at least not with his broad shoulders blocking her view of the waves.

Not scary at all, especially when she used some positive visualization. And at that moment, she was pretty positive about what she wanted.

She leaned into him, and his hands went around her waist, pulled her against him, and she tasted the salt water on his lips, lost herself in his mouth. Her hands tugged at his wet hair while her body molded to his. She wondered why she’d protested earlier. The kiss was warm and tender and she almost forgot to breathe.

She didn’t plan on stopping anything, wanted him to put his hands on her, all over her, to make her forget surfing and the wedding and everything except his touch.

As if he understood, his hands went under her tank top. He caressed her back, then drifted leisurely over the curve of her breasts as if he had all the time in the world.

So strong and so right. Her nipple swelled against his palm.

“I bet this is how you like it, Carly,” he whispered, running his tongue along the sensitive, outer rim of her ear, leaving a trail of salt water along her shoulder. Hunt captured her lobe in his teeth, nipping while he brushed a thumb over one nipple and then the other with just enough pressure to make her press into it. “You want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she murmured, knowing he’d managed to hypnotize her, too. Knowing she wanted his mouth on her breasts and anywhere else he deemed to kiss her.

He pushed her back and put his mouth over one nipple, which was still covered in the lacy fabric of her bra. He flicked the bud with his tongue. Her breath quickened, and she longed for his tongue rasping her nipple without the barrier.

Impatiently, she pushed him back, tugged her tank top over her head, and he was on her again, unhooking her bra and working a nipple with his tongue.

The strength of his arm around her waist was the only thing holding her up. He was so close, and still, she wanted him closer.

“Hunt, yes,” she moaned as he worked the bud in tandem with the hand he’d slid down her shorts. When his fingers slid inside her thong and touched her, she jumped. He chuckled against her breast, worked a finger into her center.

She was ready, so ready for him, and moved against the beat of his hand while he used his arm to steady her. His wasn’t letting her nipple go, continued to tug it gently between his teeth, roll it and lick it until she was sure the neighbors would hear her cries above the pounding surf. The need that burned her belly began to tighten–when need met want and urgency couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered against her breast before putting his tongue back to work. She buried her face into his neck, held his shoulders for dear life as the orgasm rocked through her, pulsated against his hand.

When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her, until he slid down on his knees in front of her.

Just like the fantasy.

Hunt pushed her thighs apart, then held her hips and brought his face to her belly. He ran his tongue over her skin, making her shiver. And then he looked up. With that lazy half smile he jolted her already-on-edge nerve endings. Her breath went taut.

And then he got to his feet as disappointment washed over her from head to toe.

“We’d better put some clothes on before your neighbors decide to take a nightly stroll of their own,” he suggested.

What had she been thinking? This part of the beach behind her house was secluded, yes, but not private, and several other houses dotted the shoreline and shared the same patch of sand. Anyone could’ve walked by. Granted, she and Hunt had been more than hidden behind the dune and the tall sea grass, but she was half naked and he was much, much more than that.

“What about you?” she asked, and watched as he pulled his pants on after he’d helped her with her tank top. She stuffed her bra in the pocket of her shorts.

“I’ll live,” he said. “Besides, it wasn’t my fantasy, although it was pretty close.”

They walked back toward Carly’s house. He caught her hand in his, leading her to the portico and the sliding glass door. She was sure he was going to invite himself in. Better yet, he’d pick her up and carry her inside, up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Hunt’s eyes met hers and he smiled. He kissed her again before he sauntered off around the side of her house. After a minute’s pause, she heard the engine of the bike–a sound that rumbled through her the way he had, and then it shot away into the distance. No man had that kind of self control.

Obviously, Hunt had, that and a lot more self-restraint than the average man. From what she’d seen, there was nothing about him that could be deemed average.

She wasn’t sure if she would see him again, but at least he’d gotten her over the dunes. Literally.

Somehow, even though he had control of the fantasy, she had a sinking feeling the ball had been left in her court. It was sink or swim time for Carly, and she couldn’t even get in the water.

She wandered along to the kitchen, a strange combination of utter relief and pent-up energy flowing through her. She thought about calling Sam, and even as her hand reached for the receiver, she remembered that her friend was supposed to be living out her own adventure tonight.

They’d certainly have a lot to discuss, come morning.

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