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“Can we…I think I’m done.”
“Sure, sure…let’s take a break.” She sounded more than shaky. He wasn’t sure what had precipitated the fear he heard in her voice—maybe all that talk about sharks.
Chloe shook her head, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. “No, I mean I’m done for the day. I just really want to go back to the beach.”
“Okay. You’re going to have to help me get in. Can you lay down and paddle?”
She nodded. He had her stretch out on his board, and he stretched out over her, covering her body with his. She didn’t complain—and she fit nicely under him, tucked in just fine. For a minute, her body distracted him.
Her curves pressed against him, and they warmed his blood, taking away the chill of the sea. He started paddling, taking them in slow and easy. He could feel Chloe start to relax, and when they were close enough, he rolled off of the board and held out a hand to her.
Still shivering, she stood and walked out of the water, hanging onto him like he was a lifeguard. “Hey, you’re safe.”
She nodded and sat down on the sand.
Trent sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, laying his chin atop her head. “Okay, what’s the deal? What frightened you?”
Chloe mumbled, “I thought it would be different now.”
“What would be different?”
She pushed herself away from him and reached up to squeeze the water from her ponytail. She straightened and looked like she was doing her best to act like a mature adult who hadn’t just freaked out. “When I was six, I fell through the ice on a pond. I wasn’t under long—my dad pulled me out. But…I wouldn’t even put my face under the shower after that for months, and I resisted going swimming if I couldn’t stand and keep my head above the water. I thought I was over it.”
Trent nodded. Old fears were the worst—he knew about that. Hell, SEAL training was all about making you face every damn fear you might have; you either broke from it or you got through it. He rubbed her back. “But you can swim.”
“I…in high school, I worked with a swim instructor. I got to the point where I could jump into the deep end, touch the bottom, and push myself back to the surface without a panic attack. But I couldn’t stand having my face underwater.”
He glanced at the ocean. He knew just how big it was. How a riptide could leave you tossed around, unable to know which way was up. “Hey, what you did just now? That took courage.”
She shook her head and gave him a rueful smile. “I guess I’m just going to be one of those girls who walks along the water’s edge and only gets her feet wet.”
“Oh, like that’s going to happen. Sounds like the next lesson is some work with a boogie board and learning how to deal with the Pacific. No way are you giving up after your first try. For now, how about we go shower off and catch a movie?”
“Anything to get my mind off of how scary the ocean is.”
He stood and started to peel off his wetsuit. “Dude, there are a lot of things way scarier than some salt water with critters in it. And most of ’em walk on two legs.”
* * *
Chloe stared at Trent as he started to strip off his wetsuit. He had more than a six pack, was tanned everywhere, and her mouth watered at the thin line of hair that started mid-chest and continued down past the waistband of his board shorts, now peeking out from where his wetsuit hung open down to his waist.
Her face warmed. She turned away to stare at the ocean. The surf was picking up, the swells breaking higher. The beach was also starting to empty as the day wound down and the breeze cooled. The sun worshipers were packing up towels and bags, and only the surfers were still in the water. He was just being nice, and she shouldn’t read more into this than existed—she was too good at that.
“Chloe?” Trent touched her shoulder.
The wetsuit blunted the heat of his hand, but not the strength. She remembered how it had felt when he’d grabbed her wrist in the water, how he’d pulled her onto his board as if she weighed nothing. She’d felt like she had someone who would look after her.
She had to stop falling for that idea.
He waved at the beach. “I’m gonna go grab your board.” He set off at a jog down the sand and she watched him. His broad shoulders and tapering waist were unmistakable. He moved…he moved unlike any other man she’d ever seen.
She’d known cowboys—bull riders—who had that kind of cocky assurance to them. She’d known men who’d swagger like they were God’s gift to women, even though they had a beer belly and a bald head under their Stetson. But Trent was different. He moved like a fighter—like he could shift in an instant and be ready for action. He was fluid—just like water. He moved like the ocean itself, with power and grace and a force under his skin.
She mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? She didn’t know the man—but somehow she really did feel safe with him. Safe enough to talk about her fears. Safe enough to let him try to teach her to surf. But he was too damn much like the sea—there was something under the surface she wasn’t seeing.
He wasn’t just a surf bum looking for the next wave. Oh, he could put on an act, but she was certain now that it was more act than reality. He used the dumb drawl when he wanted to, but it dropped away when something really caught his interest. But why put on such an act? Was it a defense mechanism? A way to keep others distant—act the clown and no one could see what was underneath? Or was there something else going on?
She thought back to his warning about sharks—that had been the real Trent talking. He’d been speaking about something he knew about, and she was certain that he could be one of those sharks if he put his mind to it.
