The Red Bikini (17 page)

Giselle couldn’t believe she was having an open conversation with a beautiful almost-twenty-nine-year-old about having casual sex. And it was a little humiliating that he was turning her down. And because of her sister.

“So you want me to go out with Dan?”

His Adam’s apple worked a few times, and he stared down at his plate. “What I want is not part of this discussion.”

She took a deep breath and poked at her tortilla chips. Maybe Lia and Fin were right. Maybe this transformation wasn’t right for her after all. Maybe she needed to stick with her reserved, unassuming demeanor. She wanted passion in her life—a sudden thought, just awoken from deep in her belly, by this incredibly beautiful man who said things like “bed” and “clothes off” and “rise” and “hollow” in a deep, husky way—but she would have to tiptoe into this new want of hers. Maybe women like her were not meant to have men like him.

“Can we at least be friends, then?” She could barely get the words out of her throat.

Relief crossed Fin’s face. He moved his napkin around on his lap and studied the table. “I think that’d be best.”

“Can you still teach me to surf tomorrow?”

He moved his water glass to another point on the table. “Rabbit’s a pretty good teacher.”

“He says you’re better.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like you and Rabbit are discussing me when I’m not around, too.”

“That’s probably too damned true.”

Fin chuckled. “I hope swearing like a sailor isn’t one of your short-term wants.”

“Did that sound awkward?”

“A little.”

She smiled and took a deep breath. “I want
you
, Fin,” she said. This freedom for direct talk was kind of fun. And darned liberating. She grinned at his expression, which was nothing short of panic. “I want you to
teach
me, that is.”

His shoulders relaxed. He sat back in his chair.

“You just offered a minute ago,” she pressed. “How about tomorrow? I’ll be at the grommet camp taking some pictures for the brochure. When’s your morning session?”

His shoulders still carried a stiffness as he adjusted in his seat. “I see you’re adjusting to your new surf lingo. Morning session is around seven. Although tomorrow’s tide will be best at eight, so I’ll go out late.”

“Come meet me after camp.”

He eyed her with something that looked like curiosity, but if she didn’t know better, she might have seen a little respect in there, too. “Maybe.”

She sighed. “What’s it contingent on?”

“If I dream about that kiss again tonight.”

“Which way rules in my favor?”

“If I don’t.”

 • • • 

They finished their meal, Fin paid the bill and signed about seven autographs, and they walked back to Giselle’s apartment in the dark, the smoky scents of fire pits drifting around them, and the crash of the black waves in the background.

Fin kept his hands in his tuxedo pockets for the whole stroll, and Giselle tried not to say anything too flirtatious, or even direct, so as not to scare him off for the next day. In fact, she finally relaxed, not feeling any pressure to be like his bikini babes—she now saw it as a liability.

Instead, her laughter bubbled up naturally. They climbed the sidewalk leading away from the beach, and she was able to ask him more personal childhood questions—and even shove him off the curb once when he challenged her sense of direction.

In response, Fin relaxed, too. He laughed openly and without restraint. They stopped to pet a border collie in the park, Fin’s corded bracelet bouncing along his forearm, and he asked whether she and Coco had had any pets. He shared a tale about surfing in the Hainan Dao Sea in East China when he was eleven, described how to spear fish, and chuckled through a story about a haircut he received from a blind woman in Southern France.

When they got back to her place, she hugged her purse and sweater to her chest and turned toward him. “I’d give you a kiss on the cheek, but I don’t want you to go dreaming about any kisses tonight, so . . .”

He smiled. “Courteous of you.”

“So tomorrow at noon?”

“We’ll see.” He turned on his heel and walked away, glancing once back at her when he reached the stairs.

Giselle stepped inside and felt more relaxed than she had in years.

Even without her twenty cleansing breaths.

T
he seagulls woke Giselle before her alarm did. She rolled over and sighed that Coco wasn’t there, then thought of Fin.

And sighed again.

She reached for her cell phone on the nightstand and dialed Lovey. Coco gave her a full report of making pancakes with Grandma, going to the park, then going with Daddy to see some “fifteens cars.”

“Fifties’ cars?” she asked Coco.

“Maybe.” Giselle could even picture Coco’s little shrug.

After hanging up with only one small escaped tear, Giselle dragged herself out from under the sheets.

The shock of her hair color in the mirror made her gasp right into the silence—Gosh, what had she been thinking? She did want to be someone different, but why she thought hair color would do it was beyond her. She finger-combed it into a ponytail and washed her face. She’d even fallen asleep last night with her makeup on. A giggle escaped. It seemed so rebellious.

With the tantalizing thought of Fin seeing her today—which, honestly, sounded as nerve-racking as tantalizing—she pulled her two favorite suits from the now-messy dresser. She held them both up, deciding on the one with the most coverage—a light green.

She tugged it on, then inspected herself in the mirror. Criminy, she looked like a forest fairy with this green suit and red hair. She’d have to make an appointment soon.

The suit looked good on her, though. She ran her hands over the fabric and wondered whether Fin would show up to teach her to surf. She turned to inspect her bottom. . . . And wondered whether his hands would land anywhere on this suit today. A small shiver ran through her, and she couldn’t quite figure out who was gazing back at her from the mirror.

Toting her bag and chair, she made her way down the Spanish-tiled sidewalks that lined the park, past the palm trees and greenbelts, along the same path she and Fin had walked last night. She was glad she had something to do, something to keep her mind off the fact that she missed her little girl so. And off the fact that she could barely breathe every time she thought of Fin saying he’d been picturing her naked.

This early in the morning, Sandy Cove’s beach and park were quiet—only a few people out, jogging along the sidewalks like apparitions through the morning mist. Eventually, she made out the instructors’ gear and boards in a pile near two large wagons: an island of familiarity surrounded by emptiness.

“Mornin’,” Rabbit said, smiling from his perch atop his board. His curls—still dry—blew around his face. “What’re you shooting today?”

“Some of the class, then the pier.” She plopped next to him.

“Stellar. Hey, are any of the pics of me coming out?” He leaned over her shoulder to inspect her viewer. “Can I use one for my Facebook page?”

“I know just the one.” She pulled her sweatshirt over the heel of her chilly hands, then rewound through several shots to find the one she was thinking of. She’d caught a beautiful profile of him the other day, his head turned toward the sunrise, his light brown eyes reflecting a million specks of gold.

“You look good,” Rabbit said. He leaned back and took a closer inspection. “Relaxed.” He nodded toward her head. “Should I start calling you Red, though?”

Her hand flew to her hair. “I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday. I’ll make an appointment to tone it down.”

“It’s cute.” His eyes, crinkled into a smile, suddenly shifted to a point past Giselle’s shoulder. “Oh man.” He concentrated on the sand as if he wanted to sink into the granules.

A willowy young woman—in her early twenties or so—made her way down the dunes, holding the hand of a bouncy brown-haired boy who seemed to be about five. She had long, tanned legs, extending from a pair of extremely short shorts, and straight dark hair to the middle of her back.

“Who’s that?” Giselle asked.

Rabbit had his face buried. “Just talk to me like normal,” he whispered.

“Okay, well . . . I have . . . um, just the picture you can use,” Giselle went on in her regular voice. “And I have some action ones, too, if—”

“Hey, Rabbit,” came the woman’s voice behind them.

Rabbit peered up at her without lifting his head. “Oh, hey, Ms. Sandoval.” He got to his feet casually. “I see Jordan’s ready to go.” He held his palm out to the small boy, who gave him a low five. “You ready, buddy?”

The mystery woman laughed and released Jordan. “Call me
Callie
, Rabbit.”

“Hey, I’m a professional here.”

“So you say.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Should I come back at noon?”

“Unless you want to stay.” Rabbit gave her a shrug that even Giselle could see was filled with hope.

But Callie didn’t seem to see it. She bent to come eye to eye with Jordan. “Be
good
,” she said firmly. Then she flashed Rabbit a breezy smile. “I’ll be back at twelve.”

As Rabbit watched every leggy step she took back to the sidewalk, Giselle couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

“What?” Rabbit laughed.

“You’re like a junior-high-school boy.”

“I know,” he mumbled, his voice filled with misery. “She makes me stupid.”

“What’s the story here?”

He glanced at Jordan, who galloped over to the blue foam boards lined up in the sand and tried to find his favorite. “I’ve known her since high school,” he said, low. “I was surprised to see her here the other day, signing up as a single mom with a five-year-old kid. She still has the same effect on me she did back then.” Another few parents coming down the dune caught his eye, and he waved. “I’ll tell you more later.”

Giselle moved to the side so Rabbit could greet his groms, and Jezzy and Corky came out of the water to help.

The joy on the kids’ faces was infectious as they picked out their boards and practiced their pop-ups; then Rabbit drew them into a circle for stretching exercises. Giselle’s camera kept clicking.

At noon, which came faster than she expected, Giselle glanced up the coast to see whether Fin might be coming, but he wasn’t. Her shoulders slumped as she began packing up her camera gear. Jezzy, Corky, and Rabbit hauled the boards, snacks, wet suits, and leashes into the wagons as they released each child to his or her parents.

Giselle supposed she should feel flattered to curl up at night with the knowledge that perhaps Fin had dreamed of kissing her again. But she didn’t want to curl up with knowledge. She wanted to curl up with him.

“What’s wrong?” Rabbit asked, tossing towels into the wagon.

“Fin was going to teach me to surf today, but I don’t think he’s showing up.” She looked wistfully down the coast. “He said you were a good teacher, if you have time. But you’re probably wiped.”

Rabbit glanced down the beach in the direction of Fin’s house, then back at her. “He said that?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Well, I don’t want to move in on Fin’s woman.”

“Rabbit!” She squirted a stream of sunscreen at him. “Maybe it would take too much time from moving in on Ms. Sandoval.”

He laughed. “Whatever you say, miss. Let’s go.”

Giselle self-consciously peeled off her Ann Taylor slacks, then followed Rabbit down to the water. When she tested her first toe in the white foam of the Pacific, she sucked in her breath.

“That
is
cold!” she squeaked.

Rabbit had already waded to his waist and sent a spray of water back in her direction.

She giggled and backed up onshore.

Rabbit motioned up the dune to get Jezzy and Corky’s attention. “Head back!” he yelled to them. “I’m waiting for Fin! Leave a foam board!”

Giselle shot him a look of skepticism.

“He’ll show,” Rabbit said. “But I have a feeling it’s going to take us another hour to get you out here, so Fin should be right on time.”

She arranged to have the boys bring her camera equipment back up, too. Then, inch by inch, Rabbit coaxed her out, tossing seaweed out of their way and pointing out the millions of holes the sand crabs made each time the water hissed back. The sun rested on her shoulders, and several children played in the wet sand near her. They made it out to about her knees when she started to get nervous. The rush of the water as it rode back—hard and pulling against the backs of her legs—began to terrify her. There was so much power out here.

“Once your stomach’s wet, you’re almost there,” Rabbit said.

“I’m not almost there.”

“No, you’re not.” He smiled and gazed at the sparkling horizon.

“I’ll take it from here,” said a voice behind them.

She and Rabbit both whirled to see Fin sloshing through the shore break with a bright red surfboard under his arm. A pair of light blue board shorts hung low on his hips, the classic string tie crossed in
X
s down his groin. His abs and chest were all muscle, tan skin glistening from the water as he made his way toward them. Salt water slicked his hair back, and his low abdominal muscles formed a wide
V
from the edge of his waist into his low-hanging shorts. Giselle took a deep gulp of air. She didn’t know men were actually built this way in real life.

“I’ve got her,” Fin told Rabbit.

As her heart began to hammer out of her chest, she wondered whether this might not have been such a great idea after all.

 • • • 

After a bumbling apology from Rabbit that didn’t make much sense, and a quick switch of surfboards, Fin was left alone with Giselle in the thigh-high surf, trying to keep his eyes off her bathing suit. If he’d been shocked at the reveal of her shoulders yesterday, he was struck dumb at her legs today—so shapely, but with a whiteness that showcased a ridiculous vulnerability. The suit amplified every curve she had—especially the beauty of her backside and the fullness of her breasts, which he now wanted to reach out and weigh in his palms more than anything. He did his best to cut his eyes away, but her cleavage kept drawing his attention back like a magnet.

He rubbed the side of his nose and kept his eyes trained downward. “Is this as far as you’ve gotten since noon?”

“I’m a little cold.”

I see that
. He threw Rabbit’s foam board in the water to give himself something else to focus on and attached it at his wrist with the leash.

“So no dreams last night?” she asked.

He smiled. He knew she’d ask right away. “I did,” he admitted. “But there was no kiss.”

In fact there’d been more—much more. But she didn’t need to know that. And he’d taken the loophole of no
actual
kiss, because . . . Well, damn, he’d just wanted to see her again today.

He’d admitted that to himself sometime in the middle of his morning session, right after paddling out at T Street and catching two glassy barrels. The surf was beautiful; the morning was perfect; he’d slept through three nights without any nightmares about Jennifer; and Giselle Underwood was constantly floating on his mind. . . . He hadn’t been this happy in a long time. He finally decided to stop fighting it. Though he didn’t exactly know what he was “fighting”—an obsession? A crush? A tantalizing tease of something he couldn’t have? He had no idea what was going on here, but he did know that right after those barrels—which normally would have kept him stoked all day—he’d found himself counting the hours until he could make it down here to see Giselle.

When Fox had texted at ten to verify that Fin and Giselle would show tonight—apparently Mr. Makua had scored tickets for all of them to see Laguna’s Pageant of the Masters art show—he’d written back that yeah, they planned to be there. He hoped her offer still stood. But he knew it was just another excuse to see her again, even if it was going to be platonic.

“Are you still up for going with me tonight to the art show?”

Her eyes widened as she glanced up at him. “Of course.” The waves were lapping against their knees, and she held her hands out in a cute way to keep her balance when the tide went hissing back into the ocean, the way a four-year-old might.

“Fox texted this morning. He seems pretty insistent that I bring you. Mr. Makua got us tickets for a show.”

“A show?” The rush of water swallowed her words.

“It’s a ‘living art’ show. It’s kind of famous around here. Mr. Makua wanted you to see it, being my fake fiancée and all.” He smirked. “Hard to get tickets, so it would be rude if I showed up without you.”

“Of course!”

“So you can move around that date with Dan?”

“Absolutely.”

He nodded. He was much too gratified about that. Maybe he was further from being a better man than he thought.

“Conditions are great for learning today,” he said, rubbing his neck and keeping her breasts out of his peripheral vision. “You can wander all the way out there and still be at your waist. C’mon.” He tried to motion for her to move into the water, but he didn’t want to touch her, so he made a herding gesture.

“I’m still nervous.”

That was apparent, given the terror in her face and the way her hands were splayed like she was on a tightrope.

“Does your fear come from something specific? Like an accident, or . . . ?”

“I fell once in the ocean when I was a kid. I was with my mom, and my sister. And . . .” She squealed as another wave hit her thighs, and he lunged toward her, but she seemed more cold than scared. “. . . I just remember the next wave coming down on me, and being underwater for a long time.”

He nodded. That could be terrifying. He had to hand it to her for at least trying.

His hands hung on his hips as he watched her for another few minutes, letting her know it was okay, just being near in case she needed anyone. He was going to have to take this slowly. “Let’s work on just getting you in to your waist today.”

The relief that crossed her face was palpable. That was what Giselle needed—she just needed a damned break.

Her full breasts—even more tantalizingly visible now through the wet bathing suit—came into his peripheral vision again, and he sucked in his breath. He turned his body toward the ocean in case it decided to broadcast a little too obviously what she did to him. The cold would help—he needed to get in to his waist.

“Let’s walk a bit.” He cocked his head south. The water rushed back against their legs and she held her arms out in her cute way again. When the tide relaxed, she gave him the sweetest smile—filled with a kind of trust he knew he didn’t deserve—and reached toward him.