“He’s very well trained,” she said, figuring it wasn’t a lie if she didn’t specify at what. “And you’ve seen him—do you actually think anyone could take him if he didn’t want to go?” Marcus probably weighed at least 225 pounds, although all of it was lean muscle, without an extra ounce of fat. But Chewie outweighed him by twenty or thirty pounds, even so. And, of course, he was a damned dragon. But she couldn’t say that either.
The former Marine gave her a wry look. “You’ve got a point there. I was just happy he let me take the board without so much as barking at me.” He hefted the surfboard meaningfully. “Shall we see if I remember any of the things I used to know? I hope I don’t make an ass out of myself. It’s been a long time.”
Beka smiled up at him. “Don’t worry; it’s just like falling off a bike.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” he said, but he grinned at her all the same as they paced down to the surf.
*
MARCUS COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time he’d felt this good. Years, probably. For once, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder for the enemy to sneak up on him, or fretting about his da, or trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do with his life next. The early morning sun filled the sky with light, and the reckless waves pounded away all the stray thoughts until there was only water and man and board, in perfect balance.
Or not, he thought, as an unexpected breaker surged sideways and knocked him off the board. Laughing, he pulled himself back to the surface, spitting out salty brine and heaving himself back up again. He’d never admit it to Beka, but this had been a brilliant idea.
He’d been afraid that his brother’s ghost would haunt him, out here in the misty spray, but instead, it was almost as though he could feel Kyle’s spirit joined with his, like an echo of kinder days, colored blue-green like the water, and golden like the sun-touched clouds overhead.
“Having fun?” Beka appeared next to him, paddling with him toward an incoming swell.
Marcus nodded, amazed as always by the way his heart lifted at the sight of her. Even now, with her hair pulled back in an untidy braid and dripping wetly over one shoulder, bright blue eyes squinting against the spray, she was more appealing than any glamorous movie star. There was something just so real about her. She still wasn’t his type, of course, but he had to admit, he was getting accustomed to having her around.
And if he’d been daydreaming about kissing her again, well, it wasn’t as though he was going to do anything about it.
He opened his mouth to answer her, maybe even to admit that yes, he was actually having fun, but the words never made it past his lips. Another surfer slid up on Beka’s other side, paddling over with effortless ease.
“Beka, darlin’, what an unexpected pleasure, to meet up with you on such a fine morning. Surely the gods are smiling on me today.” The stranger somehow managed to bow and paddle at the same time and look damned good doing it.
Marcus had a completely irrational urge to knock the other man off of his surfboard and hold him under the water for a minute or ten.
“Kesh!” Beka said, seeming delighted. “I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”
Oh, great. So this was the guy she’d been seeing. The one she said she wasn’t dating. Maybe someone should tell him that, since Kesh was gazing at Beka with an altogether too-proprietary air. Funny he should just happen to show up. And the morning had been going so well too.
They all spent another hour or so paddling out and then riding waves back in, although it was clear that both Beka and Kesh were much more experienced and proficient at it than Marcus was. Rationally, he knew that was to be expected. Hell, he hadn’t been on a board in ages; really, he was doing damned well, all things considered, for a guy who’d spent most of the last twelve years in the middle of the desert. But he still hated that the other man was showing him up, doing fancy flips and turns, and generally being dazzling and handsome and charming.
Marcus shook his head, pushing wet hair out of his eyes as he headed back in to shore. He knew he was being irrational. It’s not as though he and Beka were a couple, or ever likely to be one. She deserved a lot better than a burned-out Marine with a sick father and a bad attitude. And there was no place in his life for some New Age wisdom-spouting surfer chick who lived in a painted bus, for god’s sake. It wasn’t as though he wanted to be with Beka. He just didn’t want some guy with an Irish accent and gleaming white teeth to be with her either.
Jaw tight, he laid his borrowed board upright in the sand and waited for Beka to finish riding her current wave. Her graceful form cut through the water as though she were a part of it, and for a moment he just watched and admired. As soon as she came in, he’d just tell her that he had to get back to the boat, and call it a day.