Risking It All Read online

  “I’m not sure you’re his type.” A tall, cool blonde, the opposite of everything Rina was, approached the counter and looked her up and down. “He likes blondes.”

  “Don’t listen to her—she thinks everyone likes blondes,” Bobo said. “Cash is equal opportunity with women. He likes them all.”

  “I’ll just bet,” she murmured, because that was par for the course with the men in these videos. Rina had learned from Stella’s example, since her friend had found out the hard way. She’d fallen for one of the drag racers from their first documentary in the series. It had been one of those “you’re so perfect for me, baby” scenarios, which left Stella floating on air. Until the creep never called her again.

  Stella decided to quit trying to find true love, and to stick with flings with bad boys. That way she kept her heart uninvolved, while Rina vowed to stay away from guys all together. She realized that most people who did extraordinary things with their lives had problems staying in any kind of relationship—never mind long-term ones.

  Taking risks with the camera was one thing, but taking risks in her personal life was another matter entirely.

  According to her family, Rina’s whole career choice was a complete crapshoot, and far too risky for their tastes. They’d wanted her to do something safe, didn’t see her career for what it was—a calling. A love. Something she couldn’t possibly give up, even if she wanted to.

  “Look, I don’t want to sleep with him. But I really need to find him as soon as possible,” she said, and explained about the video.

  “Crews are always coming through here. You wouldn’t believe how often things like this happen. Cameras get so involved in filming that they forget the technicalities,” Bobo said, shaking his head as if it was all her fault.

  “So, you can help me then?” she asked.

  “Hang on a second,” he replied, rifling through some papers behind the counter. “Today’s your lucky day, lady,” he said proudly. “I’ve got some equipment on back order that I have to send to him. So I’ve got his address. His hotel’s address. But I’m not sure if I should give it out to you.”

  “I’ll make sure your shop gets a lot of air time in the documentary,” she offered. “In fact, I think my cameraman interviewed you.”

  “They all interview me.”

  “This one had purple hair.”

  “Now that one, I do remember.” He sighed. “I guess Cash can take care of himself. Just send me a copy of the tape when you’re done.”

  She promised him she would, and once outside the shop, pulled her digital camera, complete with video capabilities, from her bag. She shot the shop at a few close-up angles that would fit in perfectly with what Zoot had captured so far, and then she worked it from across the road.

  When Bobo himself stepped out of the shop and went into the small alleyway to the right, she got another great shot of him helping to unload what looked like surfing equipment from a serious-looking salesman.

  The surf-shop owner was going to be thrilled at the exposure, she thought as she quickly copied the images onto two separate mini zip drives and stuck the originals in the small inner compartment in her bag. She’d lost film before, thanks to mechanical failure and other unforeseen events, but none of it had been nearly as important as anything to do with this particular video.

  She wasn’t taking any chances on losing footage this time.

  CASH’S CELL PHONE vibrated against his thigh, and he pulled the device out of his pocket and answered without bothering to look at the number. “Waves were killer,” he said, and the captain of the boat, who’d been out with him all afternoon while he tried to tackle some of those waves, gave him the thumbs-up.

  Yeah, it was all about the image out here.“Problem.” Justin’s voice crackled in his ear, the man’s drawl thicker, the way it always got when he was unhappy. “There’s some chick here taking pictures of our favorite man. Says she’s a documentary filmmaker.”

  “Cool. Shouldn’t be a problem, dude,” he said, because the captain was still listening and because he knew it would annoy the crap out of Justin. One of them should be having some sort of fun this afternoon and dammit, it was going to be him.

  “Dude, she was also asking about you. Wants to track you down.”

  “Yeah, well, they all do.” He rolled his eyes and mouthed women to the captain, who laughed. And then Cash turned toward the back of the boat under the pretense of staring at the swells.

  “According to Karen, she practically begged for your information. And I don’t want to hear your bullshit about how you’re used to women begging,” Justin continued.

  “Someone didn’t get enough sleep last night. Or get enough of anything.”

  “Bite me,” Justin muttered, and Cash laughed.

  “What’d she get?”

  “Hotel name. She’s there now. Leaving you her cell number.”

  “What’s she look like?”

  “Pretty. Dark hair. Not your type,” Justin said.

  “Yeah, not like Karen.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Justin warned him.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. And you shouldn’t, either. Ever hear the old saying, ‘don’t dip your pen in the company ink’?”

  “Karen’s technically not in my company. And I’m not about to listen to a lecture about my sex life, or the world of relationships according to Cash while I’m dressed like a goddamned tourist and sweating my balls off.”

  “I’m just telling you to pick someone different.” Cash was no monk, not by a long shot, but when it came to women, there were a lot of guys who were much worse. “Can’t you grab the footage from her and be done with it? I’ve seen you pick a pocket or two when necessary.”

  No harm, no foul, and Bobo’s face would stay out of the press until the DEA took him down next month on their timetable.

  “I’d steal her camera, but Karen doesn’t want me to. She wants you to deal with it,” Justin said.

  “I’ll take care of it, but I don’t understand what this woman wants with me.”

  “Karen said something about you being in a surfing video. That you needed to sign a release.”

  “I was caught on film?” Cash cursed softly under his breath.

  “Brah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Bad enough she got Bobo, but I don’t think having your face plastered everywhere flying through the deep blue sea is going to make anyone we know happy.”

  “Yeah, definitely not.”

  “Want me to trail documentary woman until she finds you?” Justin interrupted. “It’s either that or I pick her up and she gets held by the DEA till it all goes down.”

  Cash ran a hand through his hair, realized they only had three more days left on this assignment, and then the mothership of the SEALs would be calling them home. “But that could be weeks away. Besides, we’d have to hold her and her whole group, too.”

  “Karen’s prepared to do that if necessary.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood to babysit anyone. Look, I’m on my way to paddle out and catch some waves at the main beach anyway. Tail her until she makes contact,” Cash instructed.

  “Then it’s up to you to use your charms to snag that tape.”

  “Hmmm, I get all the rough assignments,” he said, hoping he could simply poach the footage from her bag, somehow, without having to get involved any further.

  “And I get to pound the pavement all damned day. From now on, you ask for my help, I’m not taking the shit jobs,” Justin threatened.

  He laughed. “Not my fault you always refused my surf lessons in favor of those dumb bikes.”

  “Wait, next time I get leave, I’m actually going to take it. On my dumb bike.”

  “Like you know how to relax.”

  “I’m planning on relaxing in a few hours, in fact. My own personal version of the night shift. So hang ten, brother,” Justin said before clicking off, and Cash wondered just how big a screwup this new plan could prove to be.

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  THREE HOURS and four beaches later, Rina was hot, exhausted and about to give up, call her mom and tell her that she’d been right—she should’ve gone to med school or law school like her brother and sister, because she was fairly certain that neither of them were currently searching out strange men on a beach.

  Along the fifth stretch of beach, Rina saw the gaggle of high school girls gathered at the water’s edge. She let her gaze follow the horizon, saw the surfer they all watched cutting through the waves and cruising toward shore in what was left of the early evening light.That has to be him. And just like that, the search had proved worth it. Forget med school. Forget everything else.

  Her throat tightened, her pulse raced and she took a deep breath in an attempt to stop the butterflies in her stomach.

  Cash emerged from the surf, water running off his tanned body. Tall, lean, with neon-blue eyes, blond hair longer than she normally liked on men and slicked back from his face. He looked even better here in person, wearing only a pair of blue trunks that went down to his knees and hung off his hips. Hung so low that she could probably pull them right off without using much strength.

  This meeting promised to be…interesting.

  From where she stood, right at the water’s edge, she put her hand up and gave him a small wave to gain his attention. He’d already focused his gaze on her, didn’t hesitate to walk right over to her, bypassing the group of girls who giggled and called nice ride. This could actually be a fantasy come true. She pictured her and Cash rolling together in the foaming surf, sun setting in the background, Cash saying her name as he peeled her bikini top off her body.

  “Hey,” he said casually, and she was so glad she’d worn her bikini for this little meet-and-greet. Her tiny, blue-flowered bikini that she ran five miles every morning to look good in because she was blessed with curves instead of eat-anything-you-want slimness. And she’d finally learned to embrace it, even if the blonde at the surf shop had given her a moment of self-consciousness about her body.

  Cash looked like he appreciated it, too. He checked her out without bothering to hide it, and then sent her a half smile as he stuck his surfboard into the sand next to him.

  “Are you Cash?” she asked.

  “Depends on who’s asking.” His smile just devastated her and this was all so inappropriate. She was supposed to be working. Keeping her mind on her future, not picturing herself in a tangle of arms and legs, caught up in some kind of sandy Cash sandwich.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m Rina,” she said. She couldn’t place his accent. It wasn’t fully Americanized, it had a touch of something else. A bit of a British accent, maybe?

  Whatever it is, it had to be the best voice in the world. Low, husky, soothing. Keep him talking….

  “What’s your name short for?” he asked.

  “Carina,” she replied. She’d never used her more formal name, having been nicknamed almost at birth by her sister. “What’s Cash short for?”

  “What can I do for you, Rina from New York?”

  “How did you know I was from New York?”

  “Your voice gave you away.” He leaned against his surfboard with one arm, used the other hand to trace a slow caress down her cheek toward her lips. It left a trail of cool, salt water, and she licked the corner of her mouth without thinking. He grinned. “Do you need surfing lessons?”

  “No. I’m a documentary filmmaker,” she began, and wondered when the heck she’d become so stupid-sounding, like some schoolgirl who didn’t think before she spoke.

  You have got to get out more.

  “So, documentary filmmakers aren’t allowed to surf?” he asked, as he took his hand off her cheek and shook the water out of his hair. There was still a wide grin on his face that told her he knew he’d made her blush, and that he liked it.

  “Um, I guess we are. But it’s not something I’m really interested in learning.”

  “You sure? You’re dressed for it, and the water’s beautiful today, especially for your first time.” He started to ease the bag off her shoulder as he gestured toward the ocean, and it would be so easy to let him take her out into the waves.

  “I’d just slow you down, but thanks.” She pushed the bag back up to her shoulder.

  “I’m pretty patient,” he said, moved in a little closer to her, and she knew that had to be a complete lie. The man radiated energy from every limb, like a panther on the prowl for something. Or someone.

  She rubbed her bare arms with her palms. “I’m going to have to pass on the lesson.”

  “So, what are you interested in then?”

  “You,” she said, and she wanted to sink into the sand the moment she said it, although Cash was smiling at her again. A wicked kind of smile. He was throwing her right off her game by living up to the larger-than-life image the way she knew he would.

  She took a deep breath. “Let me start over. I’m editing a documentary on big-wave surfing. The cameraman on the project shot some film of you yesterday, over at the Pipeline….”

  “Man, those waves at Pipe were killer,” he said then, turned to check out the waves currently crashing to shore. “I got rocked a few times.”

  “I noticed. Didn’t that hurt?”

  “Part of the thrill. Line between pleasure and pain, love and hate,” he said, and oh, how she wanted to cross that line now. Meeting him in person had somehow changed everything for her. “I don’t remember seeing you yesterday.”

  “It wasn’t me behind the camera. I’m just the editor on this project.”

  “I didn’t know I was being filmed.”

  “Well, you looked great in the video,” she said, and he smiled when she blushed again. “I mean, your surfing form looks great. Not that I know much about surfing, but you made me want to learn more about it.”

  “So I inspired you, then? Even though documentary filmmakers don’t surf?”

  Yes, inspired was the one word she’d definitely use. “It does you justice.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes. It definitely highlights all your…abilities.”

  “Not all of them, Rina,” he said and oh, my God, what was she supposed to do with that?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “From what I’ve learned about the surfing world, having companies sponsor you is the only way to make a living at it as a professional,” she said.

  “I’m not a pro.”

  “Not yet. This documentary will do it for you though. Maybe you’ve seen the video series this is going to be a part of. It’s been showcased in some pretty big markets—the first one got high ratings. It was all about drag racing and it’s called X-treme Sports.”

  He groaned, and she had a sinking suspicion that things were about to go off the rails. “You’re not spelling extreme with an X, are you?”

  “Yes, we are.” She’d cringed when the project had first been pitched, but it had strong commercial appeal, based on the widespread popularity of these kinds of sports. Discovery Network was optioning the series, as well. This was a significant chance to get her name in front of some important people and they could put a bow on it and call it a pig for all she cared, as long as the end result of grant money was the same.

  “It’s worse than I thought. And, for the record, I can go slowly when I need to. When it counts.”

  She ignored his comments and pressed on. “You never signed the release form, and I can’t use you in the film unless you sign off. And I’ve got the paper right here,” she explained, holding it out toward him.

  “Can’t,” he said, shaking his head after a momentary glance at the form. And suddenly, with the threat of her best video crashing like the surf, all bets, and thoughts of taking this man to bed, were off. Over. And, after pulling an all-nighter to get the film ready for Vic’s viewing, her patience, always in short supply to begin with, was gone.

  “Why not? I mean, it’s all legal. It only says that we’ve got permission to use your images.”

  “I d
on’t want in,” he said.

  “Maybe we can come to some sort of compromise,” she suggested, mentally calculating the amount of effort it was going to take in order to cut his scenes completely from the tape and still hand it in to the producer on time.

  “Afraid not.” He grabbed his board and tried to move past her, but she blocked his way.

  God, he was big. Broad shoulders, broad chest, and he really did tower over her. And he didn’t look happy. “If I have to take you out of the video, it’ll ruin everything,” she tried.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” he asked.

  “Never. What can I do to convince you?”

  He sighed. “There’s nothing you can do, honey.”

  “Look, this could be a big break for you,” she implored.

  “But I’m not looking for a big break.”

  “I don’t see a reason why you’d say no,” she argued. Unless he really was a criminal with something to hide. Either way, she’d have to resort to begging and pleading. “Please, I’ll do anything….”

  Wait, had she said anything? Because she certainly hadn’t meant anything, but it was out there and Cash wasn’t about to let it go.

  “Anything?” he asked. He’d cocked one eyebrow and his gaze swept over her.

  “I didn’t…I won’t sleep with you….” Not now, anyway. If he’d brought it up earlier, when she was still drooling and her fantasy hadn’t disintegrated, who knew?

  “I didn’t ask you to. You’re the one who brought it up,” he interrupted her stammering explanation. “Do you always proposition men to get them to sign release forms?”

  “No!”

  “So I’m just one of the lucky ones?” he demanded. “Maybe I should talk with your boss because I’ve got a bad feeling about this, like even if I say no, I’ll still end up on that tape.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. It’s not legal.”

  “Well, you seem desperate enough to do anything. Said so yourself.” He grabbed the release papers from her hand and studied them for a second.

  Yeah, the surfer named Cash had something to hide. And he was making her see red. “All the information’s on that paper. Company name, contact information. I’m not desperate enough to do something illegal. But truly, I don’t see what the huge deal is. This is a win-win situation for both of us.”