Coming Undone. Stephanie Tyler

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,