“I wasn’t going to jump,” I said, breathless. Of course I’d be defensive.
“A simple thank-you would have sufficed,” the man said. His accent was Mexican, and now that he was standing right beside me, still gripping my arm, I finally had a clear look at him.
He was about six feet tall, with a nicely toned body he wasn’t hiding very well under his board shorts and white wifebeater. His skin was this smooth, golden tone that you just wanted to run your fingers over and over again, and played off the strands of bronze in his wavy hair. Those hazel eyes of his were watching closely, and though his dark brows were furrowed with concern, maybe even anger, there was a startling brightness to them.
The scars that lacerated his left cheekbone were ugly as sin, yet there was something almost beautiful about them. They added depth and secrets to a man who was probably in his late twenties. He had a story to tell.
I wondered if I’d be around to hear it.
When I became aware that I was not only staring at him but that he still had a grasp on my arm, I pulled myself away. “You scared me,” I explained. “I was watching the waves.”
He cocked a brow. “Planning to surf so soon after yesterday?”
I crossed my arms. “It’s none of your business what I do. I don’t know you.”
He smiled prettily. “I’m the man who saved you from a watery grave. I also delivered your board to you. And I believe I might have just saved your life again.”
“As I said, you scared me.”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t be sure, not after yesterday. Hey,” he peered over my shoulder, “want me to get your board again?”
I didn’t want to look down in case I experienced a bout of vertigo. “It’s fine. Maybe it’s a sign I should give it up.”
He gave me a curious look and then opened his mouth to say something. But he shut it with a smile and then turned around, heading to the path. “If you gave up surfing, how would I keep meeting you like this?”
He trotted down toward the beach. I watched him for a moment before I shook my head and went after him.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked him, carefully following him. Damn, he was quick. “I still don’t know you.”
“My name’s Esteban,” he shot over his shoulder. “Now you know me.”
“You don’t know my name,” I called out after him, my knees starting to hurt from the quick descent. Oh God, I hoped he didn’t know my name. That would be terrifying.
“I don’t,” he said without pausing. “But I figure you’ll tell me eventually.”
“Oh, really?” I called after him. Cocky little bastard. Well, tall bastard. And a savior instead of a bastard. Still . . . cocky.
When the path almost started to level out, he vaulted off into the wild greenery that clung to the cliffs, his athletic form disappearing. For a moment I couldn’t hear anything but the sharp wind that rushed up to me, the cry of mynah birds and the waves crashing on the reef.
Time seemed to slow as I took stock of the situation. I had no idea who this guy was other than he was a pretty hot Latino and his name was Esteban. Yes, he was retrieving my surfboard for me—at least I think he was—and yes, he had saved my life. But he’d also followed me to my rental house and to the beach today. That took some sleuthing and was stretching the boundaries of being a Good Samaritan.
“Got it!”
I whirled around, surprised to see him appearing a few feet down the path, my board under his arm, while he wiped away the loose foliage that was clinging to his hair. He strode over to me proudly and lifted the board out in my direction.
When I reached for it, though, he pulled it back to his chest. “Not until you tell me your name.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “It’s Lani.”
“Lani? Interesting . . . short for something?”
Was this really the time and place for small talk? “It’s short for Lelani.”
“Lelani, hey? Are you Hawaiian? I thought you’d have better surfing skills than that.”
“Actually,” I said as I wrestled my board out of his grasp, “I have Hawaiian ancestry. My grandparents were from here. But I just like to come here to . . .”
“Escape life?”
I pursed my lips as I eyed him. Despite the sparkle in his eyes, there was still something odd about him. Though I didn’t feel I was in danger, there was still a sense of unpredictability and circumstance that seemed to swirl around us.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “To escape life.”
He nodded, then asked. “Are you part Japanese?”
“My grandmother was, why?”
He smiled. “No reason other than you’re strikingly beautiful. Most mutts are.”
Though I was blushing, I had to laugh at the mutt comment. I think it was the first genuine laugh I’d had in a long time. “Well, we can’t all be purebreds.”
“Oh, senorita,” he said cheekily, “I don’t know what the hell I am other than the fact that I was born in La Paz, Mexico. One of my aunts has bright blue eyes, like the ocean here, and my half sister is a redhead. I’m probably one of the biggest mutts around. Would explain why all my ex-girlfriends would call me a dog.”
I nearly laughed again but I saved it with a smile. It was almost gratuitous after the last few days.
“Well, thank you,” I said, moving to walk past him.
“That’s it?” He reached out and grabbed the back of my board, pushing it to the side so I had to face him. “You laugh and then you leave?”
I had no idea what to say. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave, but I had a hard time processing anything
