Page 1 of Lowering His Guard

Chapter 1

May – a surfer who beams sunshine even when confronted with the grumpiest NFL player in the league

May

“Summer surfing, happens so fast,” I sing as I lay out the large foam beginner surfboards. Today is one of my favorite days of the year – the first day of summer lessons.

“Summer surfing, catching the swell.”

I finish the boards and stare at the ocean. I have the best life. What could be better than giving surfing lessons at some fancy schmancy resort on Smuggler’s Hideaway – aka the best island in the world? Nothing, I tell you.

Although, traveling the world surfing wasn’t too bad either. But those days of being a hippie surfer are behind me.

“Hey!” A man shouts and I whirl around.

Holy surfers riding the waves! Is this man real? Am I hallucinating? No way, no how is there a giant with messy brown hair, high cheekbones, blue eyes, and biceps big enough to bench press a small car shouting at me. Where are they growing men this size? It certainly isn't on Smuggler's Hideaway.

“Hey!” he shouts again. Probably because I’m practically drooling. Oops. “Where’s the instructor?”

I glance around. “No idea.”

He crosses his arms and glares at me. “You work here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can you point me toward whoever’s in charge?”

The teenage boy beside him groans. “Dad.”

“What?” he asks – his tone way more gentle than when he was barking at me. Don’t get me wrong. This man can bark at me all he wants. Preferably while he’s naked. I’d love to get my hands and mouth on his naked body.

“She’s obviously the teacher,” the kid says.

The giant’s eyes narrow on me. “Are you the teacher?”

I wrinkle my nose. “It does say surfing instructor on my paycheck.”

He growls – an honest-to-goodness growl – and I shiver. It’s possible my nipples harden. Smoking smugglers surfing in a storm! I want to hear him growl while I’m naked. He can stay clothed. Doesn’t matter to me. As long as he’s touching me while he growls, I’m in.

“You’re May Ross?”

I whip out a salute. “Reporting for duty.”

“You’re the surfing instructor?”

“Dad,” his son whines, “stop digging the hole. You’re already halfway to …” His eyes widen, his cheeks flame, and he slaps a hand over his mouth.

I laugh. The kid is funny.

“I mean… I didn’t mean…” The kid stumbles over his words.

“No offense taken.” I wink at him.

I’m seriously not offended because someone was about to mention the country of China. I’m half-Chinese – Mom’s Chinese and Dad's Irish-American – but I don't need people tiptoeing around me every time someone mentions China. Save the apologies for when someone actually says something offensive.

“Let me guess.” I tap my chin. “You’re Jace?”

I know he’s Jace. The other kids in the class who are waiting around with their parents already introduced themselves. He’s the last to arrive.