Surge of Lust: Pleasure Point Series Book Two Read online

  Surge of Lust

  Pleasure Point Series Book Two

  Jennifer Evans

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  Click here to get your free book and a chance to win Signed Copies, a Kindle eInk or up to a $15 Amazon Gift Card. http://www.romancedevoured.com/giveaways/win-a-kindle-author-jennifer-evans/

  Reader Advisory: This book has deeply sensual, steamy love scenes described in graphic detail and is recommended for readers aged 18 or older.

  To Pegleg Rik Bennett, my real life Butch.

  Table of Contents

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  Holly

  Jax

  THANKS FROM JENNIFER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “If it swells, ride it!”

  —Unknown

  Encinitas, California

  2015

  Jax

  Swami’s was firing the day my life irrevocably changed, the waves well over my head.

  My studio apartment was, by design, right down the street from Swami’s, one of the best surf spots in Encinitas. I bent over my surfboard, a bar of cold-water surf wax in my hand, the bubble gum scent filling my nostrils, and a knock rattled the door.

  I opened it to find my friend Butch on the other side.

  “Hey buddy,” he said. “You paddling out?”

  I motioned to my surfboard. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Butch smiled. “Waves are looking fun today.”

  My best friend, Hunter “Butch” Wolf, was not only a fellow big wave surfer, but also the owner of the Mysto Spot Surf Shop in Encinitas. I’d met him when he moved to Point Loma shortly before my parents died. We were the same age, and although nobody could compare to my brother Tyler in the best friend department, Butch came pretty close.

  Turning on my heel, I went back to my surfboard. “Just putting the finishing touches on my board. Come on in.”

  Butch clapped me on the back. “Wanted to stop by and show you my new leg, seeing as you’re right on the way to the shop.” He lifted the pant leg of his baggy jeans to reveal an air-brushed prosthetic leg, decorated in shades of lavender and cerulean blue and depicting a perfect wave.

  I let out a low whistle. “Hey, cool. Why do you get to have all the fun?”

  He punched me softly on the arm. “I’m lucky, I guess.”

  Butch was born without an ankle, and the doctors had amputated the lower part of his leg when he was only thirteen months old. He never knew anything different and was one of the most stoked surfers I knew, especially when it came to charging big waves. Butch only lost his fake leg in the ocean once, when we were in Indonesia together on a big swell, and that’s when he found out it could float. I don’t think the other surfers in the lineup that day were quite prepared for the sight of a floating leg. He had special legs made for surfing, running, every day walking, mountain climbing, and was sponsored by a company that made special orthopedic equipment. Butch had accomplished more on one leg than most people ever hoped to with two. He had climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and Everest, and run more marathons than I could keep track of, including a few ultra-marathons—the really long stuff like 50 mile trail runs—just for fun.

  Butch moved to my dresser and picked up a framed photo of my brother Tyler and me. His voice was soft when he said, “You finally decided to put some photos out?”

  My hand stopped the crisscross motions I’d been making with surf wax on my board. “It’s time. It’s been a year.”

  Butch’s eyes grew misty as he held the photo. “I remember that night. The band rocked.”

  The photo had been taken a couple years prior, backstage at one of Tyler’s gigs. We beamed at the camera, Tyler still sweaty from the exertion of performing before an audience, his dark hair hanging over his shoulders, our arms wrapped around each other in a brotherly hug. The photo had been way too painful to look at until just recently. It was nearly impossible, but I knew I had to come to terms with what had happened. The paper’s headline still screamed at me, Love Bone’s Lead Singer Tyler Priest Murdered at Age 30. The thing about Tyler was that he was not only my only brother, he was also my best friend.

  Butch set the photo down, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and consulted his tide chart app. “Hoping for some big waves at Dungeon’s soon.” Dungeon’s is South Africa’s sweetest surfing spot. There, we could look forward to an offshore rocky reef, cold water, white sharks, and massive swells.

  “I’ve been following the reports. Looks like we might get lucky,” I said.

  Surfing was my obsession, the larger the swell, the better. When I rode one of those giants, and what I mean by giant, is a wave of forty feet or more, there wasn’t time to think about the pain or any of the things that haunted me. Surfing those monsters, I had to be completely present in the moment.

  People who aren’t familiar with big wave surfing, which is the majority of the population, always ask the same thing. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to die?” Some days I didn’t really care. When I rode one of those mackers, that’s the only time I felt like I was really living and taking chances. So, when it’s time for me to enter that big kahuna in the sky, if it were to happen while surfing, so much the better.

  Butch sauntered over to the picture window which offered a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean. A flock of pelicans flew by in a perfect V shape, and dolphins frolicked, their happy tails splashing the water. Butch scratched his head, then turned to me. “Hey Jax, do you know why the dolphin committed suicide?”

  Oh no, here we go again. “Why?”

  “Because he had no porpoise in life.” He laughed at his own joke.

  I stood up and reached for his phone. “Gimme that thing. I’m going to delete that corny joke app once and for all.”

  Butch quickly lifted the phone out of my reach and slid it into his pocket. “In your dreams, buddy.” We grinned at each other then he said, “Gotta stop by the shop. Then I’ll meet you at Swami’s in thirty.” I slapped him five, and Butch left.

  I picked up the photo of Tyler, the loss a hot poker through my heart, set it down, and went back to waxing my board.

  Surfing and sex were the two things that had saved my life. When times got tough, I always turned to these passions. From the time I was old enough to start thinking about sex, I’d already been surfing for years. It’s a seductive sport. The sensuous feel of the ocean water caressing my bare skin, the pointy surfboard sticking out from between my legs, the barely clad females who sat on the beach watching me. To me, surfing has always felt like making love. Much as I’m not proud to admit this, after Rosalyn left me, the pain of losing her could only be kept at bay by having mind blowing sex with the beautiful women I’d been lucky enough to bed, and it had become, along with surfing, my other obsession. But I never let any of these women get close to me. It had hurt too damn much when Rosalyn left.

  Rosalyn was my first love, the only woman I’d ever truly loved. I would never forget her devastating smile, her seductive touch, or her crazy pranks. She could’ve sweet-talked me into anything.

  Satisfied that my board was waxed to perfection, I stood up and cranked the music, my brother’s voice belting out a tune along with a throbbing bass guitar. As I pulled off my shirt in preparation for donnin
g my wetsuit, I heard a knock on the door. I turned the music down and answered the door, and in front of me stood one of the most alluringly gorgeous creatures I had ever seen.

  Holly

  As I drove south down the 5 heading to San Diego, my phone rang. I almost didn’t answer when I noticed it was my boss. Being his top salesperson was a blessing and a curse. I made great money, but the guy never left me alone. I hit “accept.”

  “Hey Holly, I need you to drop some promotional material off to one of our surfers.”

  “I’m kind of busy,” I said, my eyes scanning the sparkling Pacific Ocean, checking out the waves.

  “Honey, don’t argue with me. You’re my number one salesperson.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means the world bows down to your highness. Everybody except me, because I’m your boss. Now do your job, will you?”

  “Fine, what’s his name?” I asked.

  “Jax Priest.”

  My blood grew cold.

  “Can’t you find someone else to do it?” I responded quickly. No way did I want to face Jax Priest.

  “Sweetie, you’re going right by there. Now shut up and do it. That’s why we pay you the big bucks.”

  Jax Priest was one of the big wave surfers sponsored by Mystic Seaweed, the surf wear company I worked for, and he also, unbeknownst to him, was tangled up in a bit of karma with me.

  I loved my job. I got to travel up and down the coast all day long, talk to folks in the surf industry, and meet my share of entirely handsome surfers. I smiled to myself, thinking of some of the surfers that I had had the extreme pleasure of enjoying a roll in the hay with. No strings attached was fine with me. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I had no idea that meeting Jax would change all that.

  Pulling up in front of his apartment building, I double checked the address, parked my BMW, and grabbed the promotional items my boss wanted me to give Jax. As I walked by the glittering swimming pool, I smiled at the kids splashing around, sweet little surfer boys without a care in the world.

  Taking a deep breath, I knocked on Jax’s front door, trying to keep my hands from trembling. When he opened the door, the first thing I noticed was the bright blue of his eyes. He was practically naked, wearing only a pair of faded blue jeans that hung low on his hips; his powerful chest and well developed paddling arms made me smile in appreciation.

  “Hey, I know you,” he said with a smile. “Seen you at the office a couple times, right? Come on in,” he said with a gracious gesture of his arm. “Brad mentioned you might stop by.”

  I took one step into the apartment and was suddenly ultra-aware of the outfit I wore, a lace trimmed black pencil skirt with a V-neck top. Did my hair look okay? I ran my fingers through my locks. “Hi, I’m Holly. I’m the area rep for Mystic Seaweed.” Jax eyed me, a small smile on his lips. “And lucky me, I get to meet all you cute guys when the boss says you need swag.” Shoot! Why did I say that? It sounded so lame.

  We shook hands. His hand was warm, strong and slightly calloused. Damn, the guy probably could’ve crushed tin cans with one hand.

  “I don’t know how cute we are, but I’m pleased to meet you. Here, let me help you with those.” His voice was deep and masculine. Everything about Jax was one hundred percent male. I could practically smell the testosterone. He accepted the boardshorts, T-shirts, rash guards, and surf wax, which were neatly bundled up in shopping bags.

  I walked into Jax’s studio apartment, the aroma of neoprene wetsuits and the scent of surf wax redolent in the air. I was charmed by the vagabond way he had decorated. There were surfboards stacked against all available walls, a collection of free weights, a jumble of wetsuits in one corner, and a large plate glass window, which opened on to the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. As my eyes scanned the room, I noticed the photograph of Jax and his brother Tyler, which was prominently displayed on his dresser. I shuddered and forced myself to look at the ocean instead.

  “Nice view,” I said.

  “Can I get you a glass of water?”

  “Sure.” Anything to soothe my suddenly dry throat.

  He filled a glass with water from the tap, handed me the water, and we stood together at the window, the sea crashing on the rocks below. I felt the heat of his body as he stood close to me. Jax had an animal magnetism, and every time I looked at his piercing blue eyes, it was as though he were performing hypnosis. I took a sip of water.

  “Do you surf?” he said.

  “Yes. But I stick to the small waves.”

  “I like little waves, too. So long as I’m in the water, I’m happy.”

  I glanced around his apartment. He had every conceivable type of surfboard.

  “You’ve got more boards than Carter’s has pills,” I said.

  “Who?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Never mind.” It was no use explaining the antiquated saying I’d heard my parents use many times referring to the obsolete cure-all pills. “It just means you’ve got a lot of surfboards.”

  He motioned to his surfboards, “Yep, I’ve got longboards, soft-top boards for beginners, short boards, and my big wave guns for the huge stuff.”

  I said, “Maybe one day I’ll paddle out to some of the bigger waves.”

  “No! I mean, I want people to be safe out there.” He swallowed hard and looked out the window. “People think big waves are kids’ stuff sometimes. Not that you’re a kid or anything.” His eyes strayed to my chest then his head snapped up, looking me in the eye momentarily before gazing out the window again. “It’s only that people die out there … sometimes.” He looked at me and touched my forearm lightly. “Thinking about ocean safety is all.” His eyes locked with mine longer than was comfortable, and when he touched me, it felt like I had been jabbed with a cattle prod. Heat filled my body, starting at my toes and ending at the crown of my head.

  “So, Holly, how long you been working at Mystic Seaweed?”

  “It feels like pretty much all my life. A long time.”

  “You’re too young for anything to be a long time.” His eyes looked me up and down then he quickly averted his gaze to the view. “Pretty good company. We get to surf for a living. Well, I get to surf for a living. What’s a rep do all day?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “Not surf, that’s for darn sure. More like beg customers for their business all day long.”

  His gaze flicked over my chest again. “I wouldn’t think you’d have to beg anybody for anything.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll bet you’re really good at your job.”

  I chuckled. “Beats working for a living I suppose. What about you? Do you really get to surf those big waves like out in Peru? What’s that place called?”

  “Punta Hermosa?”

  “That’s the place.” I turned to face him. “Isn’t that spot filled with sharks and freezing water?”

  He smiled. “All in a day’s work.”

  “What do you do when you get held down by a big wave? Isn’t that scary?”

  “Not really. I just relax and hold my breath. We train for all that.”

  I stared at him. “That’s dangerous.”

  His return smile was slow. “Guess I wouldn’t do it unless it was. It’s kind of addicting.” He looked out the window. “I’ll bet you’ve got a passion too.”

  I cleared my throat. “Closing a deal seems to be about it, these days.”

  “Well, Ms. Holly, you may have to think about adding something to the list.” He stared at me so long that I finally looked away.

  We stood in silence for a few minutes. The view really was spectacular. The Pacific Ocean churned below, and in the distance, a few sailboats effortlessly glided through the ocean under a brilliant sun. Jax broke the silence by saying, “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I put anything on this morning.”

  He gazed at me, his sensuous eyes penetrating, almost as though trying to figure out a puzzle.
“Well, it must be on your clothes. Perfume’s like that.”

  Everything in the room stopped, and all I could hear were the ocean waves lapping at the shore. Finally, I said, “Well, I’d better get back to work.” Turning, I took the few steps to his kitchen counter, setting the empty glass down. “Thanks for the water.” My hand dug around in my bag for a business card.

  He gave me a playful smile, his blue eyes alive with passion. But there was also a melancholy in those eyes. “Thanks for the swag, Holly. Surfers can always use extra rashguards.” I handed him my card, and as he accepted it, our hands brushed. I felt the warmth of his fingers and imagined what they might feel like caressing my body. We gazed at each other, and he smiled again. “It was an extreme pleasure to meet you.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

  When I got in my car, the first thing I did was call my best friend, Stan. I punched his contact information in with trembling fingers.

  “Good morning, my beautiful friend,” he said.

  I fiddled with the straw on my Jamba Juice, picked up the cup, and took a sip. “Hey buddy, I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s up?”

  I set the cup down because I’d almost choked having the liquid go down the wrong tube. “Guess who I just met?”

  He sighed. “Is this going to be a guessing game, or do you want me to play psychic?”

  I cleared my throat, the tickle going away. “Holy cow Stan, I met Jax Priest.”

  Stan didn’t say anything for so long that I wondered if we’d lost our connection. “You still there?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m still here. What are you doing with him?”

  I toyed with the lace edging of my skirt. “Part of my job. I had to drop some rash guards and stuff off at his house. He lives in Encinitas, and he’s a big wave surfer, and—”

  “I know who he is!” Stan said. His voice was high-pitched, like a girl’s.