Kissing the Waves

Chapter 1

Kara O'Connor felt like a spy making her way across the enemy lines. Her goal was to get the secret papers to her boss at the Poole Surfing Company in San Diego. Many men dressed in black suits stood in the hallways before regular working hours, but that wasn't Kara's concern. Her report was due and nothing was going to stand in her way.

After sneaking into the locked poolroom in the basement, she'd managed to get past various guards. With a quick pace, she took the stairs up to her floor and eased the door open to survey the area. The place was crawling with the enemy—the men dressed in black—so she formed a plan. She'd run past all the guards and get into her boss' office before he reported to work that morning. Why all the armed guards were there wasn't her concern. Her mission was to stay employed and nothing would stop her.

Just like in the movies, this was her impossible mission. But then again, she had an overactive imagination at times. That didn't excuse all the people roaming through her building and on her floor, dressed alike in their evil enemy suits while holstering their guns.

As soon as most of the path was clear, she hunched over and made a mad dash for the goal—her boss' office door. She ran around cubicles, crawled under desks, and finally managed to make it to the door. When she opened it wide and stood in the doorway, she felt like she'd just won a race. She'd accomplished her mission and had done it in a skirt.

Before she could pat herself on the back and reach into her leather case to get the report, she heard the enemy approaching from behind. She'd been seen and her mission had failed. The clinking of metal near her head confirmed her belief they were the enemy, because she was sure it was the sound of guns—many guns.

Don't move, a man said.

Or you'll shoot? While still clutching her leather case, she closed her eyes and raised her hands into the air.

Why are you here? she heard from a familiar voice. This is a closed meeting.

Kara opened her eyes and stared at her boss, Mr. Smith. He was seated behind his desk, which was slightly to the left of the view of the door. Darn. She'd missed her opportunity because he was already at work. I had to get my report in here before you got to work and I didn't make it. I was up until three working on it and I'm sorry. Please don't fire me or have me shot because it wasn't on your desk on time.

She heard men laughing off to the far left, but Kara couldn't see them behind the open door. She turned her head slightly toward the men holding the guns behind her. I'm really not a threat to anyone, especially my boss. I just hope you're not here to arrest me or shoot me because my report's not on time. I'm sure that's why you're here.

Laughter again. What was going on? She desperately wanted to move the door, but was afraid if she even twitched, the men with the guns would shoot.

One of the guards approached her and patted her down. He checked the leather case in her hand and turned to the other men. She's clean.

I did have a shower this morning, she said. Of course I'm clean.

You can lower your hands, the man said, while she heard the laughter again. Don't try anything funny. We'll escort you out as soon as you give your boss your report.

Thank you. She took another step into the office, glancing toward where she'd heard the laughter from before. As soon as she turned to look, her cheeks heated up and her eyes rounded in surprise.

There, sitting in front of Mr. Smith's desk, were the president of the United States and his youngest son, Blake, who was in his early thirties. President Maxwell stared at her while Blake just smiled, lowering his eyes down over her.

She was in real trouble now. Mr. Smith had called in the president to ream her out.

~~~~~

Chapter 2

Kara wasn't sure what to do. Oh my. I'm in the presence of royalty. She bowed, and then curtsied, getting very confused at the faces of the people in front of her. I don't know what's expected of me. Please forgive me?

Blake sat back and laughed at her, while the president just shook his head and chuckled, turning toward Mr. Smith. You didn't tell us there would be entertainment. Does she hire out?

Hire out? Kara cheeks warmed up. I…oh my. I said too much. She covered her mouth with her hand. While mentally clearing her head, she reached into her leather case and retrieved the report. After taking two more steps into the office, she laid the report on Mr. Smith's desk. She had to get out of there, so she turned toward President Maxwell and Blake. I'm very sorry to have interrupted. I should've guessed the men dressed in black weren't here for my report that was late. She backed toward the door, more embarrassed than she'd been in her whole twenty-eight years of life.

Leave, Mr. Smith grumbled. I'll talk to you later.

Yes, sir.

Blake turned toward her as she backed out the door, a step at a time. She was stunned, because he looked like a surfer with his tanned skin, golden brown hair, and very blue eyes. With one quick sweep, she examined him from head to toe, realizing he was very handsome. Unfortunately, he was the kind of guy who always turned her head then left her high and dry.

She mentally shook herself, still devouring him with her eyes. These types of men were dangerous, always out to control their women in subtle ways. She'd learned from past experiences that she had to be very careful. His type seemed to think she was a challenge.

I'd like to know what's going on here, Blake said. He flashed her a very white toothy grin. Who are you?

No one to worry about, Mr. Smith said.

I want to know. Blake turned toward him. Please?

Mr. Smith sighed and looked up at Kara. She's one of our design engineers and creates prototype designs for our products.

Is that right? the president said. I'd like her in this meeting. He turned toward her. What's your name?

Oh, no. She waved her hand in the air, dismissing them. I can't stay. It's not right. I wasn't invited, and had no idea—

What's your name? Blake said.

Kara O'Connor. She took another step backward, closer to freedom. I'll just be going.

Sit, the president's voice boomed. Kara jumped, stopping her escape as she watched the three men. Mr. Smith looked rather annoyed, but stood up and got her a chair, moving it beside Blake.

As Kara sat down, she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and lowered her leather case to the floor. She worried she'd say something stupid. She was extremely tired and didn't seem to be in charge of her brain or her mouth when she was exhausted. However, she had to remember she was tough and wasn't about to bow down to anyone, including the president and his very good-looking son. Nope. Blake belonged in the 'no way' category. Her past experience with his type always made her wary.

The president leaned up to see her. Kara. May I call you Kara?

What was she going to say? No? His guards would shoot her.

She rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt. Certainly. She tried not to let her nerves get the better of her.

He all but smiled and probably still thought she was the entertainment. Well, Kara, we're here to talk to your boss about designing something for our military. My son, Blake, had an idea to create an individually manned surfboard device or IMSD. When your company won the confidential contract, your company owner told us to see Mr. Smith. I just happened to be in town for a few other events and figured we could talk to Mr. Smith without involving the military yet. I like to get out and talk to people, so I set up a quick meeting with Mr. Smith. He didn't even know we'd be in this meeting until about an hour ago. The company president kept it away from everyone for various reasons.

She nodded, amazed the president, himself, would be here, instead of sending someone beneath him to talk about a design. However, she'd heard that Blake was nothing more than a surfer with no future, so it kind of made sense to her. This was probably his only claim to fame and the president was trying to promote his own son.

Blake had attended college, but in his late-twenties, decided to surf for a living instead of actually work. So maybe his father was trying to get him a job or something. Nepotism at its finest, starting at the top, with the blessings of congress, the military, and who knew what other entity. The thought just ticked her off.

That's right, Mr. Smith said.

Kara crossed her arms. She had to be a team player.

Mr. Smith continued. They want something that contains a surfboard and has an engine.

Like a jet ski? she asked. We don't build those. Don't those already exist?

Blake turned toward her with a grin. Not bullet proof with an enclosure around the rider. The design has to be less intrusive and obvious, too.

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Bullet proof? For a surfboard? This was nuts.

Yes, the president said. This is completely confidential. Your company owner wanted the contract for this, to expand his business. Do you know if you can design something like that?

That owner was just after the almighty dollar. The thought ticked her off even more. But she had to play nice because her job was on the line. Give me a minute. She glanced toward the two guards, who were by the open doorway. Just getting something to write with. Don't shoot me.

The men chuckled and nodded, but she knew the one closest to her had his hand on his weapon, even though they'd already searched her bag.

In one quick motion, she reached into her leather case and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil from her purse stored inside. She jotted something down, looking like a surfboard enclosed in glass, with an engine on the back. As she handed it to Blake, his hand brushed against hers, giving her a jolt of heat like she'd never felt before. He probably did that on purpose, because he was that type of person. She ignored it and watched his expression while he studied the paper.

You're good at art, he said. This is very close, but not quite. He held out his hand. May I borrow your pencil?

She handed it to him and watched him erase the entire picture. What did you mean by 'close'? None of my picture is even left.

You'll see, he said.

She watched him draw a completely different design. My design wasn't even close, she said. Why would you make the top so wide? It's wider than the bottom, and would topple over.

He stared at the picture, as did his father. Mr. Smith walked around from behind his desk and looked over Blake's shoulder.

She's right, Mr. Smith said.

Blake studied the picture again, erased the top, and redrew it. Like this? Would this work better?

Kara nodded while thinking it through. He was more of an artist and more creative than she thought he'd be, but she wasn't falling for his niceness. Everyone had a dark side and could turn evil at any moment.

Play nice. It might work, she said. But I'd have to see if a prototype would be feasible. We have some of the components already in stock because of a previous design that failed.

Blake's blue eyes popped up from the paper to see her. Failed?

Yes. It was for handicapped people, but we failed to take into account that if they fell out of the craft, they were stuck and would drown. It was a slight design flaw.

He laughed. Slight?

Yeah, because we wouldn't have repeat customers if they died. She looked up at Mr. Smith, who had moved in front of her, while the other two men laughed. Do we still have some of those wall structures in inventory? They were waterproof but not bulletproof. But for a prototype, they'd work.

Yes, we do. We also have an engine for a similar failure.

What kind of failure was that? Blake asked.

Kara sighed. Another one of mine, but we don't talk about it without everyone just shaking their heads. What can I say? I have an overactive imagination.

I see, Blake said. But I'd like to know, in case it might impact this design.

She blew out a big breath, making her bangs fly upward.

Two other men dressed in black ran into the room from the hallway, with their guns pointed. What happened?

Kara lifted her hands and winced in terror. I breathed?

Don't do that again, one said. He nodded toward the other one, lowering his gun. You stay in here with the other agents. I don't trust this one.

Right. He kept his gun in his hand, standing right beside Kara.

She lowered her hands. Isn't this harassment or something?

Blake leaned closer to her. You're the one who breathed.

Yeah. It's a felony, I'm sure. She turned toward Blake. Anyway, I put this motor on a small scooter-type surfboard for babies. We tested it out on dummy children and the thing shot off like a bullet… Moving one hand over the other to demonstrate, she stopped short and turned toward the man in black. No offense to your gun or anything.

The man chuckled. None taken.

Anyway, even if we turned the motor down to almost nothing, the kid fell off and would have broken bones and everything, at least. It wouldn't have worked for kids. So we tried it for adults and used real people on the test. She shook her head, mumbling to herself. I dodged that lawsuit.

Lawsuit? the president asked.

She started ticking it off on her fingers. Worker's comp, union lawyers, criminal attorneys, and insurance adjusters. And that was just after the first day. So, you see, that report I just handed my boss is going to kind of determine if I can keep my job or not. She pointed to the paper on Mr. Smith's desk.

Mr. Smith nodded, looking rather frustrated.

We don't care about that, the president said. We only care if the thing works. We like overactive imaginations. He leaned up closer. Can you work on our project this week? We're kind of in a rush and need ten-thousand of these before the end of the month.

But it's close to the middle of June, she said. How is that even possible?

The president grinned. Your owner said it was possible, so we need a design and a prototype before the end of the week.

The almighty dollar, promising more than feasible. Typical for the owner. It's Thursday, she said to Mr. Smith.

He moved to stand in front of them. I can assign it to someone else.

No, the president said. It's classified and can't be let out. He turned to Kara. Can you work nights? We'll make it worth your while.

She shook her head. I have a second job to make ends meet. I have to take care of my mother. She's in a nursing home and I'm all she's got to pay the bills.

See if you can do it, Mr. Smith said, then turned toward the president. It may take a little bit longer, but I'll make sure the production staff is bulked up for this work and their slates are clean. We'll do the best we can.

You can't hire out. Everyone who works on this has to have clearance.

Mr. Smith watched the president while pointing toward Kara. Does she have clearance?

The president smiled. She will. As soon as I walk out of here, we'll make sure she has clearance. He stood up, reached over, and shook her hand. Thank you.

Kara stood as well, joined by Blake and Mr. Smith, all shaking hands. When Blake handed her the paper with the latest thoughts on the design, he held onto her hand and winked, making her roll her eyes at him. He laughed, but tried to cover it by biting his lips.

What was he trying to do…make her work harder on his future? Right. He was nothing more than a surfer, and even though she worked at the Poole Surfing Company, she didn't think much of surfers. They were lazy, in her mind, from all the people she'd met over the years while working at Poole.

The president and Blake walked out of the room while Mr. Smith remained with Kara in his office. He lifted her report and read it over.

She stood in front of him. I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be here. I worked on this until three this morning after my second job, to make sure you got it on time. I even created more than one idea so you could choose. I really didn't know you'd be in here yet.

Don't worry about it. He kept reading the report, flipping through it. He stopped on one page, and suddenly ran out of the room. Mr. President. Is this what you're looking for?

Whatever. None of her designs would suit the president, so Mr. Smith was probably just trying to suck up to the man.

~~~~~

Chapter 3

Kara left the room and proceeded to head toward her cubicle, about fifteen feet from Mr. Smith's office. She laid the paper with Blake's drawn design on her desk and dropped her leather case on the floor. After she flipped on her computer and sat in her chair, waiting for the thing to boot up.

Excuse me, a man said from behind her. It sounded like Blake's voice. She could ignore him, since she was now on the clock for their project. However, if she ignored him, he might have his thugs shoot her. That wouldn't feel that great. She'd better address him.

Kara turned toward Blake who was standing behind the partition for her cubicle. Yes?

I want to meet with you about the design. Is that possible?

Play nice but blow him off. Her new motto.

Kara cleared her throat. I don't know. It all depends how it goes. Mr. Smith may give it to someone else, for all I know. And I may be out of a job. It's all in the hands of fate now, and not my worry. At least I'm not dead from being shot. That would've hurt a lot.

Did she really say that out loud and put that thought into his head? Yikes.

Blake chuckled, moving to the opening on her cubicle. How about lunch?

I'm really not hungry right now. She checked her watch. It's not even eight yet. She turned back to her monitor. What was taking it so long? Maybe the men in the black suits had put something on her machine to make sure she wasn't subversive. Blowing Blake off would be tougher since she didn't have something else to concentrate on, like her computer background picture of outer space.

She slid off her chair, knelt down, and looked the thing over. But she had no idea what she should even be looking for. What kind of alien device would be attached to make it not start?

Is something wrong? Blake asked.

She glanced up at him and then resumed her search on the back of the computer. This is taking way too long to boot up. Did your bodyguards kill it or let an alien play with it?

He laughed again, making her angrier. No, they weren't even over here, he said. She glanced up at him just as he pointed toward her monitor. It's working just fine.

She went to stand up but bumped her keyboard, her hand flying to the top of her head as she fell back to her knees. This just isn't my day. First, that little old lady flew out in front of my car on some sort of jet-propelled hovercraft or something, then I'm almost shot trying to get my report to the boss, and now, I hit my head.

Blake knelt down beside her and stroked her hair. You have a bump.

A bump. I should've realized that. She looked up at him, his blue eyes so sincere. She couldn't let his gaze affect her, so she mentally shook him off. I bet I'll be dead before lunch because of this bump. It's probably something really nasty, with the way this day has gone.

He smiled. Do you mean lunch today with me, or the one in the next ten minutes that you didn't want to take?

Either one. She moved out from under the keyboard and stood up, straightening her skirt. I think that keyboard jumped out and attacked me. It would certainly fit.

He stood up, watching her. What lady had the hovercraft this morning?

Well, it may have been a bicycle. I'm not sure, but I had to slam on the brakes. Don't trust little old ladies. They're not as slow as you think.

Blake held back his laughter. He was laughing at her?

I'll make a note of that, he said. So do you want to join me for lunch today?

She sat down, making her chair spin. Stop. She put her feet down and looked up at Blake. Why do you want to have lunch with me?

Do you always have that much fun at work?

Only when I'm operating on no sleep—and I mean no sleep. I worked until three, and couldn't sleep after that. I'm really tired. Now, can you answer me without asking another question?

I figured you needed lunch today and I wanted to see what you design.

Like a date? she asked.

As he grinned, she could've sworn he had dimples. Dimples were so attractive, making the wearer seem more innocent or something. She was in so much trouble, because she knew she'd fall for him now.

No dates. No dates. She had to repeat it in her mind to remember it.

Sure, he said. Like a date, with a gorgeous blue-eyed brunette. I like that idea.

Nope. Can't date you. She turned back to her computer. I'm not the type of person who would fare well for you in the press. Have a nice day. She pulled up her email to see if she had anything else going on for the day.

He spun her chair toward him, making her raise her eyebrows. He looked like he was laughing, yet determined, while his hands rested on the arms of her chair and his face moved to within inches from her.

Why not? he asked. Do you have something in your past? Or is it the fact that you're very tired?

She ignored his flirty comments. I don't have anything in my past that might hurt you, but my sister has a past…and a present…and a future that wouldn't do you well. Hey, want me to fix you two up? That would make great headlines.

She tried to move her chair, but his hands stayed on the arms, making it impossible for her to do anything.

Your sister? His face moved to mere inches of her nose.

She wanted to push him out of the way, but those thugs with guns kept her from touching him.

He grinned. I wanted to go out with you, not her.

Kara shook her head. My sister is Marnie O'Connor, a pole dancer in Vegas. She's not exactly wholesome, if you know what I mean. But it would make for great controversy, if a pole dancer dated a surfer dude. I'm sure the reporters would love it.

Surfer dude and a pole dancer. That's almost funny. He chuckled as he let go of her chair and straightened up. Wait. You have a sister, but you're paying for your mother to live at a nursing home?

Yep. Kara nodded. I have a brother, too, and he's richer than I am. It's a long story, but as it turns out, I'm the one willing to take care of my mother and not let her rot in a state nursing home. So I have two jobs. She turned slightly, watching the mouse pointer waiting for her. Now I have to get to work because it seems that I now have a new deadline. She looked down at the paper from the meeting. Thanks for the idea, though. As her eyes met his, she realized he almost looked sad. She was going to fall for this guy, just from his sad expression. The walls around her heart were about to fall, so she had to keep up the shield and think logically. The square root of two was—

You're welcome, he said, interrupting her thoughts. So are you going to be here, working all day long?

Probably. I have a lot to do and just hope I can get it done. I only have two days to design something I know nothing about.

He nodded as if in thought while backing away from her chair. His blue eyes made her think twice about turning him down. I understand. I have to get to work, too.

You work? Kara bit her lips. She'd misjudged the loser…she meant hard talented worker. Sorry. But the press about you—

—is a cover story. I'm not just a surfer dude looking for a pole dancer. I have my Ph.D. in biochemistry. I work for Wimsatt Pharmaceuticals and Technology, but that's a secret.

She couldn't believe it. He had his doctorate? Wimsatt Pharmaceuticals and Technology was just the most prestigious place to work in all of San Diego. They only hired the top half percent of graduates with impressive résumés, never playing favorites.

Brains impressed her, but not nearly as much as a man with drive. This man seemed to have both, considering he worked for Wimsatt. That was a tactical error on her part, judging him as she had.

She'd always fantasized about meeting a man from Wimsatt, running off to a deserted island, and talking about scientific formulas.

She snapped back to the present. That imagination of hers was going to get her in trouble someday. But now she'd blown it and didn't know how to fix it. He thought of her in a bad light, just from his expression. He probably hated her.

It didn't matter. She still couldn't date him and had to keep reminding herself of that fact. But the press—

—is wrong. I took so many advanced placement courses in high school that I skipped a lot of undergrad. And I'm thirty-one, in case you're wondering. I'm looking for cures for various diseases, working closely with the Center for Disease Control.

He was exactly the type of man she could fall for. She lowered her eyes down over the body of the Adonis standing in front of her. Brains, humanitarian, and a hot factor of a million out of ten. Opportunity lost…or was it? Could she fix this?

As she shook herself back to reality, she checked her watch. She was no match for a man of his caliber, even if he could spout off scientific formulas while making sand-angels on the beach. So you should be at work soon?

Yes. My schedule is kind of flexible because I've put in a lot of extra hours lately, solving a small problem no one else could even define right.

I had no idea you did that kind of work. She felt embarrassed, thinking he was throwing his life away at surfing. No wonder all the pictures showing him surfing were old. He still looked like he was younger than his years, but wiser at the same time.

What time do you have off for lunch? he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't. I have to eat here. I do have a new deadline for something I know nothing about. Remember? It came from the Commander in Chief. The big honcho. Your father."

He glanced over to the left, toward Mr. Smith and the president, and then turned back again. I have to go, but I want to apologize for your new deadline. I didn't know it would be so fast or that your company only made surfboards. Your owner made it sound like they did work like this all the time, even telling about a few submarines they'd made in the past. Besides, Dad seems to have his own agenda.

Submarines? That's news to me. She waved him off. I'm sure I'll manage or be dead before lunch from a brain aneurism caused by my keyboard.

His chuckle was real, making her smile. I hope your day goes better, he said. And I hope your head doesn't hurt much. If you need me, even to tell me your head hurts, here's my card. He reached into his pocket and produced a dark blue business card with white print. As he took a step closer, she took it from his hand and stared up at his face in awe. He was the type of man who demanded respect, even though she'd heard every single negative rumor possible about him.

A voice off to the left was deep and commanding. "Blake, let's