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  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental. The World Surfing League is a real competition, full of hard knocks and amazing athletes but the characters and situations in this book are entirely fictitious.

  Copyright ©2018 Michele de Winton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, transmit in any form or by any means. For information on subsidiary rights contact the author via her website

  www.micheledewinton.com

  Please respect the hard work of the author and don’t share this work or purchase it from pirate sites. Pirates always come to a sticky end in all the books I’ve read. Just saying.

  Another Shot with Summer

  Book one in The Hot Tide Series

  He broke her heart like a cheap surfboard…can he win her back?

  After an accident stole his surfing career, Ashton Evans has a chance to reinvent his life by photographing the leaders of the World Surfing League. The problem? Summer Roberts is his first client. Now the woman he can’t forget is spending long, hot Indonesian days in front of his lens. In a bikini. And worse, she’s steaming up his nights.

  But no matter how tempting Summer is, Ashton must keep his hands to himself. For the sake of her career, Summer is pretending she’s still in a relationship with someone else. Being seen with Ashton could blow her chance at making it onto the World Surfing League leader board for good. But with their attraction as unstoppable as one of the giant ocean waves that rule their lives, will they be tumbled under by it? Or will Ashton finally get his second shot with Summer?

  Get ready for a wet, hot ride.

  A big thank you to the people behind the scenes of making these books a reality. Thanks to Dina Bushrod and Monique Daoust for reading early copies and as always to Talia Hunter for her critiques. And big thanks to Trudi Jaye for brainstorming titles for this series with me.

  Chapter One

  “Really? We’re supposed to be having a meeting, and you take your shirt off?” PR up-and-comer Maya Taylor said in her driest voice.

  Ashton Evans looked down at his torso and shrugged. “I’m hot.”

  “You don’t say,” Maya sighed.

  “You know what I mean. I’m burning up out here.”

  “You’re my best girl’s brother, so I couldn’t possibly comment. But seriously, put it away, Evans.”

  Ashton laughed but pulled his T-shirt over his head and readjusted his camera strap. “Tell me why we’re here, then?”

  Maya didn’t say anything, just pointed at a wave rolling in towards the beach.

  “Sweet mother of monsters,” he breathed. Starting out deep in the barrel of the enormous wave, a tiny combination of surfer and board seemed impossibly fragile against the might of all that water. Ashton squinted into the sunlight as the wave started closing, threatening to suck everything down to the coral graveyard below. “Get outta there,” Ashton said, his voice barely a whisper. He knew first-hand the reef that hid under the water was a surfer’s best friend and deadliest enemy in equal measure.

  “Pick up the pace, dude, or you’re going to get crushed,” he hissed.

  Everyone on the crowded Brazilian beach was focused on the battle between board and wave. For the longest time, the surfer was winning. Putting his camera to his eye, Ashton focused his telescopic lens to get a better view. “Who takes on anything that big in these conditions? He’s got balls of steel and a mean set of skills, that’s for sure.”

  “She sure does.”

  “She?” Ashton glanced at Maya and lowered his camera.

  His sister’s best friend cleared her throat and lowered her sunglasses to give him a cool, even stare. Maya Taylor always had a plan. When she’d called and demanded he have a meeting with her on the beach, he figured she had a solid reason. Now he was standing with her on Barra da Tijuca’s white sand and she had that look in her eye.

  “I smell something going on here. Come on, spill,” he said.

  A collective gasp came from the crowd behind them, and Ashton swung his gaze back to the water as the last tongue of white foam crashed from its five-overhead height. The surfer shot out, carving almost to the top of the remaining swell. Ashton was about to fist-pump the air on her behalf when the surfer lost her balance and tumbled into the water.

  “Shit.” Ashton felt the white scar the surfer’s board left in the water as keenly as if he were the ocean itself.

  He waited for the surfer to pop back up to the surface.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “Double shit.” Thrusting his camera into Maya’s hands, he waded into the ocean, his instinct driving him to find the surfer and pull her out. But the weight of the water was fierce, the whitewash from the giant wave surging against him, doing its best to throw him down. “Come on, stupid leg.” His thigh was screaming at him to stop, to get out of the water and back to dry land where it could at least pretend to be a functional limb. This battle with the water that he could no longer win was why he’d lost everything that had once been important to him. Ashton stopped, unable to go forward but not willing to take his eyes off the spot where the surfer had gone down. And then…thank kuuuurist. The surfer popped back up on the surface and started paddling to shore.

  His body surging with adrenaline and his mind full of bitter self-loathing at his useless leg, Ashton limped out of the shore-break.

  Maya handed back his camera. “Good. I need you able to work, not washed out to sea like over-groomed shark-bait.”

  His reply came out gruffer than it needed to. “Over-groomed shark-bait?”

  “Okay, bad analogy. But I do need you. I need you to take her photo.” She nodded to the water and the surfer who was now headed towards them. Maya beamed and waved her arms overhead in an extravagant welcome.

  Ashton pointed his camera and focused. “Oh no.”

  “What?” When he glanced at Maya, she was the picture of innocence.

  “That’s Summer Roberts.”

  “Yep.

  He looked out at the surfer paddling steadily towards them, and his heart clenched, cold and hard. Of all the people Maya wanted to throw at him when he was finally getting his life back together, she chose his one-that-got-away? Really? “You want me to take her photo?”

  “For a fruit juice commercial, yes. She’s amazing, you just said so yourself. But no one gets it. Not yet. You and I have to change that. We’re going to make her shine like the star she is—all by herself, rather than just as someone’s girlfriend.”

  Ashton couldn’t help himself. He sighed. “Like a star…” he started, then shook his head. “You’re dreaming. No way she’s going to want to work with me.”

  “Yes, she will. She needs the best, and you’re the best sports photographer there is.” She bit her lip then continued in a rush. “She finally told T.J. where to go, but she’s stuck with him because of some stupid media clause in the contract the two of them signed when they started dating. They have to stay together for the next twelve months, publicly, and you can bet his manager is working on a strategy that makes him come out looking better at the end of it.”

  “T.J. Morris?” Ashton swept his hand through his thick hair and tugged at the mess the Brazilian sun and sand had already made of it. He’d been in Brazil a week, meeting with old contacts to get himself back into the scene of the World Surf League.

  “Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten who he is. I know he pissed you off just as much as everyone else on the circuit when he won the last championship on a foul. Guy’s okay on a surfboard sure, but he doesn’t have the heart for the w
ater like you and Summer do.”

  “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” He looked up and saw Summer getting closer. “Anyway, surely she can just tell him to go screw himself and forget the agreement?”

  “Sure she can. And then he’ll gladly sue her for everything she’s got. If that happens, she’s done. You know how hard it is to get into the pro circuit. Try doing that and being bankrupt at the same time.”

  Ashton nodded slowly. You couldn’t work and go pro. No money meant no time in the water. Shitty luck.

  “I knew you’d get it. So, you also get she has to suck up and play nice with T.J. Doesn’t mean she can’t think about what happens next, though. We need to start building her solo brand. Now.”

  He looked back out at the surf and then ducked his head as Summer looked up from paddling. Time to get out of here. The last thing he needed was to feel any type of feels for Summer Roberts again. “We? Nope. Not my problem.” He turned to go, but Maya put a hand on his arm.

  “I know, but you could be part of the solution. Make up for being a shithead to her five years ago.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Maya wasn’t finished. “This could be a win-win for you, too. Get you into the Surf League circuit again. Put you back in the water. I know that’s what you want.” She eyed him carefully, but she had his attention now and she knew it. “No one knows Summer and T.J. split except the two of them, his manager, your sister, and me. And now you.”

  “You’re trusting me with it ’cause my sister will kill me if I spill, or because Summer and I have history?” he said, gruff with the memory of the crushed look on Summer’s face as a seventeen-year-old.

  “Because I want your photos.”

  Ashton smirked at her bluntness, then thought about being the one to make a dent in T.J. Morris’s ego. The pro surfer had been one of his biggest competitors when Ashton had been surfing in the World Surf League international circuit. Biggest competitor and biggest asshole. He made a motion of zipping his lips. “Your secret is safe. But putting me and her in a room is a stupid idea.”

  “I happen to know you’ve built your reputation on making stupid ideas work.”

  “Touché, Ms. Taylor.”

  She raised an eyebrow over the top of her sunglasses. “All you need to do is be your charming self. Well, at least try and be charming.”

  “You’re telling him to be charming? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Ashton jerked around. Summer. Holy hot damn.

  The lanky teenager she’d been when he’d last seen her was gone, and in her place was one tall, strawberry-blond picture of heavenly. He’d recently seen her in a magazine piece about T.J., but the photographer hadn’t done her justice. As if the ocean was still wrapped around her, Summer’s long wet hair lay like a mermaid’s in waves along her neck, and her muscled arms never rested, flexing as she held her board or moved it to her hip. Her taut, beautifully curved hip.

  “Hey, babe. I’ve just been telling Ashton about this fruit juice contract I’m pitching you for. It’s going get you out there, just how we talked about, I can feel it. But we need a killer shot to clinch it. Ashton’s said he’ll do it.”

  “Wha—” Ashton started.

  Maya put up a hand to silence him. “The shot needs an edge, and there isn’t anyone who understands the water like he does. Or who’s willing to do whatever it takes to make the shot sing.”

  Ashton watched Summer’s face. Her lips were set tight in a rigid line, her eyebrows furrowed. He’d walked through that night five years ago so many times that even the memory of it was worn thin and he had trouble remembering everything. But it looked like it was still clear to Summer. He should have begged for her forgiveness at the time, should have told her he had been as scared as she was by how intense their new relationship was. But he hadn’t, and then it had been too late. It was yet another giant regret in a life time built on making stupid mistakes.

  “No,” Summer said.

  “Summer, let’s talk this through,” Maya said softly.

  “No.” Summer said again.

  “Don’t push it,” agreed Ashton. “Summer has every right to be pissed. I’m out. Talk to you later.”

  Summer laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. It was sharp and hard and brittle as if she were using it as a shield.

  “What’s so funny?” Maya asked.

  “That Ashton’s running away. Although, I don’t know why I would laugh at that, really. That’s what you do, isn’t it, Ashton? Run. After you’ve crushed whoever is in the way of the exit.” Summer turned her anger on Maya. “I can’t believe you thought I would work with him.”

  Ashton tried to pacify her. “This wasn’t exactly how I thought our first meeting would go but—”

  “Really? You thought I’d roll over and pant for you like a good girl?”

  “That’s a bit harsh, Summer,” Maya started, but Ashton put up a hand. “Be angry at me, sure,” he said. “I’m a dick, sure, I can live with that, but your girl here is the good guy”

  “I can fight my own battles.” Summer’s jaw was tight when she spoke.

  “No.” Maya put her hands on her hips, and even Ashton stopped at the sharp tone in her voice. “No, you can’t. Not in this game. You are amazing, babe. Amazing, and talented, and real, and damn hot. But this agreement with T.J. has you by the short and curlies, and if you’re going to get the right media exposure to get to the top, you’re going to have to be smart. And you’re going to have to let me help you.”

  “Help her with what?”

  They all swung round to see a young man with a media lanyard round his neck and a notebook in his hand. Ashton forced himself not to groan.

  The reporter put out a hand. “Ms. Roberts? Mike West from Surf View Daily. You okay? That last wave was a monster.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Summer was smooth, her face softened and her lips relaxed into a smile.

  The reporter beamed. “I’m a big fan of you and T.J. Nice to see you starting to come out from under his shadow.”

  Ashton shot a look at Maya, but she didn’t take her eyes off the reporter.

  “Thanks.” Summer’s smile was genuine. “The waves here are amazing this year.”

  “They sure are. How is T.J. feeling about the competition?”

  Her smile slipped, but Ashton was pretty sure he only noticed because he was looking for it, and when he checked the reporter, he didn’t seem to have spotted it.

  “Fine. He’s feeling fine.”

  “That’s great to hear. It must be a great comfort for him having you by his side at these events. The support of a loved one really helps our extreme athletes, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course.” Summer’s voice was still friendly, and she still smiled, but Ashton could see the creases at the edges of her eyes deepen, as if it was taking superhuman strength not to tell the reporter to get the hell away from her.

  “Well. I just wanted to check in that you weren’t hurt. Enjoy watching the rest of the competition.” He walked off and Maya put a hand on Summer’s shoulder and shot Ashton a look that said Don’t Say Anything just as clearly as if she had said it out loud.

  When he was out of earshot, Summer exhaled noisily. “Fuck him.”

  “I know, babe,” Maya said gently.

  “Fuck all of them. Enjoy watching? Has no one noticed that I’m in the contest this year?”

  “People have. The people that matter. We’re going to get you there, babe,” Maya said.

  Then Summer registered Ashton’s presence again. “We are. But not with him. I’d say nice to see you again, Evans, but I make it a policy not to lie to anyone’s face.” And with that, she hoisted her board and stalked off.

  Chapter Two

  Summer’s phone pinged as she sat in the back of a taxi. It was Maya. Sorry to do this to you, babe. I’m going to be a no show. Too much on. You’ll be fine. Just be yourself and nail the shots. Call me when you’re done.

/>   Summer read the message, closed her eyes and tried to focus on what she was there for. A new sponsor. A place on the WSL circuit.

  You got this. She did. Maya had set her up with another photographer but obviously wasn’t coming to the shoot herself now.

  It’s fine, it’ll be fine. You’ve done this before. She had, and after her adolescent hissy-fit over Ashton earlier that day, Summer wasn’t going to let her ego get in the way of getting a sponsorship campaign. Ashton Evans was ancient history. She was a totally different person from the girl who had seen him kissing Kimberly Rooney the day after they’d fallen into bed. The day after she’d called off her engagement because of him. Ancient history, girl.

  The taxi pulled over, and Summer peered out the window at the strip of white sand and brightly grassed dunes that ended in a tumble of rocks. “Wow.” She climbed out and thanked the driver for strapping her board so neatly to the roof of the cab.

  The photographer had suggested using the very end of Grumari Beach for their shoot, and now Summer could see why. Part of an environmental reserve about fifteen miles from the main sand bar and shops, it had a deserted island feel, although nowhere in Brazil could strictly be called deserted. She headed over to where a man moved around a stack of camera equipment, his back to her.

  “I thought about doing something more urban. You know, with the backdrop of Rio to spice up the image, but it seemed wrong. If the client really wants sun-kissed, this is about as sun-kissed as it gets.”

  Summer froze. That voice. And then the photographer stood from where he’d been partially hidden behind his gear. The full impact of Maya’s text sunk in.

  “You!” Summer’s heart swelled to twice its usual size, and she felt the blood beating all the way up to her ears. Ashton. The man whose picture she’d kept under her pillow as a teenager, and the man who had haunted her loneliest moments as a young woman. The bastard.

  “Oh. She said she’d squared it away with you. She pulled a fast one on both of us, huh?”