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  Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Melissa Foster. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Remingtons remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Melissa Foster, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  The Remingtons: Leap, Laugh, Love

  A Kindle World Novella based on Melissa Foster’s Remington Series

  written by

  Rachelle Ayala

  >>><<<

  “Fun, flirty, and fabulous.” –Chantel Rhondeau, Author of the McCallister’s Paradise Series

  “From shark attacks to attacks between the sheets, this book will keep you turning pages.” –Keli Morgan

  >>><<<

  www.rachelleayala.me

  Newsletter | Amazon Page | Street Team

  Leap, Laugh, Love

  Kerry Mills is a professional surfer who travels the circuits of the world’s surfing competitions until a broken heart and a shark encounter send her reeling to a tiny beachfront cottage. Focusing on her recovery, she has no interest in a rebound relationship. That is, until a tattooed hunk she spies in an outdoor shower asks her to teach him to surf. Suddenly, romance doesn’t look so bad.

  Finn Meriwether used to be the life of the party and the class clown, but years of war in the Middle East have replaced his smile with a deep frown. He’s overdue for a vacation and heads for his friend’s seaside cottage for some well-deserved R&R.

  Kerry soon discovers that sharks are the least of her worries. Her heart is at risk of being swallowed by a man whose grief and guilt overrides his ability to live and love. Can Kerry and Finn rise above their fears and take a leap for true love?

  Editor: Brittney Becker

  Proofreader: Kimberly Dawn

  Cover: Zoe York

  Dedication

  Melissa Foster, thanks for letting me play in your world. You’re an awesome mentor and friend.

  Table of Contents

  Leap, Laugh, Love

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  LOVE THE REMINGTONS?

  Also by Rachelle Ayala

  Chapter One

  “You’re not going to let a little shark bite throw you off the circuit, are you?”

  Kerry Mills cupped the receiver of the phone, unsure how she should reply to her friend’s well-meaning remark. After all, she was one of the top five professional women surfers in the world. How could she admit to being afraid of a mere tiger shark? At least a great white would have given her fear factor more credibility.

  “I need time to reconnect with my inner self,” she said. “I know it’s last minute, but I was wondering if I can take you up on that offer. Is your brother at Montauk right now?”

  “You mean is the cottage free?”

  Her friend, Siena Remington and her twin brother, Dex, had recently bought a well-hidden property fronting a private beach on the eastern end of Long Island.

  “It’s okay if it isn’t.” Kerry twisted her hair and chewed on her lip. “I thought I’d ask if you’re free for a weekend getaway.”

  “Cottage is free, but I’m not, unfortunately,” Siena said. “I’ve got a fashion show in Italy coming up. I’ll stop by on the way back to the City and meet up with you if you’re still there in a week. How long are you planning on this reconnecting thingy?”

  A week, a month, forever?

  Kerry swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course it wasn’t the shark in the water who’d shaken her confidence. That she could handle, or so she told herself. It was Jared Dunbar, the man she thought was her soulmate who’d ripped her heart to shreds. Some days, she’d rather take the shark.

  “Kerry?” Siena’s voice was laced with concern. “It’s not the shark, is it? Are things okay with you and Jared?”

  For being a high-powered fashion model, Siena was too down to earth and sensitive—in other words, a caring friend. Kerry had met her when she was in Kauai modeling the latest in beachwear and surf fashion. The two of them had hit it off when they’d discovered their mutual craving for hot brownies and cold vanilla ice cream.

  “It’s not the shark, at least not the type that swims in the ocean.” Kerry swallowed to keep her tears down. “I’d rather not talk about it right now. Maybe in a week when I’ve had time to process it.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Siena said. “Key’s in the lockbox. I’ll text you the combination.”

  # # #

  Finn Meriwether was anything but merry. As an Army Ranger deployed in combat duty, he should have been ecstatic about starting his fifteen days of R&R Leave. Except he had no one to visit, and no one to rest and recuperate with. All his buddies were busy CEOs, investment bankers, and corporate lawyers, and he hadn’t had a girlfriend since high school.

  At twenty-seven, he was a former class clown turned into a killing machine. No smile had marred his face since the daily toil of counterterrorism and rounding up insurgents in the harsh, dusty war zone had turned him into a lonely grouch. While others lined up to use the Internet tents to check email and make video calls, Finn preferred to take out his dog-eared copy of War and Peace and read.

  Shouldering his large green Army bag, the so-called Bottomless Pit, he waited for a Space-A seat on the military transport plane to take him back to the States. A former classmate of his, Dex Remington, owned a cottage at the tip of Long Island, and had offered him a free stay there in exchange for a few days consultation on a video game his company, Thrive Entertainment, was developing.

  “You, there.” A passenger service representative waved at Finn. “We’ve a seat available. Get over here.”

  Finn hefted his giant duffle into the luggage compartment and climbed a ladder to get to the seats. The plane he boarded had rear-facing airline-like seats, although there were no windows for the passengers. It suited him fine as long as his book light worked. He turned the page and continued on the long march where Pierre, the protagonist, was forced to straggle along with Napoleon’s Grand Army during its disastrous retreat from Russia.

  “Enjoy your flight,” a cabin crew member said.

  “Sure, thanks.” Finn plugged his earbuds into his ears and shut out the world around him.

  Chapter Two

  Kerry stretched and yawned as sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains at Siena’s beachfront cottage. What a restful sleep she’d had, lulled by the sound of the surf. Each beach had a different pulse, some rolling and swishing, whereas others boomed and crashed. This one was an aggressive one, thrashing over a rocky shoreline and churning against eroded cliffs.

  She glanced at the alarm clock.

  Sheesh, is it really that late?

  Usually she was up before dawn to catch the best waves before the line-up got too crowded. But th
en again, she wasn’t here to surf. The tour had headed to Brazil since the last event in Western Australia had been broken up by the shark attack. Kerry was fortunate her surfboard took the brunt of it, and she was left with several gashes in her leg, but no missing body parts.

  She shuddered as the familiar tendrils of fear chilled her arms and legs. The attack had been silent, not anything like in the movies. Definitely no music or creepy fin circling the water. It was an untagged shark, and while she’d sat on her surfboard scoping out incoming waves, it had lunged for her.

  It was sheer luck that she’d whipped around to catch a wave and had pulled herself fully onto her board when the shark’s teeth chomped through her board and grazed her leg.

  Screams and sheer panic played through her mind, clenching her stomach and tightening her ribcage. The sharp slices of pain, the rolling off her board, then thrashing in the water, and the blood trailing through the foam was all too clear. And now, she was left with that raw edge, always, drying her throat and kicking her heart, and a bunch of healing scars, ugly purplish serpents stitched over her thigh and calf as a constant reminder.

  Snap out of it. What are you, a wimp or something? This isn’t the Kerry Mills I signed up to be with. The awful voice of her ex, Jared Dunbar, raked her brain. You know that other girl lost her arm, dammit. She lost her arm, and she still went on to be a pro surfer, and here you are, crying about a scratch on your leg. Get a life, will you?

  “Shut up, Jared.” Kerry shook her head between her hands and bolted upright in the homey little bed. It was a child’s bed and adorned with a pretty bedspread of white daisies on a bright blue background.

  When Kerry arrived at the cottage, she’d headed straight up to the loft to the room with the twin beds, despite Siena telling her to take the master bedroom downstairs. She’d arrived late, and she still hadn’t unpacked—or gone to the beach and checked out the waves.

  Clutching a bedsheet, she wrapped it around her naked body—not that anyone was around. She liked it that way, sleeping naked, but the memory of the shark and the unfamiliar surroundings had her leery of being too carefree.

  Kerry padded to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look at the weather. The view over the cliff and rocky shoreline was awesome. Today, the water was frothy, complete with whitecaps and probably chilly. She’d need a wetsuit to brave those conditions.

  A movement at the corner of her eye drew her attention. Kerry’s mouth dropped, along with the sheet clutched in her hand. Her heartbeat slammed to her throat, and she sucked in a bead of spit.

  A large, naked man was washing himself in the outdoor shower right below her. He was strong and powerfully built, with cropped dark brown hair and wide shoulders. But what caught her eyes were the two intricately tattooed sleeves on his muscular arms.

  Kerry squinted, unable to make out the figures. They were definitely not trite, like the sharp and pointed tribal tattoos that everyone seemed to be inking themselves with these days.

  Oh no, this man’s artwork was shaded with fine gradations of blue and black, interspersed with the red scales of a creature licking the lengths of his bulging biceps.

  Streams of water trailed down the man’s broad back, trickling between the crack of his fine, fine ass. Even more mesmerizing was the way he moved, all rough and tough as he slapped water over himself, moving in a jerky motion beneath what must be chilly water. The sandy surfboard propped outside of the cedar enclosure explained his presence on the private beach.

  How well she knew of the lengths surfers went to cut through barbed wire fences and hike down perilous cliffs in search of that awesome break hidden away behind a reef reachable only from the sheer side of a seawall.

  What was this particular man doing in the shower of her friend’s beach house? If he was trespassing, she should do her duty and tell him to find another beach, not to mention another shower and another set of eyes to tempt.

  Seriously, a hot body like that could take years off any woman’s life—and be well worth it.

  Kerry wet her lips, wondering what the front side of that magnificent hunk of man would look like, and how it would feel to trace and explore the tattoos inked over and around his waist.

  As if a fairy godmother had stood on her shoulder to grant her wish, the man shook his head and turned around under the showerhead. He let the water hit his face full force, still oblivious to her prying eyes.

  Chiseled face, strong eyebrows, hot, kissable lips, a strong, manly chin. Need she continue the inventory? Because to be honest, she wasn’t looking at his face, was she? That was definitely not the first thing any sane woman would stare at when a startling piece of eye candy was displayed for her.

  Oh no, the dark thatch of hair below his waist revealed a respectably hung cock. A hungry looking roll, uncut, and chilled by millions of drops of icy water, yet still long enough that if it were erect …

  Kerry clapped a hand to her mouth and dared not stare too long at the man-cake displayed like an erotic piece of art under her window. He could, at any moment, look up and catch her. Then what? Would he bang on the door and demand she erase her memory? Or would he pretend she hadn’t been there and continue cleaning every square inch of his delicious, mouth-watering body, or horrors, what if he put on a show for her?

  The area between her legs tingled and jolted to life along with her nipples, begging to be touched. Kerry cupped one of her breasts, feeling the weight as her finger flicked over the tip, sending a flurry of tingles down her spine.

  Who could he be? The house itself was well hidden from the road by a stand of trees. To even get to the house from the main road, he would have had to drive down a rutted gravel road through a small forest. He had to be a local.

  Kerry glanced around the rest of the deck. Sure enough, a bedroll and a giant olive green barreled rucksack sat at the side of the picnic table.

  Had he spent the night outside? With temperatures dropping to the forties overnight, he must have been extremely uncomfortable—such a contrast to her being tucked under a fluffy comforter full of flowers.

  Kerry idly played with her breasts, enjoying the warm fullness of her thoughts and the tingling between her legs when, pow! The homeless hunk opened his eyes and zeroed in on her.

  Kerry dropped the curtain and jumped back into the room. Her thighs hit the side of the bed and she grabbed for the fallen bedsheet.

  What. Had. He. Seen?

  # # #

  Finn blinked once, then twice, as his eyes narrowed at the upstairs window.

  Was he seeing things, or had there been a woman, a beautiful blond vision, hovering there not just a few seconds ago?

  Despite the freezing water and the chilly breeze icing through his skin, Finn swallowed as a surge of heat roiled below his belly.

  He grabbed the oversized beach towel he’d found in the storage shed and wrapped it around his waist. No wonder the door had been locked and the key missing from the lockbox.

  Even though Dex had assured him the place was empty, it looked like someone else had gotten the jump on him at the seaside cottage. Time to suck down his misfortune and get dressed. Maybe he could hitchhike back to New York City and find somewhere else to go.

  He bit back the grief that lurked behind his eyelids at the thought of finding another resting place for his buddy, Lonnie. All these years, they’d had each other’s backs, through firefights and garrison raids. They’d literally pulled fully-armed terrorists out of their bunks and cuffed them before they woke.

  All it took was one IED detonated in the middle of a convoy at the end of a day flushed with victory—a day when he’d decided to stay behind and bury a puppy hit by shrapnel—and he’d lost his only friend, Lonnie Dominguez, a guy out of the Bronx who’d never ride a wave or make love to a woman ever again.

  Finn dried himself and pulled on his camouflage pants. He tucked his combat knife over his belt, and wrestled his damp upper body into a tight T-shirt.

  He rolled up his sleeping ba
g and strapped it onto his duffle, then checked inside for the urn. It was still sealed and encased in a cardboard box, safe from the salt spray and damp air. Lonnie’s mother had handed him the urn, reminding him that his buddy had asked him to scatter it in a place full of love and joy—a place with meaning and the promise of a rich life, one that he, Finn, would always return to.

  Finn had scoured surfing spots close to New York City before his leave and had promised Lonnie’s spirit that he’d find him his perfect resting place—a rough and aggressive ocean, one that matched Lonnie’s take-no-prisoners fighting ability, yet rugged and unspoiled by fruity-cocktail-drinking tourists and rich girly men in convertibles.

  Montauk was further east from the snooty, crowded Hampton scene, more private, and rugged. Locals called it “The End,” and somehow, Finn had thought it a fitting place for Lonnie. But he didn’t know how to surf, and this morning, he’d been beaten by the punch of the ghetto-blasting waves, scraped over the rocks, and spit back onto the beach.

  He laced up his combat boots and patted the urn. “Time to get going, bud. There’s a world of oceans out there. Sorry, I struck out close to home.”

  Home. He was close to the only home he’d ever had claim to, a suburb outside of New York City where he and his father had scraped by with disability checks. Except now that the old man had graduated to the big house in the sky, Finn truly had no one and nowhere to call home.

  A slapping sound cracked from the house behind him.

  Finn snapped his head around and clapped his right hand over his knife.

  The blond vision stood in front of him, fully clothed. She had long legs that went forever, an hourglass figure to die for, and a face full of character, feminine despite her sharp, bold nose, and sweet-looking lips, which were, at the moment, drawn into a thin line.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing on this property?” She spoke first, with one hand tucked behind her hip, as if she carried a piece. “Hands away from your waist.”