Chapter One

"That guy's got to be the world's worst surfer,"

Miley Cyrus murmured in disbelief as she shivered under her lifeguard's jacket. The sleeting October rain made it hard to focus but she couldn't pull her eyes away from the tall athletic figure clad in a black wetsuit about sixty metres out in the tumbling surf. She watched with guilty fascination s he squatted on his board, steadied himself,straightened. Then she sucked in a breath as he wobbled precariously. The poor guy had been surfing...or rather,attempting to surf for well over an hour, in the sort of miserable Tybee Island weather that has given Wildwater bay its name back in the seventeenth century. She'd been studying him for most of that time. The methodical way he paddled out, waited for the biggest wave and then mounted his board. But he'd yet to ride a single breaker for more than a few seconds. She had to admire his perseverance, but she was beginning to question his sanity. He had to be frozen through to the bone by now and close to exhaustion (despite the muscular build displayed by his suit) and the undertow on this stretch of beach was no joke.

"I dunno" said Liam, her fellow lifeguard, in his broad Australian accent. "He's got good form. Gets onto the board all right." Miley's breath gushed out as Bad Surfer crashed backwards off his board for what had to be the hundreth time. "No balance though" Liam finished dispassionately,flipping up his collar. "You wanna call it?" he added hopefully. "Beach is closed in ten minutes anyway and that storm front's gonna hit any second now"

Feeling a rush of relief as the surfer clambered back onto his board, Miley scanned the rest of the beach. Only a couple of boogie-boarders remained inside the red flags they'd set up to mark the lifeguarded area. Otherwise the beach was deserted. And with good reason. Tybee hadn't had a great summer this year, but the weather had gone rapidly downhill as winter drew near. Even the hard core surfers had called it a day hours ago. All except one. Who was giving hard core a whole new meaning.

"sure-" she raised her voice above the gathering wind "-let's put him out of his misery." Crossing to the lifeguard truck parked on the sand between the flags, she grabbed the megaphone out of the truck, already anticipating the Extreme hot chocolate she was going to wheedle out of her boss, Joe, when she started her afternoon shift at the Wildwater bay cafe.

The booming sound of her voice as she called in the remaining boogie-boarders and the surfer whipped away on the wind, but the boarders responded instantly. Staggering out of the surf, the hurried across the acres of sand, making a beeline for the cafe.

"Shit, he's still at it" Hearing Liam's comment, Miley spotted the surfer's black board with it's yellow lightening stripe bobbing back out towards the main swell.

"He's nuts. He has to be," she whispered. Either that or he had a death wish.

The storm clouds had darkened in the distance, hovering over the horizon like smoky black crows and the vicious wind picked up pace, making the waves gallop and leap. Even an accomplished surfer would have trouble riding swell that choppy. Mr Couldn't Keep His Balance didn't stand a chance. She raised the megaphone back to her lips. "The lifeguard station on this beach is now closing. We strongly advise you to leave the water immediately." She repeated the order twice more, but the surfer and his board kept paddling in the wrong direction. "Maybe he can't hear us?" She said, trying not to worry. The megaphone has a special wind setting but, after the number of tumbles the guy had taken, his ears could be waterlogged.

"Let's get the flags in," Liam said at her shoulder, rubbing his hands together. "He's a big boy. If he wants to kill himself, we can't stop him." Taking the megaphone out of Miley's fingers, he slung it back into the truck. "Plus i've got a hot date with Jack in an hour. With the promise of hot sex for dessert" he finished, mentioning his new boyfriend of three weeks. The surfer heaved himself up onto his board again, his movements sluggish. Miley dragged her gaze away. "That's what i love about you, Liam," she said, forcing her concern down. Suicidal surfers were not her problem. "You're such a romantic."

Liam chuckled as he rolled up the flag nearest the truck. "Hey, hot sex is romantic, if you do it right."

Miley lifted the base of the flag and helped Liam to heave it into the back of the truck. "Is it really?" she gave a half-laugh, unable to disguise the wistfull town.

After a year spent rehabbing her grandmothers cottage, plus the lifeguarding and waitressing shifts all summer at the cafe, and most evenings given over to creating her paintings, she hadn't had time for romance. And she was pretty sure she'd never had hot sex. Did luke-warm count?

Miley frowned as they wrestled the second flag into the truck together. The wind sliced through her jacket and made her nipples pebble in reflex.

Come to think of it, it was probably a miracle her bits hadn't dried up and died from lack of use. Or maybe they had. How would she know?

After Justin had stormed out last summer, accusing her of being more interested in her painting than she'd even been in him, she hadn't quite been able to deny it.

Even after spending every spare hour in her makeshift studio, the artwork hadn't required nearly as much maintenance as Justin. And, okay, maybe it couldn't give her an orgasm, but it had come close when she'd completed the first of the paintings inspired by the seascape at Smugglers Point-and Justin hadn't been very reliable in the orgasm department either. Which only made it all the more pathetic that she'd put up with him for so long, and agonised over their breakup for months.

She shuddered and plunged her hands into her jacket pockets, hunching against the wind. Still, at least she'd taken her brother Jackson's advice for once and hadn't made the mistake of taking Justin back-or lending him the money he'd begged for, which she knew perfectly well she'd never see again.

The death of her libido and the loss of a warm body to snuggle up to at night (and wake up with in the morning) had been a small price to pay for her self-respect. Even if it hadn't felt that way at the time. She needed to stop taking in losers and strays, as Jackson liked to call them, and persuading herself she could fix them. Jackson might be the last person on earth to give anyone relationship advice, given that he'd never had one that lasted over a nanosecond to her knowledge, but he'd been right about that. While their parents' never ending marital breakdown had turn Jackson into a womaniser with serious commintment issues, it had turned her into Little Miss Fixit.

Justin has just been one more in a small but pitiful string of boyfriends, dating right back to Cody Linely, who'd kissed her at the school disco and then conned her out of her lunch money.

She'd decided over the long winter months that this year she was turning over a new leaf. She had celebrated her 24th birthday two weeks ago, which meant it was way past time to stop making the same mistake over and over again.

This year there would be no more Miss Pushover. No more Miss Nice Gal. And no more Miss Fixit. This year she was going to be the one who took control and got what she wanted. The one doing the using. Unfortunately, they were already ten months into the new year, and she'd yet to find a single candidate willing to be used.

"Hey, that's wierd. Where'd he go?" Tearing her thoughts away from her disastrous love life, Miley noticed the sharp frown on Liam's handsome face as he stared at the horizon. Her stomach plunged and the concern that had pawed at the back of her mind all afternoon leapt at her throat like a rapid dog.

"Did he come past us?" Liam murmured, far too nonchalantly.

Unzipping her jacket and dropping it on the wet sand, Miley grasped the rescue board leaning against the truck.

"No, he didn't," She shouted over her shoulder as she jogged toward the surf, frantically scanning the waves. The frigid water lapped at the ankles exposed by her full-body wetsuit as she waded into the shallows.

"I'll call it in," Liam shouted beside her as he drew level, his own board under his arm and the coastguard walkie-talkie at his ear. "we'll have to call the copper out."

"No, wait. There's his board." She pointed spotting the yellow lightening bolt in the waves. Her stomach hit bottom as she realised the dark shape draped across is wasn't moving. "I've got it"

Liam shouted something back, but the sound was lost as Miley hurdled the incoming surf and dived cleanly into the water. The rescue board torpedoed her into the rising swell as she went under. Within seconds, the tug and pull of the tide had drained her energy and she was riding the board through the waves on autopilot. Luckily, the injured surfer wasn't too far out, the waves bringing him towards shore, but as the salt water scoured her eyes and she drew ragged breaths trying to conserve her strength, she saw him move his head. A vivid red stain stood out against his pale cheek.

He's bleeding.

She redoubled her efforts, fighting the water, the distance telescoping as her arms and shoulders began to ache and her legs numbed.

Reaching him at last, she shoved the rescue board under his torso.

"I've got you; don't worry," she yelled.

She wrestled with the velcro strap attaching his ankle to his surf board. She heard a groan as blood seeped from the surfers hairline and flowed over his sculpted cheekbone.

She shoved the surfboard free and wrapped her arm across him, just as a wave crashed on top of them with a deafening roar.

For a split second fear froze her as the wave sucked them down. But then her training took over. She grasped the rescue board, her cheek pressed against his torso and kicked hard. They surfaced together. It took Miley a moment to orientate herself, then she paddled furiously, riding the swell as she clung to the stangers body. The shore seemed a million miles away, her legs so numb she could barely move them, her chest screaming with the effort to draw a decent breath. She pushed the panic down and kept going.

After what seemed like several years, a large hand grabbed her arm and hauled her upright. She squinted through the stinging salt, saw Liam's dark blond hair plastered to his head.

"It's all right; I've got him," he yelled "stand up; you can walk from here."

Her legs shook, trembling uncontrollably as she struggled to lock her knees. How could she not have realised they were almost ashore? She hugged herself as Liam dragged the resue board with the surfer onto the sand, then knelt beside him.

She approached in a groggy haze of exhaustion as Liam examined their patient. Instead of putting the surfer in recovery postion, Liam manoeuvred him onto the waiting spinal board and fastened the velcro strap across his chest.

"He's breathing. No need to resuscitate him," Liam shot a quick grin over his shoulder. "Should come round in a second. Probably took a crack on the head from his board" Liam tilted back on his feet. "The paramedics can check him out properly once they arrive. Keep him strapped down just in case." He got off his knees and stood up. "I'll go get you both a rescue blanket to keep you warm until they get here"

Miley shoved the straggles of hair out of her eyes as Liam strolled off towards the truck. Despite the thump of panic still closing her throat and the sting of salf in her eyes, heat coiled low in her belly as she stared down at the man she'd saved.

She tilted her head to one side, transfixed.

Maybe he wasn't classically handsome like Liam, but the dramatic slash of dark brows, high cheekbones and his stong jaw gave him a beauty that had Miley's breath catching. Her gaze wondered down. Broad shoulders, a perfectly defined six-pack and well mucsled arms were brilliantly showcased by the sleek black wetsuit. The heat coiled tighter.

She shuddered, although she didn't feel chilled anymore, and noticed the faint blue tinge around his sensual lips. A deep moan rumbled in his chest and he moved, straining against the strap.

Miley jerked. What was she doing? Ogling him as if he were a stripper at a bacholorette party, the poor guy was hurt and probably freezing to death. She dropped to her knees and placed her hand against his cheek.

"It's okay," she said, the words coming out on a breathy whisper. Mortified, she paused. Boy, did she need to kick start her love life again if she was now lusting after strangers...and unconscious ones at that.

"You're okay. Don't move," she murmured, touching his forehead to brush back the thick, wavy locks over his brow. The blood that had been gushing in the sea has slowed to a sluggish crawl, seeping out of a narrow gash below his hairline.

She pressed her thumb to is and his eyes snapped open. Her pulse quickened as she stared into his chocolate brown eyes.

His brow creased as he tried to rise and came to a jerking halt, his body confined by the strap.

"What the...?" His words came out as a gruff whisper. "Who tied me down?"

She placed her palm on his upper arm, hoping to reassure him. Unfortunately, the feel of the rock hard bicep bunching under her fingertips had the opposite effect on her. "I did," she blurted out. "It's for your own good."

The magnificent brown eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

Her skin flushed hot despite the chill and the spitting drizzle of autumn rain. "I'm one of the lifeguards on Wildwater Bay. We had to bring you in, you hit your head."

He stopped struggling and dropped his head back, huffed out a breath. "Fantastic," he murmured. Bitterness clouded his eyes but it didn't seem to be directed at her. "Thanks" The curt word lacked conviction. "Now, undo the strap."

She tried not to let the commanding tone annoy her. Rudeness was probably to be expected after what he'd been through. "I'm not going to do that," she said in her best firm but fair Florence Nightingale voice. "You have to stay put until the paramedics get here."

His jaw hardened. "No paramedics," he said. "Now, let me up"

"I really don't think that's a good idea," she replied, still channelling Florence.

"Fine; I'll do it myself."

She watched, astonished, as he tilted his shoulder down, twisted his torso and then ripped the strap free with one hand. She moved out of the way as he struggled onto his elbows and sat up. He groaned and touched his forehead.

"That serves you right." Forget Florence. "You need to lie down and wait for the paramedics to check you out."

He swore softly and brought his fingers away. Barely glancing at the bright red stain, he fixed chilly eyes on her. Seeing the headache in them, she bit back the rest of her retort. He leaned forward, obviously intending to stand up. She gripped his arm. "The paramedics will be here any minute. You need to stay put." He glanced at her fingers and she pulled her hand back instinctively.

"I decide what i need," he said, his voice rough.

Miley faught for composure. Why was he being so fucking difficult? "but you may have injuries you're not aware of." His gaze drifted to her chest and her nipples chose that precise moment to thrust against her wetsuit.

"I'll risk it." Sarcasm edged the words as his eyes lifted to her face, but his lips twitched as if he were struggling not to smile and his eyes didn't look nearly as chilly any more.

Warmth spread up Miley's neck. Unbelieveable. Was the worlds worst patient coming on to her? but then he flinched and she was sure she must have imagined it.

"Hey, mate, where are you off to?" Liam interrupted the charged silence, his arms laden with the silver body-warming blankets. Miley wondered if he'd been to Timbuktu and back to get them.

"I'm leaving." The surfer struggled to his feet. He staggered and Liam steadied him. "D'you think that's wise? You took quite a tumble." The man sent Liam a cold stare. "I know."

Miley bristled as his rudeness, but Liam seemed unperturbed. "At least take a blanket, fella" he said handing over one of the silver sheets. "you must be frozen"

The stranger looked down at Liam's offering, paused and then took it. "Thanks." He wrapped the blanket clumsily around his shoulders, his hands trembling. Miley somehow knew that if he hadn't been on the verge of hypothermia he would have refused.

"Where are you staying?" Liam asked carefully, as if he were speaking to a wild animal that might bite his hand off at any moment. Miley knew how he felt. "You need a lift anywhere?" Liam added when the man shot him a look loaded with suspicion.

For a minute the only sound was the rush of the wind and the thump of Miley's heartbeat in her ears.

Finally the surfer shook his head, the blood running unnoticed down his temple. "I live at Trewan Manor," he said, jerking his head towards the forbidding mansion that sat at the top of the cliffs overlooking the bay. "I can get there on the cliff path."

Miley's gaze lifted to the point, a little astonished by the news. She'd been fascinated by that huge old house ever since she'd started working on the bay last june. She'd assumed the place was empty, her artistic nature conjuring up all sorts of stories to explain its desolate appearence.

Miley stepped forward as the stranger turned to leave. "Hang on a minute; you can't just..." Liam thrust his arm out to hold her back. "Don't, Miles. He doesn't want your help" "But that's ridiculous; he could be seriously hurt," she whispered frantically, not sure why it mattered to her. "You can't resue everyone." Liam sent her a rueful smile, then wrapped the remaining blanket round her and gave her shoulders a reasurring rub. "Let's get back to the cafe. The first hot chocolate's on me"

Miley wrapped the blankets tight around her and nodded, but her gaze drifted back to the stranger as he walked across the sand. The silver blanket fluttering in the wind like a cape. She frowned, noticing the hitch in his stride for the first time. "He's limping," She murmured. "He's hurt his leg." Concern clutched to her throat again.

He stopped to rub his thigh, then carried on walking, his shoulders stiff and erect and oddly defensive.

"Looks like an old wound," Liam said "Must be why he couldn't stay on the board."

Concern and confusion tangled into tight little knots of irritation in Miley's stomach. What sort of macho fool spent all afternoon attempting something he was incapable of? And nearly killed himself in the process?

"Nice butt, though" Liam said cheekily, and Miley's eyes dipped to the firm muscled orbs of his backside, indecently displayed by the skintight suit. Her pulse-rate kicked up again and the coil of unwanted arousal twisted in the pit of her belly. As much as she didn't want to, she had to admit Liam had a point. "Unfortunately, i don't think he's your type," she muttered. Liam laughed. "From the way he checked out your boobs, i'd have to agree with you."

Ignoring Liam's comment (and the renewed flare of heat it triggered) Miley forced herself to stop admiring the studly surfer's assets. The man might have an extremely nice ass, but he clearly had too much testosterone for any sensible woman to handle.

She'd saved his life...and, while she hadn't expected him to thank her, exactly, he could as least have had the decency to treat her with an iota of respect. But, as Miley climbed into the truck and Liam drove them across the beach to the cafe, her breasts tingled and heat pulsed insistently between her thighs.

She squirmed in her seat.

Terrific.

Trust her bits to come out of hibernation and do the happy dance for a guy who might as well have had a neon sigh above his head saying:

Women-approach at your peril.

I knew one day my life guard lessons would pay off! :P I'm really into this story...i don't know why...this'll be a long one i think,

It'd be nice if some of you could review by the way...this took me three hours to write and it doesn't take that much effort to review...so please do and really be honest please? I really want to know what people think...and it's nice to know that people are reading my stories, i mean if people aren't reading them; what's the point in me writing them?

ANYWAY! please review! :D xoxo