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  ‘You should be more careful, yes? The beaches in Rio de Janeiro do not have the room for your crazy spinny thing, not like you have in Australia.’

  ‘How did you know I’m from—’

  ‘I have a good ear for the accents.’ Standing, he said, ‘You are lucky. The boards are not damaged.’

  ‘Sorry again,’ Lexi mumbled, then caught Kat’s eye and motioned for them to make a quick escape.

  They grabbed their gear and hurried over to one of the many kiosks dotting Rio’s coastline. Standing in the queue, Lexi glanced over at the tall Brazilian who had joined a volleyball game.

  ‘He was cute.’ Kat tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear.

  ‘Cute with an attitude,’ Lexi grumbled.

  ‘Well, you were being weird with that muse-strike-me-down-with-brilliance business.’

  ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures.’ She adjusted the strap on her sundress. ‘Can you imagine if I’d busted a board? They’re like an appendage for surfers. Sometimes they name them.’ Lexi paused, then added, ‘Kinda like the relationship a man has with his penis.’

  Kat burst out laughing as they got to the front of the line and ordered caipirinhas. The bartender smashed lime and sugar in the bottom of the glass then added the potent cachaça. They paid for the drinks and eyed off the size of the glasses.

  ‘I could swim in this,’ Kat said as she took a sip.

  Lexi followed suit and held back a cough as the alcohol burnt the back of her throat, but it was quickly eased by the sugar. ‘Two of these and I’ll be arrested for drunk and disorderly.’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt to let your hair down, missy.’ Kat raised her eyebrows. ‘So have you heard from the band?’

  ‘Yep, they’re arriving in a few days.’ Lexi studied the growing crowd — surfers, tourists, young families and older couples gathered on the beach and footpath, eating and drinking, hinting a party could start at any moment. The Brazilian surfer and his posse had disappeared, along with their troublesome boards.

  ‘Hey, thanks for asking me to come along, I haven’t had a vacation in forever.’ Kat squeezed Lexi’s arm. ‘Can you believe eighty thousand people will be watching you perform here in less than a week?’

  ‘Hard to believe, to be honest.’ Lexi took another sip, still surprised that she’d been chosen as headline act for the post-surf-tournament concert. Being surrounded by surfing again stirred up endless conflict — the salty air and lapping waves brought her peace, but out at sea, where the powerful waves pounded, fear paralysed her.

  Kat slurped the last of her drink. ‘Well, get used to concerts this big. It’s just the beginning.’

  ***

  A few blocks from Ipanema Beach, Miguel Ferreira leant against the cushions of Bar Centro. The wood panelling on the walls gave the small pub a rustic feel, the low lighting casting a glow on the patrons streaming through the double doors. Even though he’d had reservations about going out, Miguel enjoyed the company of his surfing buddies, who boasted a mishmash of nationalities on the international circuit.

  Miguel downed his beer. ‘My yell.’

  His mates laughed, knowing he enjoyed playing up on English being his second language. When he’d first turned pro and started travelling, learning English had been a necessity, but he missed speaking Portuguese. Being in his home country appealed on so many levels, although the downside was the patriotic pressure on him to win this event and wave the Brazilian flag with pride. Everyone, including his sponsors, expected great things, but even though Miguel could talk the talk, his inner voice didn’t believe a word.

  Refusing to let the mounting pressure destroy his evening, Miguel moseyed over to the bar and patiently waited while the staff attended the thirsty hoards. Crowded and noisy most days of the year, Rio was a total contrast to his childhood coastal village in northern Brazil. He missed the deserted breaks where he would head out alone or with a friend, surfing until exhausted, then snacking on bauru, a roll chock full of beef, tomatoes, pickles and mozzarella. His stomach growled just thinking about it.

  The crowd at the bar moved sideways in a wave-like motion, and a bony shoulder jabbed him in the upper ribs, temporarily knocking him off kilter.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the woman as she looked up with large, blue eyes. The moment they connected with his, her apologetic smile disappeared. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Yes, it is me.’

  They stared at each other as the cover band started their last set. The lead singer’s voice was an octave too high, but it didn’t appear to be a problem for the drunken dancers now swarming onto the sticky carpet in front of the stage. The crowd at the bar thinned and Miguel eased away from the pint-sized troublemaker.

  ‘So . . .’ She said.

  ‘So?’

  She shrugged and gave a captivating smile he wished he could forget. The red hair, bright blue eyes and tantalising lips didn’t help, either.

  ‘You are making a habit of this, no?’ he finally said.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of bumping into my things and now me.’

  Her scarlet lips parted and her eyes widened. ‘Are you still upset about your boards? How many times do I have to apologise?’

  ‘Eight hundred and twenty-three.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get a whiteboard and write “I will forever be sorry for accidently knocking over. . . .” What’s your name?’

  ‘Miguel Ferreira.’

  She bit her lip in a way that made him wish he hadn’t acted so cranky.

  ‘Fine. “I will forever be sorry for accidently knocking over Miguel Ferreira’s boards.” Would that do?’

  ‘It would be a good start, although perhaps we could engrave it somewhere as whiteboard will rub off, no?’

  ‘You don’t want much.’ She waved at the bar tender. ‘Well, the least I can do is buy you a beer. What do you want?’ She placed his order then hers. The woman behind the bar gave Miguel a sweet-as-pie smile, then she turned to the Australian and gave an Arctic blast.

  Leaning in close, he asked, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Lexi.’

  ‘Lexi who?’

  ‘Lexi . . .’ She shifted from one foot to the next. ‘Lexi Leonard.’

  ‘Oh!’ He slapped the bar with the palm of his hand. ‘You are doing the concert at the beach, yes?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’m surfing in the tournament.’

  ‘You’re a pro?’ Her raised eyebrows and gaping mouth made him want to laugh, but he held it in. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to someone who hadn’t known who he was, and he liked it.

  ‘Yes, I am.’ He studied the natural fall of her red curls. ‘You do not look like the Lexi I have seen in the magazines and video clips.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She balled her fists on her hips.

  He should have known better than to make a comment that would make a woman question her appearance. ‘It means you look different in real life. None of that big hair and the dark makeup stuff that makes you look . . . uh . . . not as beautiful.’

  A wry smile appeared on her lips. ‘Is this you being charming?’

  Miguel shrugged. ‘Is it working?’

  Lexi cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘Well, enjoy your beer.’ She stepped away as he desperately searched for a topic to keep her talking.

  He cleared his throat. ‘So, Lexi—’

  A blonde sidled up and grabbed Lexi’s arm, spilling the drinks. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve—’

  ‘Who’s this?’ The woman gave Miguel a coquettish smile.

  ‘This is Miguel Ferreira, professional surfer and man of great forgiveness.’ Lexi winked and Miguel felt a sharp pain in chest — not a heart attack, more like a jolt of pleasure. Just like every other surfer on the circuit he’d had his fair share of flirty women, but Lexi’s cheeky wink was less flirtatious and more . . . what was it? Conspiratorial?

  ‘Well hello, Miguel Ferreira. I look forward
to catching your moves.’ The friend gave a lopsided grin and Lexi elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Ow!’ She frowned then coughed. ‘Your moves on the waves.’

  Lexi rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘sorry’. Unable to take his eyes off those lips, Miguel was overwhelmed by a strong desire to discover their softness and the curves of her body.

  Rod, his South African buddy, ambled over. Blatantly checking out the women, he said, ‘We’re getting thirsty.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Miguel handed over a couple of beers, then faced Lexi. ‘No more bumping into me or my things, okay?’

  ‘I can’t promise anything.’ Lexi nudged him with her hip and shoulder. ‘Whoops!’ She laughed and entered the crowd with her friend.

  ‘Was that Lexi Leonard?’ Rod’s mouth hung open.

  ‘Yes.’ Miguel looked for her in the throng, but she was nowhere to be found.

  ‘She’s hot,’ said Rod.

  ‘She is trouble,’ said Miguel, a ripple of excitement rushing through him.

  ***

  Kat and Lexi sat at the table on the opposite side of the bar.

  ‘Geez, that bartender had it in for me.’ Lexi glanced over at the dark-haired beauty who smiled and laughed with other patrons.

  ‘I’d dare say it was because of who you were talking to.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Lexi sipped her drink and grimaced. ‘What the hell is this?’

  ‘Arsenic?’

  ‘This tastes worse, I’m sure.’ She pushed the drink aside.

  ‘So, how are those songs going?’ Kat drummed the table top with her long, hot-pink nails.

  ‘Are you stuck on repeat? If you must know, I’ve finished writing the whole album. I’ve even written the next one.’

  ‘Sometimes, just sometimes, Lex, I think you are being sarcastic.’

  ‘Never!’ She gripped the edges of the table. ‘I just need to find my groove.’

  ‘So unblock the block.’

  Lexi rubbed her temples, trying to ease the stabs of discomfort. ‘It’s not that simple.’

  The drummer bashed out a series of beats, drawing the attention of everyone in the bar.

  ‘Oooh, the drummer’s hot.’ Kat sent him a winning smile as she smoothed down her blonde locks.

  The lead singer grabbed the microphone and tossed her head to the side, her thick black mane swinging like a pendulum. She spoke in rapid Portuguese and the crowd cheered and clapped. Then she angled a finger at Lexi.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘What?’ Kat turned to face the wall of people now looking directly at them.

  ‘The singer has announced your presence in this bar,’ Miguel said as he slid onto the chair opposite. ‘She wants to know if you are happy for her to play “Catching Rain” in your honour.’

  The crowd continued staring at Lexi. Heat rushed up her neck and across her face. As much as she appreciated the gesture, she wished they’d chosen a different song. ‘Catching Rain’ reminded her of a past she’d rather forget.

  Miguel’s mate showed up, cupped his hand beside his mouth and yelled to the band. ‘Why doesn’t she join you on stage?’

  The singer looked at them questioningly and Miguel translated what Rod said. He mouthed ‘sorry’ to Lexi, just like she’d done before. Now she had an ally. And a very handsome one, to boot.

  ‘Lexi! Lexi! Lexi!’ the singer chanted, and the crowd joined in, waving drinks in the air, their faces eager with wide eyes and expectant smiles.

  Knowing this was a battle lost, Lexi made her way through the crowd and the singer held out a hand to help Lexi onto the stage. Adjusting the mic stand, she whispered into the young singer’s ear, ‘Duet?’

  The young singer’s eyes widened, and Lexi gave her a reassuring hug, recalling the days when she’d dreamt about stardom, Grammy awards and platinum records. Always thankful for her achievements and appreciative of the breaks she’d received, Lexi had made it her mission to give others in the industry encouragement and a chance at success. Social media would go crazy about Lexi’s impromptu performance, and she hoped the band milked it for all it was worth.

  Lexi counted the band in. They rocked the intro, playing almost as well as her guys. If this was an indication of the talent in Rio, she needed to visit more bars.

  Taking a deep breath, she belted out the first line, and gave an encouraging nod to the singer.

  The crowd went wild.

  ***

  When Miguel emerged from his early morning surf, the first person he laid eyes on was the Australian singer. She sat on the beach, her brows furrowed as she stared at a writing pad on her lap with a pen in her mouth and red hair waving in the warm breeze.

  After witnessing her powerful performance the night before, Miguel had tried to talk to her again, but she’d been swamped by adoring fans. It was probably a good thing, though, because with the comp looming and the media salivating for him to fail, he needed to keep away from potential distractions, especially ones as sexy as Lexi Leonard.

  Damn libido.

  Miguel tucked the board under his arm and, like a magnet pulling him in, he sauntered over to Lexi Leonard. The sudden attack of nerves in his belly sent warning signals, but he couldn’t stop the forward momentum.

  Reaching her, he said, ‘You look deep in the thoughts.’

  She dropped her pen, looked up, then she shoved the notepad in her bag. ‘The beach has always been my thinking place.’

  Was that a defensive tone? What had he caught her doing? If she was writing, then really, how much trouble could that cause? Although he knew exactly what damage a pen and paper could do, especially if it was a journalist slamming Miguel for losing — badly — in the last three tournaments. The article had triggered a barrage of questions about Miguel’s abilities, and his sponsors had started hinting they might pull out. The journo’s words still stung, and now a haze of doubt followed Miguel wherever he went — including the waves that used to be his place of Zen. Now it was up to Miguel to prove to his sponsors, fans and the media that they were wrong.

  ‘Miguel?’ Lexi’s expectant blue eyes locked onto him.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I asked if you were ready for the heats.’

  She patted the sand next to her. Placing his board well out of her reach — just in case — he dropped to his knees, then his arse.

  ‘I am ready, yes,’ he lied. If he could just figure out what the hell had made him choke these past few contests.

  ‘I thought you would have been over at Prainha practising.’

  ‘I have been there for days. I do not like to surf the competitive breaks just before the tournament. It is a superstition of mine. We Brazilians have many.’

  As she turned to face him, the morning sun highlighted her hair, giving it a fiery glow. ‘So what’s a popular superstition in Brazil?’

  ‘The underwear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the eve of the new year people choose the colour underwear that represents the help they need for the year ahead — yellow if you wish for money; white for peace and energy; pink for love; and red for a new year full of the passion.’ He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Well, it would be nice if life was as simple as choosing a pair of coloured undies to dictate happiness. What did you opt for?’ Her bold question gave him goose bumps.

  ‘I will never tell.’ He smiled to show he was joking. ‘Maybe you should try this superstition.’

  ‘Maybe I should.’ Lexi concentrated on her shiny red toenails.

  Why wouldn’t she look at him? Was she not interested? Determined to keep the conversation going, he said, ‘The underwear thing is more pleasant than the superstition from where I grew up. The older ladies have failure of the heart if you have a bath or shower after a meal.’

  ‘Dare I ask why?’

  Miguel leant in, his voice low. ‘It will kill you.’

  ‘What?’ Lexi laughed then stopped when she took in his expression. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘It is a crazy supe
rstition, but I would be more crazy if I told my grandmother I did not believe it.’

  ‘Smart move.’

  They fell into silence as the waves crashed against the beach, seagulls squawked, and a warm breeze danced on his skin. He liked the company of this Lexi Leonard; she seemed more down to earth than the people he normally hung out with. Up until recently he’d been happy with the surfing crowd, but the spate of dismal placings made him reassess what was important to him and what he would do after his body — or confidence — finally gave out.

  Swallowing nerves, he asked, ‘Would you like to accompany me to breakfast?’

  ‘I . . . uh . . .’

  ‘You are busy, I understand.’ The disappointment tainting his words took him by surprise.

  ‘I’m supposed to be working on some new songs.’ She bit her lip, a habit cute on her.

  ‘Maybe a traditional Brazilian breakfast will give you motivation, yes?’

  ‘Well, I am a tad peckish . . .’ She slung the bag over her shoulder and stood. ‘Okay. Where should we go?’

  Miguel couldn’t contain his smile. ‘I know a place.’

  ‘You know a place, eh? Is it run by your brother? Your cousin?’ Lexi hesitated. ‘An ex?’

  ‘No exes involved. It is actually owned by the fourth cousin of the friend of my mother’s neighbour from childhood.’

  ‘Got it, I think.’ Lexi donned sunglasses that hid her striking azure eyes.

  ‘Just one moment.’ Miguel jogged down the beach to where he’d spotted Rod zipping up his board cover. ‘Could take this back to the apartment, por favor?’

  ‘Lexi Leonard again, eh?’ Rod stared at the Australian in the distance, as she gazed at the ocean, lost in thought again.

  ‘Yes, Lexi Leonard. She is interesting.’

  ‘She’s sexy.’

  ‘A woman cannot be both? There is more to a woman than her looks, my friend.’ Miguel frowned, annoyed, but not surprised with Rod’s comment. ‘I like her company. She is also a gifted singer.’

  ‘She’s still sexy.’

  Miguel slapped his mate on the back. ‘Yes, she is.’

  ***

  The mingling aromas of onions, garlic, coconuts, fresh bread and coffee filled Lexi’s nostrils as she walked through the door of the café that was so small it didn’t qualify for a name. A couple of women in bold print dresses with scarves around their heads talked and laughed, one woman stirring a large vat and the other deftly flipping pancakes. The moment they spotted Miguel they waved and smiled, then yelled in unison at the young boy sitting at the table in the corner. He grudgingly packed up the battered wooden cars and bolted through the door leading to the back of the building.