by Carla Caruso
There was a clicking sound, like knees bending, and then a hand waved into the space under the change room wall, a white measuring tape in its grip.
‘Perhaps you can give me your waist measurement for your netball skirt? Best to get cracking on these things early, before the season’s upon us. Luckily I always carry my tape with me.’
‘My waist measurement?’ Winnie echoed incredulously, bending to take the roll of tape from the woman’s fingertips. It didn’t look like Mrs D was about to back down. ‘Okay.’ Straightening, she stared at the measuring tape in her hand. Should she really keep up the farce? Maybe it was time to give it to Mrs D straight – she wouldn’t be joining a local netball team. Or at least tell her a little white lie about having a recurring ankle injury, meaning she’d unfortunately be sidelined from playing. Ever. There was a knock on her change room’s outside wall. Was Mrs D actually hurrying her along? The cheek!
Adrenalin zinging through her, she whooshed back the curtain, ready to lay down the law. But then her toes curled and her hands leapt up to shield her bare midriff. She’d forgotten she was only wearing a bikini. She could have done with the cool stuff from the main street’s ice creamery on her cheeks right then.
‘Alex.’
His initial look of shock was slowly replaced by a crooked grin. ‘Just seeing how you were getting on in there’cause you’d been a while. Looks like you’re still busy. Though I thought, after earlier, you were after more fabric, not less.’
Winnie bit her lip. ‘A girl’s entitled to new bathers.’ In the presence of his physical perfection, she felt very aware of any flaws of her own.
Stepping back, Alex put up his hands in defence, and politely averted his gaze. ‘Indeed.’
Behind him, Mrs D hovered near a sunhat display, with Eden, prim as ever, in tow. Great, Winnie had an audience. ‘How are you going with that measuring tape?’ the netball president asked.
‘Er, not very well. Actually —’
But Mrs D was already bustling forward to lend a hand. ‘Allow me.’ Alex courteously slid out of view.
In the background, Eden surprised Winnie by mouthing ‘sorry’ and tilting her head in the direction of her mum. It seemed even the bride-princess was aware of just how pushy her mum could be. Winnie didn’t have much time to contemplate it though, as she felt the slap of the tape around her middle and heard her waist measurement announced in a loud, clear voice for all and sundry to hear. Good old Mrs D.
Chapter Nineteen
Sipping a beer, Alex watched Winnie as she arrived, gliding through the gathering in the firelight. Dressed more casually than earlier, in jeans and a cream-coloured top, she looked far different to that first night at the Crown Inn, when she’d been all dolled up like an urban princess. The natural look suited her. He didn’t want to think about the lithe body, with the gently tapering waist that lay beneath those clothes.
She stopped to chat to a few people, her gentle laugh punctuating the party chatter and music. Then her gaze connected with his and her eyes seemed to light up. Or maybe it was just the glow of the bonfire – and his inflated ego – playing tricks on him.
Seconds later, she stopped in front of where he sat on the sand. ‘Howdy, stranger. Can I join you?’ she asked, in good spirits even if they hadn’t tracked down that Efron guy. Even if Alex had rebuffed her advances – twice.
‘Sure,’ he said, pushing up the sleeves of his denim shirt with his free hand. She sat cross-legged beside him.
Kirk, playing host, swung past with six-packs of whiskey and cola and beer in hand. ‘Hello again,’ he greeted Winnie. ‘How about something to wet your whistle?’
‘Actually I might go a Jack Daniel’s, thanks,’ Winnie said, surprising Alex. Kingston had apparently gotten into her bloodstream.
Kirk passed her a can. ‘Good choice.’ He winked. ‘I’d better keep mingling, but enjoy yourselves, you two.’ Then, with a knowing glance at Alex, he zigzagged off into the crowd. Idiot. Alex just prayed Winnie hadn’t noticed.
Taking a swig from the can, Winnie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘At least the Coke takes the edge off.’
Alex chuckled, taking a slug from his own can, enjoying the sensation of the cool amber fluid sliding down his throat. He stared ahead at the dancing flames. ‘Hope you weren’t too disappointed about not finding Zac today.’
‘Nah.’ Putting down her drink, she picked up a stick and began drawing a wavy pattern in the sand. ‘I heard on the radio he wound up shooting the scene in Beachport, after all that – another fifty minutes away from Robe. We had no hope.’
‘That’d be right.’ Alex shook his head.
‘Thankfully no-one got any pics, or my head would have been on the chopping block, care of Christa. Word only got out once the film crew had finished up.’
They sat in an easy silence for a while, before he broke the spell. ‘Hey, I never did ask if that peppermint oil trick of yours worked – you know, on the mouse.’
Her neck instantly turned pink, noticeable even in the firelight. ‘Well, I thought it had,’ she said slowly. ‘I didn’t see any sign of it after the weekend. But then I caught Casper playing with something in the backyard – a dead something.’ She trapped Alex with the dark pools of her eyes, which made him feel slightly lost at sea. He blamed it on inhaling too much bonfire smoke. ‘And I have to admit . . .’
‘Yeah?’ he prompted.
‘I was kind of relieved. Bad, I know, for a supposed animal-lover. It just gave me the creepy-crawlies thinking about it scurrying around my place after dark.’
Alex let rip a laugh. ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Maybe this place is changing you.’
‘Perish the thought,’ she said, laughing easily with him. More fire staring and drink sipping ensued. She broke the silence. ‘So you’re an outsider here, too. A blow-in, as they say. How long are you planning on staying here?’
He raised his eyebrows at her over the top of his can, before taking another sip. ‘Clearly longer than you.’
‘Well, that’s not hard,’ she admitted, a glimmer of humour in her tone. ‘I have . . . other career plans. Still, I imagine you have a dream beyond here, too.’
‘I might. But I’m not in a big hurry like you. It’s almost like you’re running from something.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he flinched. He was certainly one to talk about running away – not that she knew. But she didn’t appear to notice his discomfort.
Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘I am running from something – from having a mediocre, wasted life. From not achieving anything. From wandering aimlessly and leaving things to pure chance. From relying on others.’
Alex filled in the blanks: like your mother.
Winnie pushed on. ‘Even if I’m not perfect, even if I don’t get it right all the time, I want to at least try. Move up the magazine ranks, make a name for myself.’
‘Still,’ he said quietly, ‘there’s something to be said for the simple life. Those who take pleasure in the small things and lack ambition are often the most content you’ll ever meet. Sometimes the people always striving for something miss out on the important things, like family, community.’
‘I suppose,’ Winnie conceded gloomily. ‘You must have some dream, though.’ Brightening again, she nudged him. ‘Time to reveal all, like those nudists earlier on. Promise I won’t tell anyone.’
‘So says the journalist,’ he deadpanned.
‘Despite popular belief,’ she shot back, ‘we’re not the lowest form of life.’
He begged to differ when it came to some, but he let it slide for the moment. Maybe it was her expressive face, but something compelled him to share a piece of himself, just this once – a glimpse into his future, if not his past.
‘I do want to stay in Cape Jaffa, as long as I can,’ he said. ‘I’m happy here. The plan is to get my skipper’s licence – so long as the industry stays viable – and in the off season, sail around the world, taking pict
ures for magazines like National Geographic.’ He paused, suddenly self-conscious. ‘That’s the dream anyway.’
Her gaze was steady, impressed even. ‘Wow, I think that’s a great plan.’
Somebody turned up the stereo – ‘Islands in the Stream’ was playing. For a second, it reminded Alex of his trip with Winnie to the vet’s – as cheesy as the song was – and a smile tugged at his lips. The lyrics about sailing away to another world and forgetting any hurt and pain certainly had appeal. Some of the gathering began singing along, which meant things were getting rowdy.
After several more rounds of drinks and campfire songs – he and Winnie refrained from participating in the latter – Alex noticed she was shivering.
‘You’re cold. I’ll get my swag from the ute.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh no, that’s okay. I’ll be fine. Don’t want to look like some city priss.’
Too late for that. ‘People will be sleeping in swags on the beach later anyway. It’s no big deal.’
‘Sleeping in swags – on the beach?’ Her expression couldn’t have been more incredulous if she’d practised the look in the mirror.
‘That’s what I said. No need for anything fancy out here. Pretensions.’
He got to his feet and she shakily followed suit. ‘I’ll come too.’ Swaying, she grabbed hold of his arm like it was a life raft. He should have been watching her alcohol intake as well as his own.
Extending her long, slender neck upwards, she peered at him through lowered lashes. ‘Well, don’t be fooled by this shiny exterior,’ she said breathily. ‘I can rough it with the best of them. I’m from little ol’ Adelaide.’
‘C’mon,’ he said, hearing the huskiness in his own voice. Together, they slid through the sand towards the car park, edging further and further away from the bonfire. The dunes grew hillier and Winnie pitched forward. Alex grabbed her around her narrow waist, stopping her from falling.
Drawing back to her full height, she met his gaze, her pupils dilated. For some reason, he didn’t let go. Or look away. There was a heavy charge in the air and it wasn’t just due to the pounding surf. Her chest rose and fell like the tide, centimetres from his own.
‘Third time lucky?’ she whispered and he felt his sense of reason being carried away by the salty breeze.
Not daring to think, he bent his head towards hers. It was time to give in to what he’d been denying himself since day one, really; since he’d first seen her at the Big Lobster in her tiny denim shorts, her sandy-coloured hair snaking around her sun-kissed shoulders, being infuriatingly stubborn and argumentative. And sexy.
Their lips collided as if in slow motion, and then he was properly kissing her, like he’d often imagined. Savouring her taste: a heady mix of lychee lip balm, whiskey and longing. Knotting his fingers in her lustrous hair. Feeling her curves and warmth pressing into his frame, putting his nether region on high alert.
Her tongue moved against his, a noise of pleasure slipping out of her sweet lips, and it felt like marine flares had been lit inside him. They kissed endlessly. Hungrily.
Then he was edging her back between the dunes, desire coursing through his veins, grateful for the healthy distance between them and the partygoers. Tearing his mouth away from hers for a millisecond, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her super-soft lower lip. Rather than spoil the moment with words, he let his gaze ask her if she wanted to continue. There was fire in her eyes, even in the darkness – the equivalent of a resounding yes. It was all the confirmation he needed.
Sliding his hand down to her waistband, he opened her zip, found her wetness and worked his fingers until she was gasping and writhing. Somehow both their jeans were discarded and then he felt the delicious friction of skin on skin, and the length of her soft curves against him as he drove between her thighs.
It was end-of-the-world sex. Blistering hot. Fireworks. The whole shebang. He didn’t know where to from here, but right then, he didn’t care. He just wanted to give into the feeling, connect with another – with her – on the deepest level. At least for one night.
Someone was shining a light, quite rudely, in Winnie’s eyes. She was trying to sleep. Mentally willing the perpetrator away – her mother, back in Adelaide? – she tried to lose herself again to the Land of Nod. But then the sound of crashing waves seeped into her brain. And the squawk of seagulls.
Winnie sat up with a start and cold, harsh reality dawned. She wasn’t in Adelaide. Neither was she in her bed in Kingston. She was on the beach in Alex’s extra-large swag. And the light shining in her eyes was, in fact, the rising sun.
The beach itself looked decidedly worse for wear. Lumpy swags – some moving slightly – and empty bottles littered the place. Last night’s bonfire was now charred remains. The water shone so blue and the sand so white it hurt her eyes.
Winnie swung her head to the left and felt a stab to her chest. No Alex. The last thing she remembered was snuggling into the crook of his arm. Other memories trickled in – even more visceral: the scrape of his stubble against her cheeks as they kissed, the ridges of his chest imprinting into her, his strong thighs moving in rhythm with her own . . .
She winced. And now? Now she had a sinking, gut-wrenching feeling. Call it women’s instinct. She knew a runner when she saw one, not willing to face a woman in the morning, à la Grant, the magazine exec – and most of the men who’d paraded through her life. Even if Alex did have work to go to, he could have said goodbye. Or better yet, woken her so she could have driven home, once she’d sobered up – rather than leaving her to her own devices in that swag, which reeked of sex and shame.
Reaching for her handbag beside her, Winnie rifled through its contents for her phone. Amid the jumble, a folded page, torn from her notepad, glowed white, taunting her. With trembling fingers, she plucked the paper out and opened it.
Gone fishing, the note read. My house keys are in your bag’s inside top pocket if you need to shower up before work.
It was a goodbye of sorts. But there was no kiss. Not even a smiley face. From Alex’s all-business note it was as clear as the blue sky: yesterday was a night of lust, a quick fix, a fling; that was all. She’d been right.
Alex had made it clear from day dot that he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. And now she’d put her career at risk – again – by cavorting with a work associate. By giving into a momentary pleasure, like gorging on chocolate, only to be sick with regret later.
Last night might have felt like their bodies had moved as one – might have felt magical and earth-shattering for the briefest of moments – but it had an expiry date, like all her liaisons with men had. It wouldn’t be worth the ensuing pain.
Grabbing her phone, she jabbed at its buttons, but the device played dead. And she didn’t have her charger with her. Blast it —
‘Morning, sunshine.’
Her head jerked up. Oh dear. A vein throbbed in her forehead. She’d been so caught up in her own maddening circular thoughts she hadn’t noticed the person now standing over her as they’d approached.
Cyndi. She was dead meat. A silver sheep-skull pendant dangled ominously from the beautician’s neck and her wide grin had the whiff of a smiling assassin about it.
‘Um, morning.’ Winnie’s voice cracked and her lips were dry. She desperately needed her lip balm, but remembered now she’d left it on her bathroom vanity.
Cyndi, looking as rumpled as Winnie felt, flopped onto the sand beside her. Winnie’s heart rate jacked up at the proximity; she was within face-slapping distance now.
Inclining her head towards Winnie, Cyndi jiggled blonde eyebrows. It spelled danger. ‘So . . . guess who I spent the night with? I’ll burst if I don’t tell somebody soon.’
All at once, Winnie felt her limbs weaken with relief, as though they were made of Aeroplane jelly. Cyndi had obviously been too preoccupied to be aware of just who Winnie had been cosying up to. She’d been saved – for the moment.
‘Who’d have thunk it, but Alex�
��s mate Kirk?’ The mention of Alex’s name was like a lead weight on Winnie’s heart, but Cyndi didn’t seem to notice, pressing on. ‘We were having eyeball sex all night, as Kesha would say – and then, well,’ the beautician grinned, ‘things got a little heated, if you know what I mean.’ More eyebrow waggling ensued.
‘You go, girl,’ Winnie offered, whacking Cyndi on the upper arm a little harder than necessary. She was aiming for upbeat in tone, rather than strained, but, to her own ears, she wasn’t pulling it off. ‘Uh, I didn’t know you had a thing for Kirk.’
‘I didn’t either,’ Cyndi said, oblivious, tossing her dark-blonde waves. ‘But I’ve always been partial to cheeky bad-boy types, and last night I actually had a chance to get to know him a little better.’
‘Good for you.’ Winnie smiled wanly, hoping the thud back to earth wouldn’t be as painful for Cyndi as it had been for her. Hoping that Kirk at least had an iota of decency. She was distracted, though, by the feral feel of her scratchy underarms, salt-encrusted skin and tangled hair. As Alex’s note had pointed out, she needed to wash up – ASAP. She had work to rush to, too.
Winnie swiftly got to her feet. As much as she’d warmed to Cyndi since their initial meeting, it wasn’t the time for a heart-to-heart. Fortunately, she was fully dressed in last night’s clothes and not exposing herself to all who remained at the beach. ‘I’m sorry, Cyndi, but I’d actually better go. I’m pretty sure I’m late for work. You wouldn’t have the time, would you?’
Cyndi appeared unfazed by Winnie’s sudden urgency. ‘When I checked my phone about ten minutes ago, it was nine-thirty.’ She rested back on the palms of her hands. ‘Luckily I don’t have any appointments until noon.’
Winnie wrestled with Alex’s swag. ‘Bugger. I really do have to go then – I am late. Sorry.’
Cyndi waved one hand. ‘Do what you need to. I might hang around until Kirk gets back.’
Good luck with that. Winnie doubted Alex would come looking for her once he returned from the sea. Heading for the car park, she threw the rolled-up swag in her Echo and jumped in to drive to his – thankfully still vacated – pad. As much as she knew she’d feel like an intruder there, it was quicker to use his shower – and he’d lent her his keys. First, though, she needed to call Olive from his landline.
