by Madeline Ash
He definitely was. No one else could have poured heat into her veins, much too quickly, forcing it to spill over into the base of her belly. Not simply by standing close, arm slung around the board he’d stuck in the sand.
“You’ll be the startled one,” she said, “just give it a second.”
A second passed as his eyes moved over her face. Then shock made a mockery of his perfect features. He shifted his weight backwards. “Alexia?”
She hitched her bag higher onto her shoulder. “Hello.”
There was a pause, laden with discomfort. As it should have been. The last time they’d spoken, he’d presumed too much and called her frigid. Not an encounter she was likely to forget. At least he’d quit the café immediately, and in their final year of school, ignored her so masterfully that she’d never had the opportunity to be the ignorer.
Then she’d moved to LA.
Parker ran a hand through his hair, flinging droplets onto the sand. “I didn’t know you were back,” he said, green gaze uncomfortable. Apparently selfish cads felt guilt. Fascinating.
“I must have forgotten to tell you.”
“You look different.”
Actually, she was basically the same. Waist-length brown hair, curly and useless for anything but plaits and ponytails. Brown-eyed. Slender, kind of short, and unable to curb her tongue, no matter how hard she tried.
“I think what you mean is,” she said, “I have a figure now.”
As if by instinct, his eyes skirted over her. Shot sideways towards the water. His jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he said, tense. “That’ll be it.”
He was still beautiful. Skin the amber tone of lamplight and hair the bright flare of the bulb within. His jaw was lined with blond bristles, stronger like his cheekbones now that he’d shed the softness of youth. Adulthood only sharpened his appeal – and his abs, strung tight below firm pecs. Alexia forced her gaze aside.
“That’d be why you came over here,” she guessed. Planning on showing a tourist a good time.
He continued to frown at the water. “You seemed familiar. I couldn’t pick it.”
If only he’d tried a little harder and spared them both.
Silence fell and landed uncomfortably.
“So,” she said, because he hadn’t bolted yet. “Still making bad coffee?”
“Probably. But I only inflict it on myself these days.”
She nodded. More silence. Alexia hitched her bag again. The sun on her back bit harder with each passing minute.
“So, this is pretty awkward,” she stated.
He looked at her then, gaze steady. “Try being the one in the wrong.”
That admission surprised her. “Off the scale awkward?”
“There is no scale for this magnitude of awkward.”
“Then you’re still standing here because…”
He gave the ghost of a smile. “I’m trying to decide whether you’ll get more satisfaction out of me fleeing or pushing through.”
She frowned. “Is my satisfaction the desired outcome?”
“One of us might as well enjoy this. It should be you.”
Interesting. And tempting. Watching Parker squirm wouldn’t be the worst form of entertainment…
“Push through,” she requested, curious.
“So.” His fingers grazed the edge of his surfboard. “You’ve been in… London?”
“Los Angeles. Acting.”
“Great,” he said, sounding forced, and she smiled. Oh, she liked this power. She didn’t fully understand why she had it, but she liked it. “Theatre or screen?”
“Screen,” she said, tugging at the hair tie on her wrist, collecting her hair and dragging it through. Parker’s eyes followed the movement, straying to the side of her neck. Awareness prickled across her skin. “I had a role in a TV series,” she said, uncomfortably warm. “I was working on that until recently.”
“Popular?”
“In the US.” He met her eye again. “It hasn’t reached Australia yet.”
“So this is a holiday?”
“More of a working holiday,” she said, nerves shuttling up and down her spine at the reminder.
He nodded, stance uneasy. Then he gestured between them. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Surprisingly.”
“I’m not, if that helps.”
“It does.” Byron was the same as the day she’d left, but this wasn’t the Parker she remembered. He seemed to have developed a conscience. It clashed with the youth in her memory, throwing her off balance. “You still spend most of your time surfing?”
He’d been good enough to go pro. Balancing on the brink of surfer culture, she’d predicted that after school he’d fall right in, losing touch with average society, always yearning for the sea. Not holding down a stable job, constantly on the hunt for the best breaks up and down the coast.
“No,” he said. “I run Lullabyron now.”
Surprised yet again, she frowned. Could he have developed a sense of responsibility, too?
“And I’ve opened a hotel down the beach. Lullabar. If you come by, have a drink on the house.”
Her heart lurched. Lullabar. A derivative of the Hargraves’ surf brand, as if it could have been anything else. Good one, Lex, she thought dryly. The hotel had been packed to bursting last night when she and Dee had checked in over the bar and headed straight upstairs to crash.
Unsettled, she spoke without thinking. “You buy off all your mistakes with alcohol?”
His features stiffened.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “That was—”
“Rude, justified, and likely very enjoyable,” he cut in, picking up his board. The gruff set to his shoulders didn’t vent itself verbally. “But no, I don’t.”
Alexia gave a nod.
“See you ’round,” he said, turning away, back taut with tension.
“Yeah.”
As he strode off, she entertained the possibility that he didn’t work in the hotel or even visit it. She might not see Parker around at all. A girl had to have hope.
*
“Alexia’s in town.”
Parker watched Josh’s head snap up from behind the bar. The house lights were on, reflecting off Josh’s slimline glasses and the timber of the empty dance floor.
He frowned. “Lex?”
Parker passed him, grabbed the soda gun, and filled a glass with water. “Yeah.”
“Seriously?” Josh shoved the swell of black curly hair off his forehead. It crashed back down with a bounce. “For good?”
“Holiday.”
“Who told you?”
Parker sculled the glass before answering. “She did.”
“Oh, man.” Josh’s sudden grin was part wince. “If awkward could kill.”
Parker managed a rueful smile as he swiped a bag of potato chips from the counter.
“How’d she look?”
Tearing the packet open, he sobered. “Stunning.”
Literally. He’d stood on the beach like an idiot, staring. A body that curved in and out of her bikini and skin the colour of blanched almonds, too pale for a local. Her long hair had clung to her chest like thick honey, dripping, rich and dark, down to her waist. He remembered what her hair looked like dry, remembered how she’d braided it, thick and with salt-encrusted locks, curling out of confinement.
Up close, he’d remembered that nose, that chin, which had always jerked up in his presence, and most of all, those lips. Full, soft, and smiling. Even in neutral, her lips curved up a little, making her seem approachable, open. Not that she’d ever been open to his approach, and with good reason.
Parker jammed a handful of chips in his mouth, craving something much sweeter. As if he had the right.
Josh asked, “Has she had any success over there?”
“She’s on TV.”
“Great!” Pride squared his lanky shoulders. Then he sank a little. “Has she changed?”
Meaning had success squandered the better of her? “No
t noticeably.”
Josh eyed him. “Will you do anything?”
A good question. Years ago, when he’d been broken, Parker had sought comfort in too many beers, and told Josh that of his unrivalled collection of regrets, Alexia was one of the largest. Not because she’d got away, God no, but because of his intent in the basement that day. Over the years, he’d tried desperately to blot out the memory whenever something triggered it, but he remembered enough.
She’d been a challenge. She fought his inherent privilege and denied their attraction. He hadn’t cared if she had a boyfriend; if she’d regret it afterwards. He hadn’t cared about much at all, except getting her beneath him and the feeling the victory of her calling his name.
Anger struck his gut at how he’d been. Disgust had long felt at home in his heart. If he lived to old age, recalling his youth would still force his eyes closed.
He regarded Josh and pulled out another handful of chips, silent.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” his friend pointed out.
Like he needed another regret. But, “I get the feeling she’d rejoice if she never saw me again.”
“Rejoicing may commence post apology.”
“An apology’s useless.” There was no unscrewing the past.
“You could make it up to her.”
Parker shook his head. “How? Let her attempt to bed me, as if I’m nothing but a body to be conquered?”
Josh paused. “No, you’re right. That’d be taking advantage of the situation.”
With a dry smile, Parker said, “I deserve my demons. She deserves a holiday.”
Best to leave it at that.
*
“This is surreal. Everyone is speaking in Alexian accents.”
Alexia laughed as her best friend looked after the retreating waiter.
Dee was a twenty five-year-old screenwriter from LA, the opposite of Alexia in most ways, but identical in those that counted. Sitting outside an alternative-style café, with the flow of weekday coastal life around her, she stood out like a city chick stripped of her urban setting.
Mainly because she was.
Thick-rimmed glasses sat over smart blue eyes and she wore clothes that could have passed as trendy were none of them a part of the same ensemble. Over-sized, high-waisted jeans rolled up to mid-calf, chunky army boots, and a floral blouse. Tucked in, of course, and garnished with a gold necklace and cameo pendant. Her dark hair was short and chopped rough, with bangs curling into her forehead. Her lips were bright red.
“I’m infatuated with this place,” Dee said, leaning back in the wicker chair. “It’s so otherworldly. I mean, those trees have knitting on them. That man’s wearing a bright suit and cowboy hat. And the girl over there’s playing the drum that looks like a flying saucer.”
“Hang.” A drum that sounded like muted bells, soft on the ears and kind to the soul.
“Hang,” her friend repeated distractedly. “I love it. And the sun, yeah, I love the sun.”
“Wait ’til mid-morning. You won’t be in jeans.” She’d be in her room with the air con blasting. But Alexia revelled in sharing her home town with Dee – buskers, yarn bombing, and all. She flicked off her flats to warm her feet. “Thanks for coming here with me.”
“My pleasure.” Dee shot her a pointed look across the table. “Soon to be yours. Let’s get down to business.”
Nerves pricked her chest, but Alexia nodded. At some point, theory would have to become reality.
“Okay.” Dee sat forward, elbows on the table. Her gaze was steady. “Let’s break this whole thing down into stages. ’Cause I can see the panic in your eyes when you think about the end goal and that’s not going to help.”
“Okay.”
“Stage One,” Dee said, pointing a finger towards the sky. “Making out.”
“Making out,” Alexia repeated dutifully.
“We’ll find you a nice random guy to kiss tonight at the bar. It’ll be fun. And then we’ll go upstairs to our rooms, just you and me.”
Alexia nodded, trying to fend off the apprehension consuming her courage. Pash and dash. She could do that.
“Stage Two,” Dee continued, and stopped when the waiter returned with their drinks. “Can you bring another latte in about five minutes? Thanks.” She dragged the glass close. “Stage Two… or should we stick to One for now?”
“One is good. I’m comfortable with One. One is all I need.”
Her friend tilted her head, smiling.
“Do I still look panicked?”
“Somehow more so.” Dee took her hand. “You’ll get the part, I promise.”
Alexia swallowed. Nodded. She’d fought hard over the years, hauling herself up from walk-on roles to bit parts, and then from supporting roles to leading actor in a damn good TV series. She had persisted despite rejections and an unstable income; despite the exhaustion of long shoots and the pressure to get it right. It hadn’t been an easy climb, but she’d clung to her goal and let it pull her up.
She couldn’t let go now, not after making a name for herself.
Looking at the sugar pot, she asked, “Was my audition really that bad?”
“No.” Dee squeezed her hand. “It was sensational.”
Alexia started to smile.
“Except for the seduction scene. I hadn’t previously realised the full potential of the word embarrassing.”
Damn it.
“You’re amazing, but you don’t have an ounce of sexual confidence on screen.”
Or off screen, because she hadn’t had an ounce of sexual experience in her life. So far, Alexia’s characters had been as chaste as her. But it was time to break into new genres. Prove her diversity. Build a sustainable career. She’d auditioned for a psychological drama feature film, predicted to be huge, and been told by the casting director that the character had been written with her in mind. They wanted her.
She ticked all the boxes, except sensual sureness. She was uncomfortable and it showed.
“Get some experience,” he’d said the week before, utterly mortifying her. “Get comfortable with your body and a man’s body, and the part’s yours.” The part she needed to branch out – raw, bold, and wanton, with a dash of sociopathic. “I’ll buy some time, but if you’re still making me cringe in a month, I’ll have to go with someone else.”
So here she was.
Dee had suggested a holiday to make it feel more fun and less terrifying, and Byron Bay offered familiar territory and easygoing potentials. Being here also meant she wouldn’t run the risk of bumping into the guy in LA afterwards. The guy. Anxiety hunched over in her stomach. The guy she hadn’t met yet. The guy who would touch her and teach her. The guy she’d leave behind, because this wasn’t about starting a relationship.
Relationships changed people. Shifted priorities and stole time better spent. Alexia only had to look at her mum to see how important it was to establish a career before welcoming romance. When her mum had fallen for Alexia’s father, she’d abandoned her studies to move to Byron Bay with him. When she’d been left alone with their three-year-old daughter, it had been too hard for her to go to uni. Too late. Her mum had given him everything and lost out.
Alexia had seen it more than once. Love made people want to give each other everything. No sacrifice was too big. She refused to allow her acting to become that kind of sacrifice.
This trip was about sex and sex alone.
She poured peppermint tea into her mug. “Will three weeks be enough time?”
“Oh, honey.” Her friend attempted to suppress a grin and failed. “It’s not aviation. It’s easy. You’ll see. You just have to find the right guy. Speaking of – any prerequisites I should know about as your self-nominated scout?”
“Uh.” She hadn’t thought about it. “Decent, I guess. Respectful. Not from LA.”
“Done.” Dee’s attention flickered to a hang glider above the town. “Physical preferences – go.”
“None, I don’t think, so
long as he’s decent.”
Her friend looked dubious. “You must have a type.”
She must, if she were honest with herself. Alexia shifted in her chair. “Blond. Fit.” Sun-kissed surfer. “Green eyes are nice but nonessential.”
Parker was promptly ruled out due to the decency criterion.
“Sexual fantasy?”
“Dee.”
“What?” Unashamed, her friend relieved the waiter of her second latte. “It could make it more exciting.”
“At this stage, my fantasies really just involve a second person.”
“Specifically, do you mean a person of the nerd slash policeman slash playboy persuasion?”
“A man, Dee. Can we keep this simple?”
Her friend eyed her, arching a brow into her fringe. “Rescue signal?”
“Laugh with a hand on my chest.”
“Condoms?”
“In my purse,” she answered, having moved one from her luggage the night before. “Except… you pluralised that.”
“Depends on the guy, but one should never be enough.”
Oh. “Okay.”
By the time their breakfasts arrived, Alexia had promised not to think beyond Stage One. That helped. They’d head out tonight and find her a guy to kiss. No more than that.
She’d kissed before – on screen. Kind of rigidly. Her co-star had looked surprised, as if he’d assumed she’d be good at it. That was the problem with confidence. People automatically assumed she was confident in all areas, the bedroom included. She hadn’t yet figured out a way to correct that assumption by admitting her inexperience. How one simple sentence could feel so impossible, she didn’t know, but it damn well did, and she refused to give her virginity to a man who didn’t know what he was taking.
It wasn’t that she’d avoided sex. It was just that acting demanded everything she had and that was what mattered most. And the longer she’d left sex alone, the harder it felt to reach for it, and now here she was, resorting to a random hook-up to get the whole thing done with.
She could do this. She had to.
“One final question,” Dee said, picking up her veggie toastie and biting down. “Nearest swimsuit store where I’ll have a shot at one without rainbow, tie-dye, or beads?”