Paradise City (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I thought I was dreaming when I heard the tap on the window.

A delicate tap-tap-tap that, at first, in my half-asleep state, I thought was a tree branch tapping against the glass, but of course I knew better when I felt the pressure on my bed and heard the sound of curtains flinging apart.

The window made its painful slide across the aluminium track, causing me to bury down in my covers. I had little to no interest in another late-night sneak-out; the last thing I wanted was a forced hook-up with Woolly. No, I think I’d enjoy some much-needed sleep. But instead of the hushed voices getting quieter, and the pressure lifting off my bed, the voices got louder and it felt like a stampede.

‘Shit, be quiet.’ Amanda giggled. ‘Come on. Watch out for Lexie.’

The weight lifted off my bed and I burrowed deeper into my doona, forcing sleep onto myself as I tried desperately to ignore the whispers that were now in the room. Ugh, I didn’t even want to know. With a sigh and a determined attitude to get back to sleep, I felt another dip on my bed, as if two feet were planted on my mattress top near my legs.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Someone else had climbed into our room. I lay deathly still, squeezing my eyes shut, praying that Boon hadn’t brought Woolly with him, that this wasn’t him playing Cupid setting up the double date from hell. Just stay asleep, I told myself, slip into a coma until they take the hint. But worse still, the legs on my bed moved and I could feel the whole weight of a body now sitting on my bed. There was a boy on my bed – an unwelcome boy – and dread swept through me.

Don’t move, Lexie. Don’t. Move.

‘Is she breathing?’

My eyes whipped open, I sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of Ballantine’s voice. Holy fucking shit, Ballantine was sitting on my bed with a devious smirk on his face. I blinked. Was this a dream? A very real dream.

‘Expecting someone else?’ he said, curving an inquisitive brow.

‘NO!’ I said a bit too loudly, a bit too quickly.

‘You sure about that?’

‘I– I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘Sure you weren’t dreaming about a certain woolly-headed surfer?’ Boon eyed me knowingly, as he crashed on Amanda’s bed, linking his hands behind his head.

‘I don’t
think
so,’ I said, making it perfectly clear that that was never going to be the case.

‘That’s a shame. Woolly really needs to get a root.’

‘Boon!’ Amanda’s head nearly spun off her shoulders.

‘What? I’m just stating a fact; he’s such a grumpy prick these days. Isn’t he, Ballantine?’

Ballantine rested his elbows on his knees, nodding sombrely. ‘That he is.’

‘Yeah, well, sorry about that.’ I sat in my bed, clutching a pillow to my chest, wishing I hadn’t worn my skimpy summer PJs tonight. Although it wasn’t like I’d had any way of knowing boys would be infiltrating our bedroom.

Boon sat up on the bed and turned to Amanda. ‘Wanna come for a ride?’

Amanda smiled. ‘Sure.’

‘Sa-weet.’ He stood, pulling Amanda up off the bed and planting a chaste kiss on her lips. ‘Let’s go!’

It wasn’t until this point that I realised Amanda was fully dressed – she must have known about their arrival and prepared for it. She was like a ninja getting dressed in complete silence: impressive if not a little scary.

Ballantine scooted across, letting Boon and Amanda climb out the window without so much as a backwards glance. He then stood, stretching his arms up to the ceiling, causing his tee to lift slightly, exposing the toned wall of his stomach. His arms fell to his sides as he began to climb back over my bed, working to hook a leg over the windowsill, then he paused, looking back at me.

‘You coming?’ he asked.

I fought not to smile. ‘Woolly isn’t out there, is he?’

Ballantine laughed. ‘No, big bad Woolly is not with us.’

‘Okay.’ I threw my doona off while jumping out of bed to head to the wardrobe, only to pause and spin around to Ballantine. ‘Wait, where are we going?’

He didn’t answer me straightaway, he simply looked – looked at me in that way that shows a boy appreciates a girl. In my eagerness to move I had momentarily forgotten I was wearing my short-shorts and sheer top. I stood in the middle of the room feeling completely exposed, more so with the way Ballantine’s eyes were resting on me. He coughed, quickly looking out the window, squinting up at the moon.

‘Ah, nowhere fancy. Meet you out the front.’ And just like that he climbed out through the open window.

What was that?

I know my mind often played tricks on me but I hadn’t mistaken that look, no way. The heat in his eyes as they’d dipped to my rather skimpy attire, the way he’d seemed to shift awkwardly, as if almost embarrassed for being caught staring. A thrill shot through me just thinking about it. Regardless of whether a boy like Ballantine could be interested in a girl like me, I saw that look for what it was. He was, after all, a male, and an experienced one, no doubt. If I wanted to see that look again I was going to have to stand out, be noticeable. I grabbed for some denim cut-offs, and a spaghetti-strap singlet top; the evenings were warm enough to be wearing such things. I quietly opened the bedroom door, pausing for any sign of life from upstairs before creeping to the bathroom. I vigorously brushed my teeth, combed my knotty hair, applied a light dusting of powder and lip balm before spraying some of Aunty Karen’s expensive French perfume and walking through it.

I climbed out the window, making sure to slide it closed, leaving a little gap so as not to lock it shut. I crept along the edge of the house, under the cover of the shadows as I tiptoed around the front, where I came to a complete stop.

Ballantine waited near the tree in the side yard. The moonlight made only his silhouette visible, but I knew it was him. Even in the shadows his tall, lean physique was unmistakeable.

He turned, straightening from his casual recline against the gum tree.

‘Hey,’ I managed. As if we hadn’t seen each other five minutes ago.

‘Hey,’ he replied.

Yeah, there was nothing weird about our exchanges.

I closed the distance between us, unable to stop myself from staring at him as he became more and more visible with every step. Gone was the school uniform, replaced by a casual navy t-shirt that accentuated every muscle. I tried with all my might not to let my eyes linger too long on the hypnotic landscape. His tan, frayed boardies looked like they had seen better days. My eyes flicked past his shoulder, noticing a canary yellow HJ Sandman near the driveway. My stomach fluttered, thinking how incredibly hot it was that the Kirkland boys had their licences – like, legally had them – not like the boys I knew who puttered around on the family farm in a rusty beat-up ute. No, it was nothing like that: sleek, shiny yellow with black lined trimmings, perfect to cart surfboards in, no doubt.

Ballantine followed my eyeline with interest. ‘Oh, yeah, she sticks out a bit,’ he said with a boyish smile.

‘I love it!’ I said without thinking, noticing how Ballantine’s head turned my way to see if I was telling the truth. I absolutely was. It was so incredibly cool, so him. But I would keep those raving thoughts to myself.

‘Where are the others?’ I asked as we neared the car.

Ballantine sighed. ‘One guess.’

•

This wasn’t a double date, nowhere near it. Boon and Amanda were in the back of the Sandman, the divider curtains closed as Ballantine and I sat awkwardly in the front seat, silently looking out over the vast spread of ocean in front of us at Wilson’s lookout. Well, silent aside from the rustling, laughing and kissing sounds coming from the back of the van.

Ballantine moved to turn the radio on in an attempt to drown out the noises but it still didn’t alleviate the awkwardness much. He rubbed his palms along the steering wheel, wincing into the night. ‘Do you wanna go for a walk?’

‘Yes!’ I replied quickly, and before we knew it, Ballantine shut off the radio and both of us were out of the car comically fast. The burst of salty air blowing in my face was like a cleanser after the stuffy car. The outdoor elements liberated us. Ballantine leant on the bonnet, slid out a strip of gum from a packet, unfolded the foil, and placed the spearmint strip on his tongue. He silently offered me a piece. I took it, marvelling at the simple pleasure of such an exchange.

‘This way,’ he said, delving his hands deep into his pockets as he led the way down the sloping sandy path towards the beach. I trudged after him, wincing at the sensation of sand in my thongs. I wanted to say ‘Wait up’ as he expertly made his way along the track, but I knew that would sound lame, so I just did my best to keep up. It got easier as the angle evened out and Ballantine walked closer to the shoreline, where the water made the sand firmer. I did as Ballantine did; he shucked off his shoes and threw them aside, walking closer into the waves, but when his shirt came off and he threw it back to land on his shoes, I paused.

‘W– what are you doing?’

He frowned, genuinely perplexed. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

My wide eyes darted from his naked torso, his perfect, smooth chiselled body, to the dark foamy waves.

‘Umm, I don’t think so,’ I said, stepping back so no part of the water was touching me.

Ballantine watched me with interest. ‘Are you afraid?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t much like being part of the food chain.’

‘You are not going to be eaten by a shark, Lex.’

My resolve melted just a little when he called me that. It was a dirty trick even if he wasn’t using it as a ploy to get me into the ocean. Still, if he said my name often enough I feared I would follow him anywhere.

‘So you can guarantee that I won’t be eaten by a shark, can you?’

Ballantine sighed into the night sky. ‘Look, I am eighty-five per cent sure that nothing bad will happen to you if you come in with me.’

‘Eighty-five per cent!’ I repeated, my voice a bit too high.

Ballantine laughed, taking a step towards me. ‘Okay, ninety per cent.’

I shook my head. ‘No way.’

He took another step. ‘Ninety-five per cent?’

This time I took a step back, but it was too late. Ballantine reached out and grabbed me by the wrists, holding me captive.

‘A hundred per cent,’ he breathed, looking down at me with absolute certainty. I could do nothing to squirm away from him; his hold was like granite.

‘Don’t,’ I bit out, my eyes pleading, my head screaming inside that I didn’t want to go in, even if my body was completely betraying me by leaning towards him.

He began to pull me forward, my feet skidding on the wet sand. ‘No wait, stop. STOP!’ I cried.

He stilled for a moment, a devious gleam lighting his dark eyes. ‘Famous last requests?’

‘I don’t want to get my clothes wet.’ There, that was a good enough reason. But just as I realised what I’d stupidly said, something sparked in Ballantine’s expression.

‘No, can’t have that,’ he agreed. Ballantine’s right hand slid down to the hem of my top, gathering the fabric with his fingers while he still held me prisoner with his left hand.

I gasped when I felt the brush of his knuckles against my skin, as he slowly lifted the material. He smirked. ‘Arms up!’

Like a mindless zombie, I complied, lifting my arms above my head. Ballantine had even let my wrists go so I could. He didn’t need to physically hold me, not when his heated gaze kept me in place. For as long as his eyes bore into me like that, I wasn’t going anywhere. I blushed deeply at my wanton thoughts, at the way he was controlling me. He peeled my top off with one swift movement, chucking it aside. My eyes broke away briefly to see it land perfectly on top of my shoes.

I swallowed, looking back into his eyes. There was no humour in his expression, no smug tilt of his lips, nothing. All I was aware of was the way his fingers lightly grazed down my sides, causing goose flesh to prickle my skin. My breath hitched when his hands slid down to rest on the top button of my jean shorts. Without so much as an eye blink, he popped one button after the other. Expertly working his way down, loosening my shorts until they became baggy around my hips. The only thing that made him seem anything but the perfect vision of calm was the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the way it mirrored my own. He aided me by pushing down the denim, down, down, sliding over my hipbones until the shorts fell to my ankles so I could step out of them. Ballantine picked them up, and threw them aside to join my singlet and thongs. I held my arms across my chest, conscious that I was standing in front of Ballantine in nothing but my bra and undies. White cotton with little pink bows. My cheeks were burning with mortification, but Ballantine didn’t flinch at my lack of attire. At a guess he had seen it all before.

He had probably seen Lucy Fell-on-her-face in far less, I thought bitterly.

‘You ready?’ His voice snapped me out of my depressing thoughts.

‘No,’ I replied.

He smiled broadly. ‘Well, that’s just too bad.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

He was fast. So fast. Scooping me up and over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing at all.

He ploughed into the waves, his legs expertly lifting over the crests so he could gain traction. He paid no attention to my pleas and squeals, and before the true shock set in and the realisation that my world had quite literally been turned upside down as he carried me over his shoulder, he flipped me over and plunged me into the icy black ocean. The shock of it caused me to gasp, inhaling a salty mouthful of water. I broke the surface, scrambling to find my feet. The strong current of the water didn’t make it easy but Ballantine broke through the surface next to me, reaching out to help me stand and get my bearings as I coughed and spluttered: a stark contrast to Ballantine’s laughter.

‘Refreshed?’

‘No!’ I snapped, shivering against the coolness of the temperature. Actually it wasn’t that bad, quite warm now my body was adjusting, but I wouldn’t admit that.

Ballantine dipped his broad shoulders under the water before standing fully, running his hands through wet tendrils of hair. He stood with the waterline nipping at his navel; he looked even more gorgeous wet.

I cowered, keeping myself concealed by the water, hiding my near-naked body, and was happy to stay that way until I felt something tentacle-like brush against my legs. I screamed, leaping towards Ballantine, seeking refuge near his body. ‘Oh-my-God-what-the-hell-was that?’ I yelled, breathing erratically.

Ballantine laughed. ‘It’s probably just seaweed.’

I felt it again, causing me to claw and scream at Ballantine. If he had been a tree I would have climbed him. Oh, yes, in the movies people walk romantically into the ocean, basking in the warmth of the water and getting lost in each other’s eyes. But no, hell no.

‘Let me out! Let me out,’ I screamed, fear carrying me through the water as I bolted towards the shore.

I could hear Ballantine howling with laughter but I didn’t care, the ocean and me were never going to be friends. I scooped up my clothes – struggling to gain traction in the sand – and made a determined beeline for the path that led up to civilisation. The sooner I put distance between me and the water, the better.

‘Lex, wait!’

But I didn’t, I kept forging on: woman on a mission. I started to run and just as I thought I was nearly free, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and whipped me to the ground, landing me with an oomph.

Ballantine pinned me effortlessly to the ground, drops of water dripping off his body onto mine. I squirmed underneath him but it was futile.

‘I don’t want to go back in,’ I pleaded through my laboured breaths.

‘You’re not going back in,’ he assured me, ‘but I think you should probably put your clothes back on.’ His eyes dipped to my chest. I followed his gaze, horrified to see my white bra had turned completely see-through, the pebbled, pink discs of my nipples clearly visible through the cotton material. I gasped, instinctively wanting to move my arms to cover myself, but Ballantine was unmoving. His hands imprisoned my arms on either side of my face, caging me in. His damp torso pressed against mine; our breathing hard and heavy from running. Or maybe from something else. I knew it wasn’t just the running that had me feeling the tingling sensation over my skin, between my thighs. Ballantine could undo me with a look – one simple look. If this is how I felt already, what would happen if he actually touched me? His dark eyes lifted from my chest to my face, and judging by his stormy expression, it was almost as if he might have been wondering the same thing. What would happen if we did, if we went there? I knew I had over-analysed so many ridiculous scenarios when it came to Ballantine, but there was absolutely no mistaking the hard feel of him pressing against my hipbone. A thrill shot through me in complete and utter satisfaction that I, in some way, had excited him in
that
 way.

He seemed lost, completely frozen, unsure about what was to be done with the wet, half-naked girl beneath him. So I made it easier for him.

‘Luke,’ I whispered, my eyes searching his face, searching for an expression I could read.

He blinked, looking down at me as if seeing me for the first time.

I bit my lip, terrified that I had broken the trance for good, that in some way he might come to his senses and let me go. But as soon as I said his name it was like a trigger – like he now knew exactly what he had to do. His hands let go of my wrists, his right hand sliding down my arm, the sweep of his skin along mine causing a tingly sensation. He swallowed. As his eyes followed the trail he blazed with his palm, sweeping down across my collarbone, tracing it delicately, he touched me as if I were made of glass, so gentle, so delicate as his fingers ghosted over the centre of my wet bra. A gorgeous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he flicked at the little pink bow, causing me to giggle. I was amazed how I wasn’t embarrassed, that I was open and eager, almost arching myself into his touch, urging him on. I didn’t want to stop, not ever.

And he didn’t. His hand continued down, his palm playing over the tender, ticklish part of my belly. I inhaled a steadying breath, causing him to smile again. This time he wasn’t looking at me; his eyes were following his hand as it trailed over my skin as if he was fine tuning an instrument. It wasn’t until his hand skidded upwards along the edge of my bra that he looked up, as if silently asking a question. When my silence told him everything he needed, he slid his hand under the material of my bra, cupping my breast and maddeningly brushing his thumb over my nipple. I gasped.

Oh my God. This was happening, this was really happening.

With no sense of mortifying thoughts or second-guessing, I let my body succumb to the pleasure. My legs shifted for Ballantine to lay snugly and hard up against me, the thin, damp material of his shorts and my knickers the only barrier between us. My head pushed back in the sand as I arched into his touch, rocking into him as he rocked back, building a delicious friction between us. His right hand moved to slide the strap from my shoulder, peeling it slowly down until my breast was exposed to the night – exposed to him.

I could feel the heat of his breath across my bare skin and I thought I might die from happiness. Then I definitely knew I would when he spoke against my neck, his lips grazing the lobe of my ear.

‘Is this what you want?’

His strained voice was hoarse, dark . . . promising. He asked the question just as his fingers pinched my nipple; it gave him an unfair advantage that left me gasping, ‘Yes.’

He smiled, pleased by my answer.

His hand moved from my breast, skirting over my belly, lower and lower, breaching the elastic barrier of my knickers. I felt a brief moment of panic, a panic that was soon obliterated when Ballantine lowered his mouth onto mine. Soft and sure, his lips slanted against mine, slowly opening me up to him. His tongue plunged in just as he slowly pushed his finger inside me. I moaned into his kiss, greedily accepting all he had to give. As my hands flew up to tangle in his dampened hair – my mind circling in disbelief that this was happening – thoughts became unintelligible as soft, tentative kisses soon turned into fierce, needy kisses as I rocked into his hand. I felt alive everywhere. Every spot on my skin he touched raised goosebumps. My heart was racing. This felt so surreal yet so welcome. And oh, this boy could
kiss.

My whimpers were captured by his mouth. I was on fire, my insides twisting and clenching with the building pleasure.

‘That’s it, Lex, let go,’ he whispered against my mouth, and just as I was about to shatter into a million pieces and scream Ballantine’s name into the starry night, I heard the distant calls.

‘Leeeeexie! Ballantine?!’

We froze. Panic stilled my racing heart as we looked at each other.

‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ Boon’s voice taunted from above, closing in.

Shit!

Ballantine rolled off me as if he had been electrocuted; I pulled up my strap, positioning my bra back into place as I scurried to find my top and shorts.

Shit-shit-shit.

Ballantine had been so busy chasing me down that he’d left his clothes by the shoreline. We stood, running back into the shadows; Ballantine motioned for me to go in the opposite direction. ‘There’s a set of steps up that way about fifty metres. Keep in the shadows and double round back to the car,’ he said quickly.

I laughed and said, ‘Okay,’ and did exactly as he directed, keeping to the shadows and watching as Ballantine casually walked out onto the beach to collect his shirt and shoes.

‘There he is!’ called Amanda, spotting him from the walking track. I took the opportunity, as Ballantine distracted them, to somehow – some way – get my boneless legs to move me further along the beach and towards the steps. But this time, a newfound adrenalin carried me and had me smiling like a fool, skipping every second step out of the darkness, into the illuminated streetlight.