“Why haven’t I seen these on you yet?”

“The day’s still early,” I remarked caustically and he waggled his eyebrows at me and tucked them into his back pocket.

“You own a swimsuit?”

“I live in subtropical climate. Of course I own swimmers.”

“One-piece? Or bikini?”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Where is it?”

“Top drawer on the left.”

He yanked open the drawer and rifled through until he found what he was looking for. Producing my yellow string bikini he held it up in front of him and whistled. “Holy shit! I knew this was gonna be a good day.”

Then he’d shoved me out of bed by dumping half my wardrobe on me and promising me ice cream if I got dressed and came quietly.

The downfall of riding bikes is that, even on a warm summer day, you still have to factor in wind chill. It makes dressing for days like this difficult, because Australian summers are merciless and jeans and leather are the last things I felt like putting on my body in 40 °C heat. I’d just prayed he was taking me somewhere cool enough that string bikinis were considered acceptable attire.

Elijah slows the bike and turns off the highway. It’s quieter now, but instead of pestering him again about where he’s taking me, I tuck my head in against his back and watch the trees fly by in a haze of brilliant greens. Another ten minutes sees him pull the bike over at a tiny shoulder in the road marked out with bollards. There is room enough for three cars, but we’re the only ones inhabiting the space.

“Admit it, you brought me to the woods to off me.” I ease off the bike and begin working on my chin strap. All around us is bushland, but the ground beneath my feet is mostly made up of grass and sand, and I can hear the gentle lull of the ocean nearby. In front of us lies a small winding track surrounded by more trees. “Aww, and you haven’t even had the chance to see my bikini yet.”

“Ah, but this way I’ll have the chance to do both. They don’t call this place Shark Bay for no reason.”

Elijah was already off the bike and taking out the ammo cases that he stored his belongings in while he was on the road. He’d quite cleverly crafted his own way to carry his belongings through the use of a custom made sissy bar that housed them. I smile down at him as he chocks up the side kickstand with a small wooden block so it won’t sink into the soft ground.

“You know, if you rode a Vespa you wouldn’t have to chock your bike up with kindling. They have these amazing new things now called centre stands.”

He stands and snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me into an embrace, only instead of kissing me he takes my chin in between his thumb and forefinger and gives me his sternest face. “Do not mock my baby.” He pulls away and strokes his palm over the seat. “She was my first love.”

“Well, your current … er … girl, is getting jealous with all the attention you’re paying your first love, and she has orifices you can stick things in without having your boy bits burnt off.”

He pulls me into him again and his mouth goes to work on my neck. “Fuck I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Come on, before we get arrested for roadside indecent exposure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and leads me to the path.

The beach was beautiful, pure white sand, calm crystal azure waters and not a single soul in sight, but Elijah wasn’t happy stopping near the track. No. He made us walk for another kilometre before choosing too plonk down our belongings near a huge paperbark tree that had long since succumbed to dune erosion and was now firmly embedded in the beach.

He unrolls the picnic rug he’d carried and sets it and an ammo case down before us.

“What’s in the case?”

“Breakfast.” He sets out some grapes, apple juice and a few white takeaway bags, the kind that hamburgers usually came in. They’re sodden and the oil has soaked through, but I couldn’t care less. This impromptu picnic is singlehandedly the most romantic thing a guy has ever done for me.

“You brought me on a picnic?” Tears were springing to my eyes, which was so unbelievably stupid and girly.

Elijah glances up at the quaver in my voice and baulks. “Shit, baby girl, don’t cry. It’s just a couple of soggy egg and bacon rolls and the beach on a beautiful day.”

“I love soggy egg and bacon rolls.” I say and plonk myself down on the Tartan blanket, knowing all the while that I mean infinitely more than loving greasy breakfast hamburgers. I know next to nothing about Elijah’s past. It drives me crazy, knowing that in a small way I have him, and yet the secrets that he keeps ensure I’ll never really have him at all, not until he learns he can open up to me and trust me the way I want him to. Despite all his secrecy and the fact that I haven’t really had anything else to compare it to, I think I’m in love with him. Each day I feel myself falling a little more, and I don’t really know what that means for either of us. Sure, he’s here with me now. And yes, he seems content living in Sugartown and working at the shop with my dad, but for how long?

Elijah wipes away a tear and cups my cheek. “You okay?”

God, I’m such a head case. He’d probably start running for the hills if I said the words I’d just been thinking out loud.

“Yeah.” I nod, and set about schooling my features into something that don’t resemble a sobbing, snivelling crazy person. “It’s just, every time I think you couldn’t possibly get any more perfect, you do something that surprises me.”

He laughs and then seems to sober a little when he realises I’m serious. “I’m far from perfect, darlin’.”

“No you’re not. Not to me.” I crawl across the mat towards him and take his face in my hands, kissing his lips softly. He lifts me up and sets me back down in his lap so I’m straddling him.

“You’re incredible.” I pepper his face with kisses as I say, “You’re generous, sweet and unbelievably accommodating between the sheets.”

He laughs and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as he says, “You’re unbelievably easy to accommodate.”

“You’re beautiful.” He raises a brow and I roll my eyes and add, “In a very rugged, manly sort of way. And the way you are with Sammy? He’s special, and a lot of people don’t see that, but you do. Plus, you said you like my pie.”

“Darlin’, there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t like your pie,” he mocks, and I give him a playful slap across the arm.

“Face it, mister. You’re a catch and I’m not letting you get away.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere,” he says and falls backward onto the soft sand, kissing me senseless.


After our soggy rolls and a swim we lay on the blanket, wrapped in one another’s arms, despite the heat. I trace the tattoo over his chest and say, “Tell me about your tattoos.”

“What do you want to know?”

Everything. But namely why another girl’s name is emblazoned on your heart, and is there a reason why you haven’t had it removed before now when you’re clearly not together?

I can’t say that, though. I have to ease my way into questions with Elijah because his instinct is to shut down my questions by distracting me with bone-melting orgasms. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does make it difficult to get to know him better.

“Who’s Lilly?”

Crap. So much for easing into it.

He makes this scoffing sound in the back of his throat, like a derisive laugh, only it’s laced with anger. “Somethin’ on your mind, Ana?”

“I think it’s a fair question, considering you had her name permanently etched into your skin. And over your heart, no less.” Even as I’m saying the words, I’m still not sure why it’s all that important. I don’t know why I’m being so irrational about it. I mean, it’s a bit of ink, for god’s sake, just five little letters that could have belonged to anyone. It could be the name of his beloved pet pooch, but my blood feels like it’s simmering inside my veins no less.

Elijah shifts out from under me and begins gathering together our things.

“What are you doing?”

“I think we should head back. You’ve got some work to do at the shop, and I’ve got some things to take care of.”

“Seriously?” I stand up, too, so that he’s not doubled over talking to me like I’m a naughty child. He’s incredibly intimidating when he towers above me like that. Even if I wasn’t 5’2, he’d be intimidating regardless, but at least this way I’m able to look him in the eye. Kind of. “You’d seriously rather run than have a conversation about your ex?”

“She’s not my ex.”

“Then who is she?”

He looks me dead in the face, and the rage I see swirling in those pretty dark eyes makes my stomach clench. “No one you need to worry about. She’s dead.”

I know that. Or at some point I’d guessed as much, but I still feel like crap when I hear the words flee his mouth and see his anger turn to sadness. Irrationally, that just makes me angrier.

“You don’t talk about your past. In fact, you go out of your way to change the subject, like you’re ashamed of where you come from.”

“I am ashamed!” he bellows, and I snap my head back as if he’s just struck a physical blow. I spin on my heel and start heading for the path, though I have absolutely no idea what I’ll do when I get there. I’m not crazy enough to hitchhike—I saw Wolf Creek, people—but I’m not sure I want to spend the next hour on the back of the bike snuggled up to Elijah, either.

“Ana, get back here,” he growls.

“Screw you!”

“Where you gonna go, baby girl?” he singsongs, and because I can practically feel him breathing down my neck, I pick up the pace. The next thing I know I’m airborne, and Elijah flips me over his shoulder like a goddamn cave man.