Losing Faith (Surfers Way) (10 page)

The sounds of our deep breathing fill the enclosed space. When my heart calms down a bit, I finally find my voice.

“Um, is this water fresh?” I ask, pointing to the water bottle in the cup-holder between us.

“Yup. I at least have that covered to aid our survival.”

I take a few sips, careful to save some for later. “Thank God. Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?” I lift the metal lever beneath my seat and roll it back, creating more space.

Quade does the same with his seat, stretching out his strong legs. He turns his upper body to face me, propping one arm on the padding of the centre console, the other on the steering wheel.

“It’s not hot in here, Lace. Wouldn’t have anything to do with you blushing or anything, would it?”

“What, me? Nah,” I say with a shake of my head, looking ahead at the water. The moon has almost escaped the clutches of the sea. It won’t be long until it’s freed into the night sky. It feels safe to stare at the view. I’m too scared to look at Quade. A part of me is afraid to acknowledge the sexual tension that crackles between us like three years haven’t passed. The problem is, I can’t ignore the intensity of the ache deep in my core and in my heart. My body wants him, but my mind?
Am I ready?

“So we just wait it out, huh?” I say, using words as an escape from my thoughts.

“I guess we can sleep in the car, then when the sun’s up we can start the trek through the bush. Besides, I’m not in a real hurry. I’d like to enjoy the view I came here for,” he says and sighs.

Have I ever heard this man sigh? I turn to him to find his focus not on the water, but instead on me.
Me.

His tongue darts between his lush lips, coating them in moisture. His lust-filled gaze has my heart racing in my chest.
Probably like our shagging-in-a-secret-beach neighbours.

“You reckon they’re still having sex over there?” My mouth hangs open after I say it. What the hell is wrong with my brain-to-mouth filter today?

Quade’s eyes widen, and he snorts a puff of air from his nose. “I don’t really want to be thinking about a man’s cock right now,” he says, and then tucks some of my long hair behind my ear.

“Maybe I do?”

Holy shit. I just said that. Out loud. To Quade.
Earth, I’m ready for you to make a meal out of me. Anytime would be greeeeaaatt.

I’ve never talked dirty to Quade … We never got that far.

He leans across the car and like a magnet, my body is drawn into his.

“Thinking about mine now, are you?” The warmth of his breath teases my lips with every word that leaves his beautiful mouth.

“Um,” is all I manage to get out because then his lips are on mine. His large hand curls around the nape of my neck as a kiss so soft takes my breath away. I melt into him, opening my mouth to his.
Oh, God.

I force my eyes open. His long lashes are flush against his cheeks. Quade is so lost in this moment, but me? I feel as if I’m missing something. I need to roll with it and get lost with him. Drawing in a staggered breath through my nose, I close my eyes. A hint of beer transfers to my tastebuds as his tongue slowly flicks against mine.
I think I like beer now.
With each kiss it’s as if he’s savouring me, each delicious kiss becoming less restrained.

This moment is so surreal—better than what I’ve imagined. It’s just been a long time since that dream was quashed by his leaving town. That’s when the hurt creeps in, settling deep in my heart.
Not great timing.

I pull my lips from his, slowly because I don’t want to offend him.

“This is kind of weird, right?” I whisper.

Quade puffs out air through his nose and gives me a soft smile. He plants a light kiss on my cheek, and his stubble brushes against my chin as his mouth moves to my ear. Goosebumps prickle all over me. “I know it’s been a long time, Lace. Just close your eyes,” he whispers in my ear.

I do, and he kisses me so softly that the heat of his lips barely makes an imprint on my mouth.

“Lace.”
Kiss
. “Imagine the time hasn’t passed,” he whispers against my mouth.
Kiss.

My mind takes me back to that night, when we were in the front seat of his car on our way to the bonfire.
Later
. A promise.

My heart pounds as I place my hands either side of his face and deepen the kiss. A low moan rumbles up his throat. His tongue battles against mine. His fingers are almost desperate as they grip my ponytail, tilting my head back. Tears pool in my eyes when the enormity of the moment hits me.
This would’ve been us that night.

We lost her. We both lost so much. And time. All that time wasted.

Strong arms envelop me. Here I am safe. Quade rests his chin at the curve of my neck, leaving soft kisses below my ear.

“You’re thinking about that night, aren’t you?” he mumbles.

“I can’t help it,” I choke out, then suck in a deep breath. As if he senses the tension in my body, his hold loosens, and he swoops the tears away with his thumbs.

“I never stopped caring about you, Lace. I’ve been in some dark places, but you have to know that I never stopped.”

Hearing those words sends my heart into a flutter. Tears stop. “You didn’t?”

“No,” he growls, gripping my waist and bringing me closer. I dodge the gearstick, climbing onto his lap.

His hands wrap around my lower back. Muscular arms press my body against his own, his chin resting on my bra-made cleavage. I shift my hips, spreading my knees apart to rub against the hardness pressed against the seam of his thin boardshorts.

Quade moves beneath me, creating friction between our bodies that I’ve fantasised about time and time again. “Fuck,” he growls, gripping my denim-clad arse and thrusting his cock between my legs.

He clutches the hem of my tank top. I raise my arms above my head and he wastes no time ridding me of the clothing. Teeth bite down on my nipple through my bra sending a volt of pleasure through to my core. A cry rips from my mouth.

I yank at the neck of his T-shirt and he obliges me by swiftly removing it, revealing the upper bod that had me talking gibberish that day we delivered mail.

So incredible
. “Hot,” I mumble, running my nails over the hardened lines of his beautifully carved torso. Muscles flinch beneath my fingers. Deep, sexy-as-anything moans surround me. One rather large muscle jerks between my legs, and Quade’s hands grip my hips tighter moving me forward and then back. Forward and back.

“Fuck this feels good,” he says, slamming his head against the headrest, his eyes screwed shut tight as if he’s almost in pain. I relax my hands, realising my nails are digging into his shoulders.
Whoops
.

Revelling in the sensations taking control of my body as the pleasure builds, I let my hips take over and ride him.
Oh boy
. With my hands either side of his face, I kiss him with the force of a thousand farewell kisses. I’m rough, my teeth meeting the softness of his lower lip. My tongue is forceful against his. I don’t hold back, loving every second of it. Quade gives back as good as he gets, which drives my excitement further.

Fingers fumble with the band of my shorts. The buckle pops and the zip is slid down. The moment his hand brushes over my swollen clit, circling the flesh, I almost come.

“Jesus, Lace,” he rumbles.

With one hand gripped on my neck, Quade holds me close. His other hand is busy, long fingers sliding between my wet folds, teasing me with an orgasm that I know is about to rock my world forever. He guides a finger inside me, curling it as he pushes in as far as he can, pulling back and torturing me with the slow movement as his thumb moves to stroke my clit.

“So tight,” he whispers against my lips. “Perfect.”

His hand moves faster. His thumb presses harder. I’m like a tightly wound coil ready to unravel.

“Quade, I … aaaah.”
Feels so good. Don’t stop.

“Let go,” he growls. “I need to feel you come undone.”

The cabin begins to glow, as if the moonlight has just emerged from the ocean and is now bouncing off the water in that brilliant display I’ve memorised over the years.

I tell my head it’s time. Time to let go, time to give into my feelings to this man—

A loud series of taps on the window are followed by a bright light which penetrates through to the back of my eyes, blinding me.

“What the fuck?” Quade yells, removing his hand and wrapping his arms around me, shifting his body to shield me from the glow.

I scramble back to my seat, grabbing my tank top and pulling it against my chest.

“You can’t camp here,” a deep voice says as a large shadow appears on the other side of the fogged up glass.

I wind down the window just enough to see who’s out there making a fuss.

When my eyes meet with his, I let out a tortured sigh. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Wilson. I know, it’s just we came down for a drive and then the car—”

“I can issue you an on-the-spot fine, you know, Miss Marone,” he barks out. “I would’ve thought locals like you would’ve taken note of all the hoo-ha we make about tourists doing this.”

“Officer,” Quade says in a calm, soothing voice as he leans towards my open window, one arm positioned over his crotch.

Wilson leans in, resting his forehead on the car door. He squints. “Quade Kelly? That you, son?”

“Sure is, Wilson. How you doin’?”

Wilson sighs loudly and his shoulders slump. “Well, shit. Good to see you, Quade. Well, not on the nudist beach, but you get the drift of what I’m saying.”

“Good to see you too. We’re bogged.”

“Come on, get decent and I’ll winch you out of here. Lucky for you I’m in the Cruiser.”

“We’re out of petrol too, Wilson. Sorry,” I inform him, and drill Quade with an
I told you to get petrol
look.

“You kids,” he says, shaking his head.

Quade tugs his shirt back over his head. I cover myself and zip up my shorts. We both get out of the car. Wilson gets back in his vehicle and moves it so his front headlights shine on the front of Quade’s four-wheel drive. Both men set about hooking up a metal rope between the vehicles.

“Next time, no sand driving after dark, and certainly not on Sanders Beach.”

“You got it,” I tell Wilson with a wink. “Hey Sarg?”

“Yes, Lacey,” he says, with a fatherly tone of warning.

“Any leads?” I ask, and flash him my teeth gritted together for daring to ask him when he’s towing our arses off a nudist beach in the middle of the night.

He shakes his head, and takes a few steps closer to Quade. “Have you ever met a girl more tenacious than this one?”

“Don’t think so,” he says with a scratch of his chin, eyeing me with a playfulness in his gaze.

“I swear she would have single-handedly run our investigation if we had’ve let her.”

Quade’s eyes widen, and he pushes out his chest. “That determined, huh?”

“Determined isn’t even scratching the surface.”

Wilson gets us out of trouble. With a specialised strap, he tows Quade’s truck to the closest petrol station. I grin at Quade the whole time he stands pumping diesel. I think he smiles just as much as I do.

Soon after, Quade drops me home, parking his car on the opposite side of the street, one house down next to bushland which backs the reserve.

He shuts off the engine. “So you’re a modern-day Nancy Drew, huh?” he questions.

I scoff. “Huh, I think Nancy Drew had friends.”

“You have friends, Lace. You have me.”

Tears well in my eyes. “I know I do. It’s just … I want answers, Quade. I still dream about her and what happened, and it’s like her ghost is always around me. I think about her every single day.”

“So do I, Lace. So do I,” he says, resigned.

“Then why have you given up?”

Hurt flashes in his eyes. “You really think I have? I went over as much evidence as I could get access to. Over and over. The cops didn’t get anywhere with their enquiries. Unless someone comes forward it’s likely to remain unsolved.”

“You’re such a pessimist.”

“I’m a realist. There’s a difference. If they haven’t worked it out by now, they won’t ever. It’s been too long. My sister is now a cold case.”

“I can’t stop until I know who’s responsible. Someone has to pay for this. Her death can’t have been for nothing. She doesn’t deserve for us to give up on her, and by giving up the hunt that’s exactly what we’re doing. She believed in me no matter what, and I won’t ever forget that. I won’t ever forget her.”

“You sayin’ I’m trying to forget her?” Quade’s voice increases an octave with each word, and I know I’ve hurt him, not that I meant to.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry if it came out that way.” I place my hand on his shoulder, curling my fingers over the rounded muscle. “I know what she meant to you.”

A heavy breath leaves his lips. His head lands with a thud against the headrest.

“I need you to come with me, Quade. Hop out of the car.”

“Okay,” he says on an exhale.

We get out of his truck. I take his hand and drag him up my driveway. The lounge room light is still on, which means Dad is probably about to have a cup of tea and watch the late news with Charlie curled at his feet. Silence is the key, here.

“I need to show you something in my room.”

“I like this change of subject. You have my attention,” he says, mischief in his voice as we approach the granny flat.

“
Quade
,” I warn, placing an outstretched finger to my lips. “Be quiet.” I don’t need Dad, dressed in his boxers, coming out to see what’s going on. I would die. I’ve never brought a boy—or a man, for that matter—back to my place.

I’m careful to only open the gate wide enough so that if Charlie bolts towards us I have time to shut it. Quade has a job fitting through with all his muscle.
Fitness-world problems.
Sigh.

No sign of Charlie. I’m glad he’s inside. This will be hard enough to do without a crazy dog jumping around at the sight of a visitor. When I reach the doormat, I pull out my key. When Quade sees what lies inside is he going to think I’ve gone positively mental? Is it going to kill the vibe we had going on at the beach just an hour ago?

Screw it
. He has to see. This is a part of me, and has been for a long time. This mystery will always be in the back of my mind.

I unlock the door and slide the screen across.

I take Quade’s hand and lead him inside. When I flick on the light, I’m devastated at what I find.

“Dammit!” I whisper to myself.

Yesterday’s clothes are spread all over the floor, and my bright pink bra looped over the railing at the foot of my unmade bed matches the G on the floor below. Not to mention all the outfits I tried on and kicked aside when I decided they weren’t right for the occasion. This is a pig’s room. I should take more notice of my mother.

Hands grip my hips from behind, pulling me into a hard body. A chill rises up my spine and excitement zings through my veins. Those feelings will just have to wait though. We have to talk.
We need to talk about this.

“You
really
have my full attention, now,” he taunts, his hot mouth at my ear.

I turn in his arms to face him, covering his eyes. His hands slide around my waist to settle again on my hips. Blood charges to my face and has my cheeks prickling with heat. “Can you, um, wait outside for a sec while I clean this up?”

He lets out a low chuckle and turns and walks back through the open doorway. “Hot pink, hey?” he mumbles. “You always did love the bright colours.”

I take off my sandals and scramble around the room, shoving my dirty clothes in the hamper beside the bathroom, pulling the sheets into some resemblance of order, and collecting pillows from beside the bed, putting them at the head of the mattress, where I should’ve bloody put them this morning.

“You and that stupid smirk can come in now,” I whisper loudly.

The smirk widens, turning into a blinding smile as he kicks off his black skater shoes.

“Or you could leave it outside, whatever,” I add with a shrug. He comes in and shuts the door behind him.

As Quade nears the wall of corkboards opposite my bed, his eyes widen and his jaw goes slack.

“Lace,” he trails off. His eyes flit from one board to the next. Not a peep comes out of him as he analyses each one. The newspapers clippings and the police flyers are faded. Photos of my best friend from over the years, some with the three of us, some of the two of us, are curled at the corners thanks to the rising damp in the flat.

He eyes the Manila folders stuffed with paperwork and my study books piled high around my laptop.

“Please don’t think I’m crazy,” I beg.

He looks back at me briefly, his gaze empty, and then takes a few steps to examine the next board. This one has all the contact details of all the smash repairers within a fifty-kilometre radius that I regularly contact, in case someone brings in a car with damage that would be consistent with the accident. Investigating officers’ details and coroner’s court contacts are on another ripped piece of paper, but in the middle of the board is a hot pink Post-It note with the number ‘1’ and the name Travis Rowland beside it.
Number-one suspect.

I place my hand on his shoulders and squeeze lightly. “Please say something, Q.”