Walk on the Wild Side

‘See, you are a vampire.’ He grinned suddenly, wickedly. ‘Concealing yourself.’

‘I’m revealing myself.’ She laughed at his ridiculousness. ‘It’s self-expression. I work in a creative industry.’

‘What, so you have to look as way out as possible? With dyed hair and unnatural eyes?’ He leant forward, penetrating. ‘What’s their real colour anyway?’

She flexed her fingers, moving to disperse some energy. ‘Nothing exciting.’

‘No?’

‘Some people accessorise with handbags or shoes or both. I accessorise with eye colour or pattern.’

‘Pattern?’ His brows shot up. ‘Patterns on your eyes?’

‘Sure.’ She had the most fabulous collection of freaky contacts. Shopping on the internet was a temptation to which she frequently succumbed.

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ It was different. It wasn’t the typical beautiful babe thing—she wasn’t ever going to be pretty or beautiful. She couldn’t compete with that—but she could do quirky. She could do defence.

‘You’re like an inverse chameleon. You hope people won’t see past the surface?’ He nailed her just like that. He finished his coffee and stood. ‘Come on, then, so long as you’re sure you’re not going to eviscerate if you go into the sunshine, let’s get out of here.’

It wasn’t the sun that threatened to eviscerate her. It was his burning focus.

On the footpath outside he tossed the car keys at her. ‘I just need to get something. Be a minute.’

She caught the keys and watched him walk unevenly across the road into the snow’n’skate store.

This was her opportunity to escape him—to get in the car and put her foot on the accelerator to the spa and apologise for lateness. But as if she was going to do that—she hadn’t wanted to go there anyway. And as if she was going to pass up an opportunity to spend some time with a good-humoured guy who looked as if he’d just stepped out of a sportswear catalogue?

She might be different, but she wasn’t crazy.

She got into the car and scooted the driver’s seat forward again so her feet could reach the pedals. He was back in a minute as he’d said, clutching an uber-hip recyclable shopping bag with the store’s logo.

‘You have friends in there?’

He just winked, chucking the bag on the back seat and fixing the legroom in the passenger seat. ‘You sure you’re OK to drive?’

With a flourish she curled her fingers round the steering wheel. ‘I’m fine.’

He leaned close. ‘No more urgent grooming matters to attend to?’ His voice was the auditory equivalent of chocolate sauce—warm and smooth and ready for a berry to be dipped in it.

‘I think the pedestrian population is safe now,’ she muttered, trying to get her pulse to stop its rapid acceleration.

‘Great. Then take the first left.’

She did exactly that and in only a hundred metres or so had to stop—a red light. Naturally. But as she paused he leaned across her seat, reaching his long arm down between her legs.

‘What are you doing?’ she gasped. ‘I’m trying to drive.’ She lifted both hands from the wheel, undecided if she should throttle him—his head was basically in her lap!

‘Stop it.’ Actually she didn’t mean that. She was thinking all kinds of things she shouldn’t be, what with seeing his dark head hovering just above her thigh like that.

Not wriggling was really difficult. So was not crashing the car. ‘We’re at a red light. I’m trying to concentrate.’

And that was so impossible right now. He moved his hand, his shoulder rubbed against her thigh as he jerked on the handbrake between them. Then he went south again—deep south. His hand encircled her ankle, lifted it for a half second as he slipped her shoe off.

‘Jack! ’ Another totally girly gasp.

He sat back, a smile of success creasing every feature, as her shoe sat in the palm of his hand. ‘You can’t drive safely wearing these. You can’t do anything safely wearing these.’

‘I can and do,’ she said breathlessly. ‘If you were as short as me, and plainly you’re not, then you’d understand. As it is, you can’t possibly get it.’

‘I just want to get there in one piece.’

She blew out a big shot of air and finally realised she had to take the brake off as the car behind tooted impatiently. Irritatingly, it was easier to drive barefoot—but she wasn’t going to admit it to him. ‘That was really dangerous.’

‘No more dangerous than you combing your hair at a red light. At least this time you had your handbrake on.’

‘Where are we going anyway?’ She chose to change the subject.

‘Straight ahead for now.’ He gave her a sideways look that was full of a charming smile. ‘Are you OK driving on the hills?’

‘Stop trying to get into the driver’s seat. I’m fine with hills.’ She bit the inside of her cheek. OK, so she wasn’t that fine with them, but damned if she was going to let him know that.

‘There are a few hairpin corners. I can take over if you want.’

In response she trod harder on the accelerator. In only a few minutes they were heading up the hill out of town towards the peninsula that curved out from the mainland. The hills were barren and brown—no trees or scrub covering them, just tussock that leaned away from the wind. Against the bright blue sky the hills were majestic. She liked their stark smoothness and the contrast against the clear sky and blue water. But then came one of those hairpin turns.

‘You want the air conditioning on?’

So he’d noticed she was sweating.

‘It doesn’t work.’ One of the many idiosyncrasies of the car that one day she’d get fixed.

‘You should walk in town anyway.’

She sent him a look.

‘Carbon footprint,’ he said mock piously.

‘My heels don’t leave much of a footprint anyway.’

He laughed and didn’t talk more, didn’t need to direct as there was only the one road to follow. And she needed to concentrate and not be further distracted by the giant hunk of man making her car feel like a matchbox toy. But after the worst hill bit she began to relax into it, able to take in the expansive view of bronze earth and blue sky and sparkling water. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nice—as if they were leaving all the clutter and noise of city life behind them.

‘So why do your batteries need recharging, Kelsi? What do you do that’s made you so worn out?’

‘Computers,’ she said. ‘Website design.’

‘You sit in front of a screen all day?’