Page 126 of Ride the Wave

My heels clacking along the wooden boards of the decking, I come to stand next to him, resting my forearms on the fencing. I sneak glances at him, admiring his profile in the dim light of the evening: his full eyelashes, the slope of his nose, the groove above his top lip, the swell of his bottom one, the strong line of his jaw. He looks so handsome, so strong and masculine with the crisp, white shirt stretching against the curve of his biceps, his bow tie undone, hanging around his collar. I wonder at how lucky I am to have found him. And how close I came to letting him go. I exhale a shaky breath.

‘This place,’ he says softly, gazing ahead of him, ‘it has such a hold on me.’

‘A good or bad one?’

‘Bit of both.’ He shoots me a weak smile. ‘I can’t work out if I love or hate it. It’s where I found my love of surfing, and it’s where I almost lost everything.’

I press my lips together. We fall back into silence, listening to the water. It’s so quiet out here, it feels like there’s no one for miles. Just me and him.

‘I think it will always be a part of you,’ I say quietly. ‘I don’t think that’s a bad thing.’

He nods slowly. ‘Every morning I’ve surfed it this contest, I’ve been afraid.’

‘You haven’t looked it.’

‘I’ve felt it.’

‘That’s good.’ I nudge his elbow. ‘You’re supposed to be afraid of the ocean, remember? You taught me that. It’s, like, surfing 101.’

He laughs lightly. ‘I keep thinking that if I can win this contest, I can wipe away the memories of what happened. But… I can’t. My mum reminded me tonight how weak I can be, especially in comparison to that,’ he nods his head in the direction of the water, ‘and how quickly it can all go wrong.’ He swallows, frowning as he looks out. ‘Maybe I’m kidding myself that I can overcome my fear here.’

‘Leo,’ I begin, twisting my body to face him, ‘you can’t block out memories. It doesn’t work like that. But you can make new ones. Your mum is wrong about you. Anyone can climb to the top, but to fall and start climbing again, that’s where the real courage is.’

‘My courage seems to be wavering,’ he admits, his voice hoarse.

‘Yeah, well, you are human,’ I say with a wry smile. ‘You know, in my interview with your dad, he was talking about how after one wave, there’s always another one coming.’

‘That’s kind of… obvious.’ He snorts. ‘Good one, Dad.’

‘Hey, you’re missing the point,’ I say sternly, raising my eyebrows at him. ‘He was saying that there’s always anotherchance. It’s not over because you make a mistake. You have the choice to go again.’ I reach out to grip his arm. ‘You’ve chosen to surf Bells Beach again, Leo; do you know how brave that is? It’s fucking brave.’

He breaks into a smile, his eyes dropping. ‘I don’t feel brave.’

‘You are,’ I tell him. I reach out to take his hand, turning it so his wrist is facing up and bringing it to my lips, pressing a kiss to his scar. He sighs as I let his hand fall again. ‘And you were brave tonight too. What you said to Michelle, telling her how you felt – that took a lot of guts.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t the brave one,’ he says, turning to face me, one arm leaning on the rail. ‘I think you might snag that award. I’ve never seenanyonestand up to my mum.’

‘She doesn’t scare me.’

‘No one scares you.’

‘You do.’

His eyes twinkle at me as he smiles. I swallow, gazing up at him.

He reaches out to brush my hair from my face as the breeze does its best to destroy my updo, and dips his head to give me a soft, affectionate kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck, wanting him close, pressing my body into his. That musky sandalwood cologne of his smells so good, it sends heat pulsating between my legs and when I part his lips with my tongue, a groan slips from his mouth.

His kiss becomes more demanding, rougher and urgent, his strong hands roaming down the sides of my dress, following the curve of my waist, hips, back up to my ribs and round to the base of my spine. God, I love the way he touches me, how he makes me feel as though he wants to cover and devour every inch of me. It’s cold out here this late, the thin satin of my dress not doing much against this breeze, but his hands are warming my goose-pimpled skin, the strokes of his tongue igniting flares of heat between my legs.

I moan into his mouth.

The sound fires up something inside of him and when he breaks the kiss, his eyes flare at me, dark, wild and searing. As our breaths come shallow and fast, I watch his gaze drop to my cleavage, the plunge design of the dress working its magic.

‘Do you like this dress, Leo?’ I ask quietly.

He traces a finger down the faint swell of my breasts on show, his jaw clenched tight.

‘You know I do,’ he says, his fingertip toying with the edge of the fabric.

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