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Under Your Skin

Chapter One

On Violet Jones's first day in Summer Bay, she tried ordering a beer at a place called Angelo's.

She'd grinned coquettishly, tilting her head to the side to expose her long, delicate neck, her hair piled on top of her head, shorter strands falling out and framing her face. Her full lips pouted slightly, eyes begging the bartender to give it to her with a wicked charm that beguiled most.

If she played it just right, 'it', would become an imprecise, vague thing.

The point was to distract them long enough for the bartender to forget to ask for ID. Because Violet Jones was only seventeen. But it was easy to mistake her for an eighteen or nineteen year old.

The bartender standing across from her, his arms braced on the countertop, had a pointed chin, and smooth, deep caramel skin. Brown eyes almost the same shade as his hair, gazed at her critically. She shifted, somewhat uncomfortable under his focused gaze and she inwardly groaned. She knew better than to shift in her seat, or fiddle. They were all signs that someone was doing something they shouldn't.

And damn, she wanted that beer.

Hopefully to make up for the shifting, she added, "It's been a long day at university."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. "Sure."

She wasn't certain if that was an understanding 'Sure, I'll get you a beer' or a sarcastic 'Sure it was a long day at university'. She hoped it was the former. For now, she'd assume it was.

"Great," Violet said emphatically, rolling her shoulders like it had, indeed, been a long day. She crossed her legs on the bar stool, her heel-clad foot bouncing to an inaudible beat, glancing around. It seemed fairly quiet at the moment. Angelo's appeared to be a restaurant as well, and considering it was about four in the afternoon, it lingered in the in-between time of lunch and dinner crowds.

"As soon as you show me some ID," he said, squashing her triumphant feeling. Sometimes, just getting the drink was better than the drink itself.

Her head whipped back around to him, pulling out some tricks she'd learnt through observation. She leant forward on the counter, the low scoop neckline of her fitted singlet displaying her generous endowments to him as they sat on the cool bench. She leaned forward, looking up from under her lashes in a smoldering gaze, creating a sense of intimacy between them.

He was young, not long out of high school, she'd say. And he was attractive, with a tall build that made it much easier to want to try her tricks. His long torso was lean, and looked firm under his well fitted black shirt, the sleeves rolled up and exposing his arms from the elbow down. Violet was such a sucker for the arms, and she pulled herself away from such musings before she lost her head. He seemed completely at ease in his own skin. Confident.

When he didn't move back, but continued to lean forward on his braced hands, not breaking the new sense of awareness between them, she took it as a good sign. When his eyes dropped, for a moment, down, then back up just as quickly, like he was trying to be subtle about it, she took it as another good sign. The stirrings of triumph swelled in her chest again. She said, in a smooth voice, "It seems I left it in my car."

"Well," he leaned forward slightly. This was it. He was playing right into her hands. Damn, she was good. Violet had learned quickly how to get what she wanted. And she was very good at it. But then he shattered it, "You'll just have to go and get it, then."

Her sensual smile slipped, her lips pressing tight in annoyance as it flashed across her face. It was gone in an instant. Her voice was silky again, repeating his words, "Well, I'll just go get it then."

"You do that." His voice held an air of finality to it, like he didn't expect her to come back. He started to turn away, and Violet frowned. Occasionally, there were the men, mostly women, who called her on it. Who wouldn't let her get away with it. And that was fine. But usually, they were older men, too used to the tricks teenagers would pull for a drink, full of life experience that made it much harder to fool them. The younger ones folded like a cheap suit.

She'd use her honeyed voice, a few flirtatious looks, her mouth spelling sex, and they'd be clamoring to give her what she wanted. She could see it happen, almost, when they ceased thinking with their upstairs brain.

The better establishments were more likely a failed attempt. The bartenders were more likely to ask for ID, more likely to hold strictly to the rules of the distribution of alcohol. They didn't want to lose their jobs over a girl and a possible romp in the sheets. And so far, Angelo's looked to be one of the better establishments.

"Okay," she smiled, like it wasn't a problem. By this point in one of her stunts, she'd walk out and never go back. This place was a loss, no point trying again. But damn if she didn't like a challenge. And that bartender…he'd challenged her. She could see it in his eyes. They dared her to prove him wrong. And she didn't want to disappoint. She dropped her purse. "Oops."

She leant down to pick up her purse, keeping her legs straight and giving the bartender an uninhibited view of her ass. Her floral skirt, tight, firm, designed to show off her voluptuous curves, was also short, so she knew it would be riding dangerously close to her underwear.

She knew this was going a bit far. She knew it. She didn't sleep around. This thing she did, it was about control. It was about interchangeability. It was about knowing she could play this game called life, and knowing that, while not everything was perfect, not everything was beautiful and wonderful and good, that she could handle it on her own. She didn't need anyone to do it for her. She was independent and feisty, and she didn't need anyone to look after her.

Because if she could do that, she could be whoever she wanted to be.

Plus, she just wanted a beer.

Every town she went to, she became someone different. She became whatever she wanted. At the last town, she'd been a cheerleader. The town before that, she'd been a skater girl. Before that, she'd been into drama; a drama queen, acting in plays and productions. Before that, she'd tried her hand at being a jock; mainly netball and soccer, because she was too short for basketball and cricket bored her to tears. It was just something she did.

Her fingers grasped her purse, and she turned to the side, from her doubled over position, to see if he was looking. She needed to know if he was. It would decide how she was going to play this.

Her eyes met his, and she grinned hugely. He was caught, and he knew it. He looked away as she straightened up. His cheeks were tinged, perhaps, just slightly pink. But his skin was so tanned it was hard to tell. He'd obviously spent a lot of time in the sun.

"Were you looking at my butt?" She asked, amusement in her voice, even though she knew the answer. He didn't answer, cleaning a glass. She threw her head back and let loose a laugh. It was uninhibited and free, and she thought it was, perhaps, her most attractive feature. It made other people laugh along with her. "Sir, you are no gentleman."

"And you, Miss, are no lady," he retorted, and her jaw dropped. She had not been expecting that. At all. She did not know of a single man to ever know her references. She dropped them all over the place, but none ever picked them up. But he did.

She knew then, that he had to be intelligent. No wonder he had not caved to her cajoling enticement. He was too smart to fool.

But just because he'd got her Gone With The Wind reference, didn't mean she didn't want to try, still. She sauntered her way out of the restaurant slowly, her hips swaying back and forth alluringly. She wasn't really a heels girl. Sure they were nice for some occasions, but mainly, she wore them to appear taller. Generally, as a rule, taller people were regarded as being older. But they also made her butt look great. And she could feel his eyes on her as she walked out, into the car park where the Kia Sorento was parked.

Summer Bay was on a beach, a gorgeous looking beach, with golden, sun-kissed sand, deliciously refreshing blue water, and a harsh yellow orb in the sky. She pulled her large shades down her face, from where they perched on her head. A nice breeze kicked up from the waves, running up to her and shoving her wavy black hair into her face. She unlocked her car, pretending to rummage around. Her license was of course, in her purse. But that wasn't what she'd told the bartender, and she didn't know if there was a window for him to watch her out of. She closed the door, and locked it again, heading back inside.

She was pleased that he was surprised when she walked back inside, his eyebrows rising. He hadn't expected her to come back. She sat back down on the same stool, crossing her legs again. "So, my Gone With The Wind compañero, how 'bout that beer?"

"How 'bout that ID?"

She rolled her eyes, holding her license up, her thumb conveniently covering her birth date. He just looked at her, not fooled.

"Don't give her anything!" A voice called from behind her, and Violet sighed dramatically, slumping over the counter in defeat. "She's underage!"

"Daddy," Violet groaned, sitting back up. "Way to ruin it." She grumbled under her breath.

"Don't worry," the bartender assured him. "I knew she was underage," he said drily, giving Violet a did-you-really-think-you-could-fool-me look.

"Didn't stop you from staring at my ass," she said lowly, threateningly. Her dad reached her then, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in his usual, oblivious dad way. He reached a hand out to the bartender for a handshake.

Violet looked nothing like her dad. He was a blonde man, tall, though not crazy-tall. Shorter than this bartender. His eyes were a stark blue, while Violet's were green. And he always seemed to carry with him an air of obliviousness.

"I'm Whitney Jones, and this is my daughter, Violet. We're new to the bay," he grinned. "I'm sorry about her. She didn't give you too hard a time, did she? She really is a good kid."

"Oh," the bartender said, shaking his proffered hand. "Welcome, then. And no, she was fine. Believe it or not, even in a small town, kids are always trying stuff like this. It's common."

The bartender didn't seem particularly verbose. He didn't mince words, either. He said his point, then shut up. Her dad could be the opposite, at time; long-winded.

Violet didn't appreciate being referred to as a kid, especially by this guy, who didn't seem all that much older than her. Plus, he'd looked at her butt. You didn't do that to a kid.

"Oh, sugar," Violet grinned wickedly, shaking her head in a way that said he clearly underestimated her. "You ain't seen no one like me before."

So… What did you think?

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Should it be continued, or not?