Summer Sky (24 page)

"I'm okay." I hold up the sandwich. "I'm going to eat this and..."

"Sit down then." He stands and strides over.

His request is more a demand. I'm pissed off with my inability to retort to this guy. He scares me and now he's close, the smell of whisky surrounds him, and his edginess disturbs me further. I'm convinced that if I try to leave the room, he'll follow. Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, and I jerk at his touch.

"Dylan's summer Sky..."

Run. Get out. Leave the house. This guy's intentions aren't good. Something's wrong - something I don't understand. To evade him, I bump my backside onto the white leather sofa behind. He keeps close, and sits on the glass coffee table opposite.

"Tell me, Sky, was Dylan always your favourite Blue Phoenix guy?"

"I didn't know who you were before a couple of weeks ago."

Jem's glazed eyes widen, and then he frowns. "Oh, really? You too?"

"What?"

The plate is balanced on my knee, and I stare down at the sandwich. I don't know what he's doing or why, but I hope to hell Jacinta comes back soon.

"He believed you?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

Jem shifts closer, knee touching mine, and he places a hand on my thigh. In ordinary circumstances, I'd give him a mouthful and stomp out of the room but my brain has locked my body into fear. Why?

"Do you know we used to share girls?"

"Okay!" I say loudly, and stand. The plate drops to the floor. Reverie broken, I sidestep him. Not wanting to hear what he's telling me is enough to switch my brain back on.

"Sometimes, we'd swap," he continues. "Like, if he met a girl first but I wanted her, we'd trade. We keep tally and he owes me big time." Jem giggles; increasing my fear, he's high.

Jacinta approaches with two glasses of champagne and Jem's mouth curls. "Where the fuck's my drink?"

She blinks at him. "You asked me to get her a drink."

"You got yourself one too but not me!"

The dark edge to his tone frightens me more than Jacinta; she gazes at him blankly.

"Fuck it, I'll have champagne." He grabs the drink and knocks back the contents in two gulps before shoving the glass back at her. "Now get me a fucking bourbon."

Through the whole exchange, he hasn't taken his eyes off me. I shuffle towards the door, away from the broken plate. He remains seated on the coffee table, his coiled muscles and predatory stare terrifying me. My sarcasm and wit fail at the exact moment I need them.

"Enjoy your stay, Sky," he says and snorts softly to himself.

I didn't like Jacinta when I saw her, but I'm certain her interruption wound back whatever he intended to do.

"Thanks," I mumble.

He allows me to leave.

Dazed, I retrace the steps from before, wanting to find my way back to the bedroom as soon as I can. The situation has more than freaked me out - meeting Jem was a slap in the face to the Sky who was considering testing Dylan's world for a few days.

I step through another door, into another situation. The decor of the room matches the entrance hallway with black marble pillars stretching to the ceiling, stairs heading upwards towards the next floor of the house. A swimming pool fills the room, a jacuzzi bubbling quietly at one end.

This house is a dream house but also a place from my nightmares - identical hallways lined by identical doors - and now I'm living a bad dream.

Natural light pours through the windows, over the occupant of the pool. My shoes squeak on the grey marble tiles alerting the swimmer. Dylan. He stops swimming and pushes a hand through his wet hair.

"I g-got lost," I stammer and back off.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Sky?" He swims over and pulls himself onto the edge of the pool, water trickling down his sculptured chest the same as the day by the sea. Why do I forget how eye-poppingly sexy this guy is?

He wipes water from his face. "You okay?"

"I've changed my mind. I want to leave," I tell him.

"I thought you said you'd got lost."

"I have. In more ways than one. I think I want to go home..." I hate the way my voice wavers; I hate I let Jem get to me, and most of all, I hate I agreed to stay here.

Dylan pulls himself to his feet while I attempt to avert my eyes from how his blue board shorts cling to his anatomy. Or how when they're wet, they sit that little bit lower on his hips, revealing that little bit more of the 'v' shape Grant never had. I attempt and fail.

"Sky, stop perving and tell me what's wrong?"

His attempt at humour lightens me a little. "I don't feel right here, Dylan. This place - I’m not comfortable here."

"Something's upset you. You're shaking."

"No, I'm not."

Dylan grabs my hand and pulls it towards him. "Yes. Look."

I try to pull my hand away, but he closes his tightly around mine. "Did security not know who you were and get heavy? I told them about you..."

I shake my head. "No. No. Honestly, Dylan, I'm okay."

Water drips down his face. "Okay." Dylan leans over to grab his towel from the floor.

I don't know why, but I'm expecting more, but once I close him out by telling him I'm okay, he returns the favour. "I'll go then..."

He scrutinises me as he dries his hair. "I was going to call you anyway."

"Call me? We're in the same house."

"Technically."

"I suppose this place is the size of a hotel..."

"Yeah." Is he uncomfortable about this? He bought the house...

"What were you going to call me about?" I ask.

"Tonight."

"What about tonight?" I don't do 'tonight', not with Dylan. Tonight, I'm packing.

"There's a party."

"Thanks for the heads up - make sure you turn the music down by 10pm."

He gives me his 'you're funny, Sky' look. "No. You have to come."

"Not my scene." I turn to leave; his near nakedness is addling my brain and could lead to me being persuaded to join in his episode of the Young and the Beautiful.

"Sky, this is for us to make a scene as a backup to our story."

"A scene? What do you mean?"

"We have a fight or something in public for people to spread around social media." He pauses. "So, I’m not using the party as an opportunity to get in your face and talk you around."

"Your idea?"

"No. Kim’s."

I bet, and I can imagine her haughty face overseeing the situation. "I'm not sure..." I grasp for and excuse. "I don't have anything to wear."

Dylan laughs. "Nice excuse."

"I mean I don't have anything suitable for a rock star's girlfriend to wear." None of the clothes Steve brought from my flat are what I’d wear out shopping, never mind to a party.

"I can get you something?"

"And you know my response to that!"

He huffs. "Fine. Check the wardrobe in your room?"

"For what?"

"You're in the guest room. People often leave clothes – there’s probably something suitable."

Second hand clothes from skinny girls? Those are unlikely to fit me. "No. I’ll wear something I have. If I go."

"Suit yourself, but if you want to disconnect yourself from Blue Phoenix, this is the easiest way. Then you won't have to subject yourself to my presence again."

We both wait for the other to speak. The room is humid from the pool and heating, and the atmosphere between us hangs in the claustrophobic air.

"Why were you going to call me? Why not come and talk to me?" I ask.

His distant pale blue eyes connect straight back to the Dylan from Broadbeach, the one looking to escape. "Because seeing you is hard."

Dylan throws the towel across his shoulders and climbs one of the sets of metal spiral stairs leading to a part of the house I haven't been in.

As his figure disappears, Jem re-enters my mind. I hope I don't take a wrong turn on the way back to my room this time.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sky

Whoever packed my bag was male. The rucksack contains mismatched tops and trousers, a pair of faded jeans, a plain white work shirt, a short red party dress and my favourite blue and white floral summer dress.

I lay the creased dresses on the bed and compare them. The red dress has a wine stain on the front from last year's Christmas party, so I dump it back into my rucksack. This leaves two options- summer dress or jeans. Judging by the expensively dressed people I've watched climb out of cars this evening; jeans would get me escorted off the premises. The summer dress I wore in Broadbeach is my only option.

Creeping down the hallway from my bedroom, towards the sound of the loud guitar music and the hubbub of voices, I reach the curving staircase at the front of the house and peer down. People mill around in the marbled entrance hall, air kissing and admiring each other. Even from a distance, I can see expensive looking, presumably designer, dresses and well-tailored suits. There's no high street fashion down there. I look down at my floral summer dress and flat shoes; I'm no Disney princess ready to make a sweeping entrance at the ball.

I can’t walk into the throng of people below; I’ll be eaten alive.

I head back along the hallway, past my room, to find the set of stairs leading down to the end of the house with the kitchen. Maybe Jan will be there, and hopefully no one else. I can’t imagine this is the sort of party, where people hang out in kitchens. I recognise my streaming thoughts – panic mode bringing on bubbling, burbling nonsense waiting to fall from my mouth.

I walk into the kitchen and Dylan's alone on the terrace outside. My chest tightens and I halt.

The glass door is open and he faces away from me. He’s wearing a suit and holds a short tumbler glass in his hand, the light glinting off his rings. My heart stutters, and the confusion between anxiety and attraction hits. I'm turned on by this hot as hell man who turned my world upside down, there’s no getting away from that, but how is that enough? Dylan turns and walks towards the kitchen, pausing when he sees me.

"Sky."

"Hey."

He sweeps a gaze across my ensemble. "I like what you’re wearing."

His scrutiny makes me uneasy. "Very funny."

"No, I do. You were wearing that the first day I met you." He knocks back the rest of his drink. "I remember how sexy you looked in that dress. How sexy you look in it now."

"This is just a dress from Next, nothing fancy."

Dylan steps forward, on the very edge of acceptable personal space. "The dress shows your curves, and you look natural."

He needs to step back and stop talking about my curves the way he did the night in the beach house, and I dismiss the reaction my body wants to have to Dylan calling me sexy.

I swallow. "I don’t think natural fits here."

"You're beautiful, Sky," he says, eyes softening as he lightly rests his fingers on my face.

"I guess your suit isn't high street?" I say, moving my head away from his touch.

"I told you I looked fucking hot in a suit," he says and grins, pulling at his jacket.
 

A quote I once read springs to mind, about how a well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to a man. In front of me is exactly what that quote means. I'd retort about his arrogance but he's a hundred percent correct. The expertly tailored dark grey suit and crisp black shirt beneath covers all the ugly tattoos; the open neck adds a more casual look. With one hand in his pocket, and the other holding his empty glass, he's searing hot, model material again. No wonder this guy is number one on all the Top Ten lists of world's sexiest men. A secret surge of smugness he wants me sneaks in and I slap the reaction down.

Crossing to the kitchen bench, he pours himself another drink from the heavy bottle. "Do you want one?"

God, yes. "Okay." I don’t go for spirits much but one glass should help the nerves.

"So you're going to accompany me to the party?" he asks, filling my glass with a dark liquid.

"Accompany you?"

"We should arrive together, even if we leave apart." His words and expression are loaded as he picks up the two glasses and inclines his head towards the next room.

The music and light filter under, and I inhale as he opens the door. I only need to do this once, I tell myself.

"Cheers," he chinks our glasses and drains his in one go.

I copy him, setting my glass on the small table nearby. Dylan chuckles then bows indicating the door. As he opens the door, Dylan slips his arm around my waist in a way so natural the gesture breaks my heart, and almost my resolve.

"Have fun," he whispers, his breath sending tiny shockwaves across my face.

*****

Dylan strides through the open door and his presence fills the room, capturing the attention of everyone around. True stars like Dylan carry something intangible with them that pulls the world towards them. Whether an energy of a different nature to other people, or the sexuality they exude, something causes men like Dylan to shine in this world. I stiffen as the nearest people scrutinise us registering his proprietary arm around me and stealing looks at my ridiculously inappropriate dress.