Summer Sky (13 page)

"Oh, fuck, you're the funniest, most genuine chick I've met. Ever. I like you so fucking much."

"So you
are
an ornithologist." I pull my head away and meet his confused eyes, "If you like chicks."

"So sharp, I'm going to cut myself on you one day." He nips my shoulder.

"What is it then, your tattoo?"

"A phoenix."

"Oh, nice; I mean, it's a good picture."

"You thought the tattoo was an eagle though, so the picture can’t be that good."

What is with the barely contained amusement on his face?

"Big tattoos aren't that nice." I pull a face.

"So you don't want to inspect the rest of my tattoos?"

"No thanks."

"Come back to bed then, summer Sky who hates tattoos."

"Take your jeans off," I say boldly.

A sharp sound of air sucked through Dylan's teeth is the response I get. "You’re telling me what to do?"

"Might be."

"Hmm." Dylan lies on his back, and stretches his arms over his head then twists his head to mine. "Do you want to leave this room today?"

His words are a challenge. I have one too. "Yes, because you're taking me on a date."

The laugh bubbling from his chest prompts a smile of my own and he rubs his large palm across his face. "I'd better get a shower then..."

I relax.

"In a minute..." Before I have a chance to react, Dylan lunges at me; then he pulls me backwards onto him, burying his face into my hair. "You're naked...,” he whispers.

"Apart from your T-shirt."

"That can be fixed."

Following a small struggle (and not much resistance on my part), Dylan pulls his T-shirt over my head. Then before I have a chance to protest, his mouth is back on my breasts and hand sliding along my backside.

*****

Something changed. We move from uneasy edging around the unspoken truth about the lust we share for each other to a comfort in each other’s skin.

But he still hasn't taken his jeans off and by now I'm embarrassing myself with the obsessive need to see him without jeans. Touch and feel... I blink. No.

There was a suggestion he might follow me into the shower, but following a lot of grumbling at himself, Dylan declined. As I washed myself, and brushed the extra sensitivity lingering from our night and morning together, I fought the desire to go back and drag him in with me.

As I dress, I hear his shower running and if I had more brazen hussy and less cautious girl inside, I might have snuck in.

Instead, I tramp downstairs and pour cornflakes.

The Dylan who appears downstairs, freshly shaven and smelling of spices from his shower, is a man I could spend all day in bed with. This is a relaxed, happy and open guy. The tiredness in his features has ebbed, and this morning it’s as if the worry has flowed away completely. The loosened shoulders and bright face take some of the age away from Dylan.

He crosses the room and slides long fingers beneath my chin, kissing me softly. "Mmm. Cornflakes, I'll have some."

I push the packet towards him, spooning another mouthful because I'm lost at what to say.

He takes the box in his ringed fingers, and the everyday sound of cereal hitting the bowl enters the not-so-everyday world we've pulled ourselves further into.

"So you want me take you out somewhere?" he asks.

I choke on my cereal. "I was joking about the date. I thought you were in hiding."

"I'm going to prove to you I want to date you. We need to go in your car though, if it's still drivable?"

"You mean since that arrogant dickhead ploughed into the back? I drove off remember?"

The one remaining cloud clears from his face. "Yeah. Why did you drive off?"

"I thought you had a gun."

Dylan snorts. "Really?"

"Really. Now where are we going?"

Chapter Thirteen

We climb into my car, Dylan looking completely out of place scrunched up on my tattered passenger seat. He pokes around in the footwell with his toe.

"You have a lot of books here."

"I always forget to take them out of the car."

"I can't remember the last time I read a book. I should.” He picks one up and stares at the man on the cover whose physique matches his, "Maybe not one of these."

"No, these are probably not your thing."

He flicks the pages, thankfully not opening to read one. "Or are there some tips for me in here?"

Last night...
"I doubt you need sex tips."

His eyes widen. "Oh! So they are porn?"

"No!"
Much.

"I meant tips on how men should behave," he teases. "I could learn how to treat you nicely?"

The contradiction in this situation is the guys like him in my books are more on the 'bad' end of the scale - and that's what I like about them. But no way am I telling Dylan this fact.

"So where are you taking me?” he asks.

"Where do you want to go?"

Dylan pauses and taps the dashboard. "Somewhere I wouldn't usually go."

"And away from the general public I suppose?"

"Yeah and that too." He taps the dashboards. "Where did you go yesterday?"

“Only as far as the next town - Sandchurch, wandered around the shops, ate scones..."

"We can go there?"

"I'm still not asking who you are, but do you think you’re safe to go there? You seem a bit paranoid about being spotted."

Dylan runs his tongue along his teeth. "Was the town busy yesterday?"

"Not really - mostly a few older couples, and most of those were in the cafes."

Dylan wriggles his nose like a kid. "What do you reckon? I'm bored of the beach now. Plus I want to explore some more of you." He puts his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, I mean explore more
with
you - other places from the past."

I ignore my body’s reaction to his teasing. “Okay..." I turn the key in the ignition. "But are you sure?"

"I brought this." Dylan holds up a baseball cap. Grinning, he shoves it onto his head and pulls the peak down. "No hair and a hat, I’ll be harder to recognise.”

I point at his arm and say, "Tattoos?"

"Good point, I'll get my hoodie." His tall figure slips out of the car, emptying the space of the presence I don't want to admit gives me goose bumps on my arms - and makes me wish he hadn't stopped last night.

*****

We park the car beneath an oak tree, at the edge of the car park furthest from town. Dylan walks besides me, hunched downward with his cap pulled down. After a few steps, he slides his hand into mine, the gesture arresting me. He flashes me a smile and I roll my eyes at him.

"We're on a date; I get to hold your hand."

My chest tightens at his words. Date. With Dylan Morgan the Mysterious?

Dylan isn't content with handholding. He slides his fingers along my arm, or hugs me close, breathes the scent of my hair, as if he needs to be in constant contact with me. As we enter the town, Dylan tenses, his hand gripping mine harder. Few people walk the paved streets, and fewer cars pass. Older couples weave in and out of the small shops, or sit on plastic chairs outside cafes in the quiet, narrow streets. As we continue, his shoulders relax, although his focus remains on the floor.

“What should we do?” he whispers.

I smirk at him. “I like shopping…”

Dylan wrinkles his nose. “Okay, then.” He follows me as I tug his hand and walk through the quite, cobbled streets.

Crammed in an antique shop, Dylan wraps his arms around my waist with his chin on my shoulder. The tiny shop has shelves running to the back of the building on each wall, and one running centrally. If there were more than three people in this shop at once, there'd be a fire risk. With Dylan, we take up the whole width of one side.

"What are you looking for?" he asks, as I flick through a cardboard box of paperback books, hoping to find a treasure amongst the dog-eared collection.

"Is that a philosophical question?" I ask.

He jabs a finger into the sensitive spot at the side of my waist. "Snarky... I only asked a question."

The sensation of Dylan's body against mine prevents my ability to exist in the real world. The weirdest thing is that this is completely natural. I can't explain to myself how being in the presence of a man who I hardly know (but have been a little
too
intimate with) soothes me. His hips resting against mine; the way our bodies fit together - how is this more natural than Grant?

"I like odd things," I reply.

"Odd things?"

I give up on the books and head further into the shop, Dylan still attached. "Yes. Why else would I like you?"

"I can think of a few reasons," he says in a low tone.

I'm glad I'm facing away from him, because the annoying heat fills my face again and travels back
down
. Just a few words and he turns me on…

On the pine shelves in front is a bizarre assortment of items, like a crazy person's mantelpiece. Jammed into every inch of space are colourful glass bottles, old teacups, badly painted pottery animals, spoons; hand drawn labels with prices on dangle off some items. I pick up a strangely misshapen vase, the orange glass not fused properly at the top.

"Shit, that's ugly," remarks Dylan.

I giggle. "I like it."

"Seriously?"

Setting the vase back down, I head towards the back of the shop. Dylan releases his grip on my waist but instantly slides his hand into mine. I pull it away.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dylan. I can't move for one thing. And I need both hands for inspecting ugly vases."

Dylan pushes my hair to one side and kisses my neck. "I like touching you and being around you."

The intense blue eyes meet mine, and I wait for a teasing comment about our antics last night and this morning. He doesn't say anything, a relaxed happiness shines at me instead.

Pushing the arousing images from my mind, I nod. "I kind of like being around you."

I get another poke in the waist as he says, "Gee, thanks.
Kind of
..."

I bite the corner of my lip and Dylan's look drops to my mouth.
Oh, God, please don't try making out with me in an antique shop
. The confined space holds the same charge between us as yesterday outside the bathroom. Some of the 'what if?' sexual tension from then has gone, replaced by 'we could do that again and more' tension that hovers between us with every brief kiss and touch today.

I inspect my hands, closing down my senses as much as possible, but when the man who did wickedly wonderful things to my body last night is so close that's difficult. Dylan's sandalwood scent and the warmth of his body, so close to mine, fog the world, and if I meet his eyes and see desire too I'll have no choice. I'll have to kiss him.

"Oh, hey, look at this! Did you ever have one of these?" Dylan reaches over my head, not helping my attempts to disengage my senses. "Look."

In the palm of his hand, Dylan holds a figure made from seashells set on a small wooden plinth. ‘Made from’ is a loose definition; several shells are glued together and googly eyes attached to create a barely human-looking statue about fifteen centimetres tall.

"Oh, my god, that is awful," I whisper, "What the hell is it?"

Dylan inspects the monstrosity. "I think it's supposed to be a souvenir gift for a lucky friend or family member. Did you ever have one?"

"If I did, I think I'd remember."

"I've got one at home somewhere." He catches my confused expression. "I like odd things too." I roll my eyes at him, and then he bends towards me, his mouth uncomfortably close to mine. "Although that's not the only reason I like you, Sky."

Sucking in a breath, I edge around him back to the front of the shop before I lose sight of the world. Dylan follows, slipping his hand back into mine, still carrying the godawful shell figure.

*****

The slatted wooden bench we sit on overlooks the rugged landscape below, the sea bluer beneath the summer sky. The fluffy, white clouds burn away as the day progresses, and we choose to sit beneath a tree for shade from the strong sun. Dylan unzips the blue hoodie, huffing at the heat.

"Maybe you should take the jacket off?" I suggest.

He shifts his baseball hat forward, pulling the peak lower. "I don't know..."

"I think people will stare at you more for wearing a jacket on a hot summer’s day."

“Maybe.” Dylan holds my hand, stroking my arm with his other hand. I'm unused to someone being so touchy-feely, and normally I'd be irritated after several hours of this but I crave to be in contact with him too.