Summer Sky (22 page)

Steve fixes his brown eyes on me instead. "Listen, love, sit down with dumbass here and tell him what you want. Agree on a price or whatever the hell. Kim said she'll be here by three…" He shakes his expensive gold watch around and reads the time. "Three hours. Go."

Dylan doesn’t respond and Steve tips his head. "I am not having another Lily situation here, am I?"

"Fuck, no!" says Dylan.

"I bloody hope not," says Steve. "I can only make so many things go away..."

Something unspoken passes between the two men, there’s a tension with hidden meaning.

"You don't need to make me go away," I say, "I'm quite happy to do that myself as soon as Mr Rock Star leaves me alone."

Steve laughs and claps Dylan on the shoulder. "I can tell she doesn’t take shit from you. I bet that would’ve been funny to watch."

I bristle at the patronising tone he uses on Dylan. Next, he’ll be ruffling Dylan's hair and asking him to fetch his slippers.

"I don’t take crap from people," I retort.

Dylan chokes back a laugh, as Steve is rendered speechless for a few seconds.

"You might need that skill, if it’s true," says Steve before leaving the room.

The mood in the room shifts, some of the tension leaves as Steve walks out. Dylan crosses to the fridge, a vast double-door monstrosity. "Are you hungry?"

Am I? I haven’t eaten today. "A little."

Bread, butter and bacon appear on the kitchen bench and Dylan ducks his head from behind the fridge door. "Bacon sandwich?"

My mind flashes back to Dylan’s naked back, as he cooked breakfast on the first day. A teasing smile pulls the corner of his mouth and I’m off-guard. Steve’s treatment of Dylan peels away some of the anger layers and exposes the stupid Sky who wants Dylan despite his selfish behaviour.

"Toast, thanks."

He pouts. "Was my cooking that bad?"

"No comment."

A tiny smile escapes me as the tug back to our banter disarms me further.

*****

The view from the terrace outside the kitchen stretches across Dylan’s property. Broad stone steps sweep down the back of the house, neatly maintained lawn stretching out beneath the terrace. The burr of a lawnmower fills the silence around and I close my eyes, the smell of mown grass calms my mind.

Dylan fiddles awkwardly with his glass of orange juice. Is he nervous? At least this is a step back from the constant nagging about our relationship.

"Steve. Does he always talk to you like that?"

"Sometimes, we need pulling into line when we do stupid things."

"But you’re twenty-four and successful. Not a naughty teenager."

Dylan sits back in his chair. "He’s been with us since I was; I guess I’m used to his ways."

I don’t voice my true opinion of Steve. I’m grateful for his rescue mission this morning, but he has an agenda.

“Why's Kim getting involved?"

"The band’s PR manager. When crap like this happens, we come up with a story for the press. We need something to give them so they’ll leave you alone." Dylan doesn’t look at me, and he rubs his arm in a way I’ve seen before, fingers playing slowly over his phoenix tattoo.

"Isn’t this easy? You tell him you made a mistake and we’re over. Get photographed with someone else? Maybe your model um… whatever she is."

Dylan blows air into his cheeks, gazing across his fields. "Apart from the fact Cressida has moved on. This situation is her chance to wriggle out of things and she's about to go public with her boyfriend, Dean Ryder the football player. Heard of him?" I pull a blank face and he laughs. "No, probably not."

I sip the orange juice, the refreshing iced drink perfect for my dry mouth. Now I’m with Dylan, in another place removed from the everyday, I’m slipping back towards him. As soon as we’re together, the Dylan Morgan gravity pulls us closer.

Dylan reaches a hand across the table, curls his long fingers around mine. My first reaction is to snatch my hand away, but he turns my hand over, tracing calloused fingertips across the back before lacing his fingers through mine. A small, intimate touch that fires unexpected arousal low in my body. I ready myself to admonish the smug smile I expect, but his blue eyes remain focused on my hand, rubbing my knuckles.

"So you won’t give this a chance?" he asks quietly.

"Nice job. That was at least fifteen minutes without mentioning our situation," I sigh. "We’re stuck on an endless loop here, Dylan, and your behaviour hasn’t helped. We had a holiday… thing. End of."

"Why end of?"

I pull my hand away and bury my face in them both. He’s like a child who can’t be told no. "I've told you, repeatedly, this will end badly for me - can’t you see?"

"How do you know? Are you psychic? Why not take a chance? Every relationship has a chance of ending badly."

"I don't think I'll be having a relationship for a while, Dylan. As I tried to explain, part of this is because I'm trying to find my way into a new life. Things are scary enough, everything turned upside down after five years of thinking my life was mapped out for me. Until I sort myself out, I can't give myself to anyone else."

"I don't want your life; I just want to be in it. For fuck’s sake, Sky, I'm asking you to date me not fucking marry me!"

Whenever he uses the word ‘date’, it amuses me. "Dylan, look at your life, at your history…"

Dylan pushes his chair back and stands, walking to the edge of the terrace. His sudden reaction alarms me.

"Lucky for the next guy then," he says, resting against the wall. "He might be the biggest dickhead around with a dodgy past but you won’t have the benefit of the internet to check him out. The next guy will have a chance and I fucking don't!"

Am I being unreasonable? So much in my life terrifies me at the moment, and Dylan intensifies the fact I have so little in my control.

"I don’t know what to say to you. Can we sort out this story?"

Funny how I hardly know him, but already know him so well. Well enough to see in his eyes he's shutting down.

"Whatever, Sky." He stalks back into the kitchen leaving me shaking and on the edge of tears. If only I knew what I wanted to do because now I'm with Dylan, I feel safe. Ironically, because he caused the very thing threatening my safety.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sky

The blonde woman in the black skirt suit and too tight white silk blouse spends a lot of the meeting with her eyes on Dylan, allowing me a disdainful glance or two through the conversation. Steve sits next to her, drumming fingers on the table and intermittently checking his phone for messages.

The boardroom seems out of place in the mansion-like house, reinforcing my conclusion this place is the central hub for Blue Phoenix as well as being Dylan's house. Dylan and me sit in body-moulding leather chairs, across the long, smooth table from the manager and PA.

The relaxed surroundings aren’t reflected in the atmosphere in the room. Since Dylan’s childish reaction before, we haven’t spoken and now sit apart. Does Dylan not realise this kind of behaviour does nothing to help his cause?

Kim is what I expected – young, beautiful and straight to the point. She pulls out an iPad and taps the screen with long, pink painted nails matching her lipstick.

"So, what did you come up with?" asks Kim.

Silence.

She sinks back in her chair. "Dylan?"

"She wants a ‘we’re over' story," he says in a low monotone.

The heavily made up eyes turn to me. "Sky?"

"Um, yes." Why do I feel like I’m in the headmistress’s office at school?

"I don’t think anyone will believe us. Not so suddenly after your oh, so clever, social media barrage, Dylan," she retorts.

I stiffen. "What?"

"Dylan Morgan, suddenly saying everything is over between you the day after his declaration of love. If you were one of his fans, would you think this was true? Or would you smell a story to get people to leave you alone?"

She’s right. If I walk back to my flat tonight, nothing will change. Not in my life and not in Dylan's.

"What about if he’s seen with another girl? And I can do some story about how he’s broken my heart and he can say he’s moved on?" I ask.

A low noise escapes Dylan’s throat. "No. Don’t drag someone else in. I’m not doing that."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I’m the person getting abuse from the fans."

"Abuse?" He looks genuinely confused.

"Don’t be naive, Dylan," says Kim. "These girls are on your side and if they can’t have you, they won’t let anyone hurt you."

"So what do we do?" I ask Miss Perfect, annoyed at the jealous prickle as she smiles at Dylan.

"I said the whole situation would’ve been better if she’d let things run their course," says Steve.

"Yeah, he wanted me to get heartbroken and dumped," I mutter.

Kim’s eyes widen and pink lips part in a light bulb moment. "Not such a bad idea."

"What?" I ask, incredulous that Dylan's not the only one choosing to manipulate me.

"So Sky’s here, giving into the inevitable pull to Dylan Morgan, unable to say no any longer." I snort derisively and she glares at me. "After a few days together, everything turns to shit. Dylan Morgan realises Sky’s not worth the hassle and they split. Then we get the story out for the right price. Shortly after, Blue Phoenix goes on tour and everyone moves on. End of story."

"I’m not staying here!" I protest.

"Don’t worry; you don’t have to spend time together. Treat your stay as a holiday – this place is so big you don’t need to cross paths with Dylan if you don’t want. And at the end of this, you might even make some cash out of selling the story we give you." Evidently, the decision is made, because Kim begins typing furiously on her iPad.

"I don't want money! I have a life and I'm trying to hold down a job. I need to go home."

"Yeah, off you go sweetheart. Back to what I brought you away from," says Steve.

"Dylan?" Kim asks.

For most of the exchange, he’s leant back in his chair, hands locked behind his head ignoring me. His childish sulking infuriates me. "Yeah, okay. For how long?"

"That’s up to Sky."

All eyes apart from Dylan's turn to me. I scrunch my shirt in my hands, biting inside my cheek to stop retorting to them all. They're right, I can't walk away from the situation now and this is a solution. Despite the fact I blame Dylan for all this, the predicament was inevitable the day I allowed myself to get close to him in Cornwall. If you tangle with the famous, you have to expect consequences. Dylan wasn't the only delusional one.

*****

Lying on a king size bed, I stare at the celling, unable to comprehend why I let myself get into all this in the first place. Falling for a guy on the rebound isn't uncommon, I just chose the wrong one.

The guest room they've accommodated me in is more of a guest apartment. The bathroom alone is twice the size of the kitchen in my poky flat and contains a huge white bath on bronze claw feet. A giddy sense of holiday takes over as I inspect the bathroom, delighted to see the bath is a jacuzzi. I could pour in one of the bottles of amazing smelling gels and lie in there with a book, maybe a glass of wine…

I reluctantly gave my flat key to Steve, who’s sent someone to collect some clothes. Great, another stranger looking at my underwear. Dylan offers to buy me new things but I refuse. I also give Steve a long list of books – I intend to treat this as a couple of days avoiding Dylan and pretending I’m at a health spa in the country. Then life can move on.

Really? Am I misleading myself as much as Dylan does?

A knock on the door pulls me out of bath time fantasies. Are my belongings or books here? Hopefully the person outside is bringing both.

Dylan. He holds the same rucksack I used for my holiday to Broadbeach; his strong arms that once wrapped around me are wrapped around the bag. He holds the same closed off expression and stiffened stance as earlier, so why is he here?

"I brought your stuff."

"Thanks."

He walks across the plush cream carpet, into the room and puts the bag on the bed. Awkward about him in here, I hover by the door.

"Did they get you everything you needed?" he asks gruffly.

This is different, businesslike. Either he’s changed tack or he's finally accepted the truth.

"I think. Thanks."

When Dylan reaches the doorway, he ensures he gets close enough to brush my chest with his arm on the way past.

I inhale sharply, and he places his mouth next to my ear. "Feel free to throw your underwear around the room."

I hold my breath. Grant never had the same subtle mix of scents as Dylan, and definitely didn’t trigger memories of amazing sex. I never realised until Dylan how evocative the sense of smell is – and in this situation, my mind blanks. Harder blue eyes than earlier today meet mine, the eyes of someone who's opened up and been kicked closed again.