Summer Star (The Blue Phoenix Series Book 1.5) (3 page)

No, the idea of wrapping this spitfire around my finger and seducing her is a turn on. I'll change this girl’s mind about me; I'm sure it won't be that difficult.

“I got a taxi,” I tell her. “Didn’t you notice my ah…penis extension wasn’t parked outside?”

“Why get a taxi?”

“I didn't want to park my car here.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“If I had an idea, I wouldn't ask!” The microwave beeps and she glances at the kitchen before sweeping another less lingering gaze over my chest. “If you could get your T-shirt on and go now, please. I want to eat my dinner.”

The girl stomps back toward the small kitchen.
She actually walked away from me?
No way. I follow and arrive in time to see her drop the plastic container. A strong smell of curry fills the room and she blinks at her meal now on the linoleum floor.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

“Quite.”

“If you hadn't freaked me out by being here, I wouldn't have dropped it!”

It strikes me how wound up she is, the attitude and stiffened stance reminiscent of my own recently. The girl's avoiding my eyes a lot and I suspect some of this is walls against hurt because the times I have caught her eye, there’s a lost look hidden. Now she's on the edge of tears and screwing her face up attempting to stop them.

Is this really what she says it is? A genuine mix up over holiday bookings?

The smell of the curry does nothing to help my hunger. “Do you like pizza?”

“What's pizza got to do with anything?”

“I'll order some for us. If you'll put up with my company until I can find somewhere else to go.” I sit on top of the table, trying to catch her eye again.

There's suspicion in them. “You'll leave?”

“Yeah, I can always sleep on the beach.”

“Hang on.”

In yet another weird move, the chick goes to her black handbag and pulls out her phone. Turning away from me, she has a low conversation with someone. Or tries to, I suspect the person on the other end can't hear her properly. Is the ‘my gran’s house’ story true?

“It's Sky. I'm at the beach house and there's someone here saying he’s rented the place for a month?”

The conversation continues and I only catch half of it. I stretch out the muscles in my stiff neck, wishing she'd make her mind up what we were doing.
We?

“I told you about...” She lowers her voice, “The thing with the thing.”

A pause. My ears prick up. Is this the answer?

“Yes, the thing that's made me want to come here for a week. Remember?”

Sky’s exasperated tone demonstrates her attitude isn't reserved for me; this is one uptight chick. Not the attitude you'd use if you were planning to sleep with a rock star. She ends the call and stares at the phone, chewing her lip.

“And?” I ask.

“Fine. I'll pack.”

“Where will you go?”

“No idea.”

Shit. I can be such a soft touch sometimes... “I won't kick you out into the night. We can stay together for one night?”

She splutters at my more than polite suggestion. “Yeah, right.”

“Is my reputation bothering you?”

“Reputation as a bad driver?”

“No.” She’s either bloody good at this or clueless. There’s one last way to find out if she’s lying or if I’ve double-booked a holiday home with a random, sexy, and infuriating girl. I hold out my hand. “I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dylan. Dylan Morgan.”

She stares as if I'm offering her something dangerous, before taking hold. Her small hand is soft and warm and reminds me I haven't had physical contact with a woman for weeks now. I fight the urge to curl my fingers tightly around hers and keep hold, to see what would happen if I stay connected to her. Something odd buzzes from the touch and the way the girl’s breath hitches suggests touching me isn't as disgusting as her face indicated.

“Um. Sky.” She drops my hand.

“You're funny. It's refreshing.”

Sky's cute under her embarrassment and the sudden drop in defences caused by our touch is weird, because now I’m disappointed that she isn't interested in who I am. I don't want her to leave. I want to sit with Sky and talk, to find out who she is, even if I never see her again after tonight. Hell, maybe we will end up in bed, I wouldn't say no to Sky, despite how pissed off I was earlier.

Why? I like that she's treating me as if I’m an average guy. I love that she's rude to me. And the fact she's smart and sexy and doesn't know who the fuck Dylan Morgan is makes her the perfect person to spend an evening with. Someone like Sky can interact with the grown-up version of the Dylan who came here as a kid, and start me on the path to finding out who he is. Because apparently the Dylan I left in London is a dickhead who drives a penis extension.

Sky’s stomach rumbles and she coughs.

“Pizza. You will share a pizza with me?” I ask. “I don't often get to share pizza with funny chicks.”

She pulls a face at me but the hostility from before has been replaced with curiosity. She's even managing to stop staring at my naked chest. I see myself through her eyes - a stranger standing half-naked in a house offering her pizza. Someone Sky doesn't know, but for whatever reason appears to trust. Maybe because we share something I caught a glimpse of before; that we’re both escaping a life that's causing us pain. When life hurts in this way, we take risks. Is that what Sky's doing? I hope the vibe I give off is friendlier than before and she can trust me enough to accept my offer, although I expect Sky to come to her senses any minute and leave.

To my astonishment she says, “I think I'll eat a whole one. Meatlovers.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sky is unreal. No, Sky is real and that’s the surprise. I haven’t met someone like her for a long time, if ever. We sit together at the small wooden dining table, sharing pizza. She finishes a slice and licks sauce from her fingers, instead of picking at the edges complaining how bad the food is for her and how she ‘shouldn’t really’. Sky washes the meal down with wine. Plenty of wine; her body slackens as the bottle empties.

Sky doesn’t give a crap who I am or what I think.

“What's so funny?” she asks, and then swigs from her glass.

“You're not pretending.”

“What do you mean ‘pretending’?”

If I tell her what I mean is she’s not hiding her love of food and wine, I doubt I’ll do myself any favours. “It doesn't matter.”

But is she pretending she doesn’t know me? I’m pretty sure if she was a groupie planning to fuck Dylan Morgan she wouldn’t be loading up with so much pizza and wine. I consider whether this is a good thing or a bad thing as I stretch, and Sky’s eyes focus on my damn fine abs when my t-shirt rides up. Even if she doesn’t know who I am, she clearly isn’t immune to my effect on women; it’s written all over her slightly drunk face. I should bloody hope so, the amount of time I spend in the gym perfecting the body frequently photographed and splashed across the media.

“So now what?” I ask her.

“I'll pack my bag?”

I straighten.
No, not yet
. “Already? We've hardly spoken.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Why you came here.”

“Why did you come here?” she retorts.

“Same reason as you.”

“How do you know what my reason is?”

I check her fingers. No ring – wedding or engagement. “Coming to a two-bedroom seaside house on your own? You're taking time out from something. Running?”

“So what are you running from?” she responds.

I open a can of Coke, dragged back to where I left this morning. “Life's a bit intense. I need to pull back, unwind. Disconnect from the people around me.”

“Oh, well, at least you didn't say the police,” Sky says with a small smile.

Every time I think she’s going to snarl at me again, she says the weirdest crap. “Funny, Sky. So who are you running from?”

“No one.”

Sure. “It’s none of my business. That's cool. We can ignore each other's business together for a bit if you like?”

The words surprise me as they leave my mouth. I came here to be alone and I’m asking a complete stranger to stay with me? But I don’t know how to be alone. I’m never alone; someone’s always close by, suffocating me. The girl sitting with me just breathed new life into my world and I’ve no idea how.

“A bit?” she asks.

“How about we chat about stupid stuff, irrelevant stuff, not the real life crap? We know nothing about each other, no preconceptions. What do you think?” I want to hear about her world, the real world.

Sky’s eyes widen and she doesn’t appear to share my enthusiasm. “No preconceptions isn't true. You did ram your car into the back of mine. Your expensive car. Then you wouldn't give me your insurance details so I've already formed an opinion.”

“Which is?”

“Straight up?”

“Straight up.”

“Not the kind of person I'd sit and share pizza with.”

And back to the snark. “Fair enough, but you just did share pizza with me. Anyway, I haven't formed any opinion of you.”

“Liar.”

I shake my head. “You're not transparent enough. I can't see through you. I think you're one of those people who are more mirrors than windows.”

Sky rubs her nose and looks at me as if I landed from another planet; which in a way, I guess I did. Without a word, she heads to the kitchen. Huh? That wasn’t insulting was it? And it wasn’t a line; I have better ones than that.

No, Sky didn’t have a comeback and I suspect Sky always has a comeback.

The sound of a cork popping comes from the kitchen and Sky reappears with a full bottle of red. I’m transfixed by this woman, desperate for her attention. Why the fuck am I attracted to her? She’s the opposite of everything I go for in chicks – glamorous, painted girls who are the image of what a rock star’s girlfriend should look like on my arm. Sky’s naturally pretty but I doubt she does glamour. On top of all this, she’s smart-mouthed, and she’s not interested. Am I interested because she’s a challenge?

“How about if you agree to stay and chat with me for a few hours, I'll leave and you can have the place for the next couple of weeks,” I suggest.

“But you paid to stay here.” She halts, gripping the bottle.

I shrug and watch the internal debate evidenced on her face. It’s a pretty big ask considering I’m a guy and she has no clue who I am. If Sky were sober, I’d know the answer; but she’s not, so maybe I’ll get the one I want.

“Okay. But I'm not talking about anything to do with my normal life,” she says, finally.

“Oh, that’s such a good idea.” Sky sits opposite me at the wooden table. “Ask me something. Anything,” I ask.

“Um. What's your favourite colour?”

I laugh. “You can do better than that! Black. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“Here. I came here every year as a kid so I see this house as my happy place. Where would you go?”

“Here.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I've travelled a lot and seen a lot of places. But I always came here too, when I was a kid.”

Sky’s disbelief is clear in her eyes. “Oh?”

“My summer childhood too, Sky. We rented this place.” She continues to look at me as if I’m lying. Why would I make this shit up? I glance at the tall bookshelf in the corner. The same books lived on those shelves for years, I wonder… The book listing items to collect at the seaside is tucked between Danielle Steele and JK Rowling. ‘Seaside’ sounds such a funny word now, and evokes memories of collecting shells on the beach and colouring pictures.

I stand and pull my childhood possession from the book shelf. “I left this here one year.”

I place it on the table in front of Sky and open to the first page where I scrawled my name years ago. If she knew who I was, this would be an awesome find for her: Dylan Morgan’s first autograph. “See.”

“Huh.” She has no smart answer and I secretly cheer at myself. I’m as entitled to be in this house as she is.

“Funny, how we're attracted to the places of our childhood when we need to get away,” I say smugly.

Sky doesn’t speak for a long time, and she regards me as if looking through different eyes, the look softer and unguarded. Did we meet as kids? No, the flicker of recognition can’t be one of two people who met in the past; this recognition is different. How can I look into Sky’s eyes and be filled with the sense that I’ve looked into those eyes a million times before? The crazy notion fate brought us together edges in. This can’t be coincidence.

“Did you go to Mrs Hughes for ice creams?” she asks.

I straighten. “Yes - and she made those ice lollies, great big ones in cups that melted down your arm before you finished.”

“Yes! And she had a dog - I think she might still have it...”

“...has one eye. Buster.”

Every word Sky says sends a new thrill through. Someone else remembers; somebody shares the peace and happiness of childhood summers in this house. She’s here for the same reason as I am, to recapture a brighter past. I don’t know what’s brought Sky to this place at this time, but she’s supposed to be here.

The smile Sky graces me with pushes through the stress and darkness of my day, and a new summer arrives.

****

“So, Dylan Morgan, tell me more about what you do, when you’re not hiding.” Sky curls up on the cushioned sofa and spills some wine on her dress. Muttering, she wipes it away.

I stiffen at her phrase. Hiding. “No, that’s not the game. We don’t talk about real life, remember?”

“Game? Are we playing a game now?”

I lower myself into the tattered armchair opposite, aware she watches me cautiously from behind her bravado. “Isn’t that what this is?”

“Hmm.” Sky looks into her glass to avoid my eyes. “Games… When you came here before, when you were a kid, did you play on the sand dunes outside the cottage?”

“That’s a random and weird question.”

“You said games? Is that not what you meant?” She sips from her glass. “I did. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow.” Sky giggles. “Maybe now. Would you roll down sand dunes?”

Leaning back against the ragged cushions, I cross my leg over my knee and stare at her. This chick is drunker than I thought. “No, Sky, rolling down sand dunes isn’t on my holiday agenda.”

“Holiday agenda? Holidays don’t have agendas.” She sits forward and whispers, “Holidays are for fun.”

“Oh, I intend to have fun, all right,” I say in a low voice. Shit, I can’t help myself, can I?

Sky laughs. Not a coy giggle, a downright laugh. “Not with me you don’t, Dylan Morgan. Not unless you want to roll down sand dunes or build sandcastles.”

She smirks. Sky knew exactly what I meant and again failed to react, as she should. Is it the hair? I rub my head. “You’re leaving tomorrow anyway, remember?” I retort.

Sky’s mouth turns down. “Yeah. Right.”

“Unless…”

“What?”

Don’t go there, Dylan. You know what’ll happen. “Nothing. And why do you say my name like that?”

“Dylan Morgan? Because you said it like that to me.” She straightens. “‘I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Dylan. Dylan Morgan’,” she mimics in a deep voice then collapses in giggles again.

I want to be pissed off that she’s teasing me but I fucking love it because she one hundred percent doesn’t give a shit about who or what I am. “Very funny, summer Sky.”

“Summer Sky. Very clever, like I haven’t heard that before.” She pouts at me. “I’m not a summer Sky; I’m a winter Sky.”

“Frosty?”

Sky scowls. “No! Because my birthday is in November!”

I bite my lip, amused at her reaction. “Well, I think you’re more of a summer Sky.”

“How?”

“Your hair is sun-coloured and you brightened my shit day.”

Sky snorts. “Right. Smooth.”

“Smooth? Fuck, Sky, if I wanted to be smooth you’d know about it.”

“Don’t swear at me!”

I shake my head. She doesn’t do swearing. Miss Frosty is Miss Uptight, all right. “Apologies, Sky.”

She sinks back against the sofa and studies me through bleary eyes. “Smooth or not, it won’t work. And don’t even think about touching me! I can defend myself!”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I mean it! I trained in self-defence. And I can bite. Hard.”

“I’d probably like that,” I say with another smile.

“You like people biting you?” she says, face pulling into confusion. “Why would you like…”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Oh, my God! Why the hell would someone want to bite…?” Sky trails off and she stares at my arms. Does she realise she just ran her tongue along her bottom lip? “Fair enough.”

Every time. Every single fucking time things twist around to this. I can’t do it; I can’t look at any woman without imagining her naked, wondering how she’d be in bed, what she’d do. Why the hell can’t I stop myself gauging Sky as a potential conquest and just talk to her? I’m a fucking joke.

“I’m not going to touch you, Sky. I don’t need to force myself on women.”

“Why? Do you have them throwing themselves at you?”

“What do you think?”

Sky sets her glass on the table. “I think…” She pauses, and I prepare for the drunken bluntness. “I have a lot of things I think about you but you might not like them.”

“Such as? I’m sure I can take it.”

“Such as, I think you’re a good-looking guy who knows how to use that to get his own way. Am I right?”

“Yeah, I normally get my own way.”

“Then, I reckon you need to spend time with people who put you in your place.”

“Like you?”

Sky gulps more wine. “No, I don’t think we’d get on. I don’t reckon you know how to deal with women unless you’re smouldering at them with those big blue eyes until they’re helplessly overwhelmed by your presence.” She sets her glass on the low coffee table. “I don’t think you’d know how to cope with a woman like me.”

Does this ‘woman like her’ understand she’s throwing down the gauntlet, that Dylan Morgan, lead singer of Blue Phoenix could ever meet a woman he couldn’t cope with? Yet, the Dylan Morgan who walked through the door into his past today wants to move away from him. Maybe Sky would be a good test.

If I can keep my hands off a woman I currently picture lying naked amongst her discarded underwear upstairs, who’s challenging me to a battle of wills and has no intention of sex with me, then I can prove there’s more to me than the cliché I’ve morphed into.