Page 85 of Interlude

31

Sky

A male packed my bag.The rucksack contains mismatched tops and trousers, a pair of faded jeans, a plain white work shirt, and a short red party dress.

And my favourite blue and white floral summer dress I wore the day my life collided with Dylan’s.

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 that 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, I’d be escorted from the premises if I attended wearing jeans. 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. Nobody in this crowd wears high street fashion. I look down at my simple 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 and pass my room to approach the set of stairs leading down to the opposite end of the house. Maybe Jan will be in the kitchen, and hopefully no one else. I can’t imagine this is the type of party where people hang out in kitchens. And here come the streaming thoughts—panic mode creating bubbling, burbling nonsense ready to fall from my mouth.

I walk into the kitchen and I halt, chest tightening. Through the open glass door, Dylan stands on the terrace, his back to me. He’s wearing a suit and holds a short tumbler glass in his hand, the light glinting off his rings. My heart stutters as I’m hit with the confusing mix of anxiety and attraction. I'm turned on by this hot as hell man who turned my world upside down—there’s no avoiding that—but how is attraction enough? Dylan turns to walk back inside, pausing when he sees me.

"Sky."

"Hey."

He sweeps a gaze the length of me. "I like what you’re wearing."

His scrutiny makes me uneasy. "Very funny."

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

"This is just something 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 push down my body’s reaction to Dylan calling me sexy.

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

"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 that I look fucking hot in a suit," he says and grins, pulling at his jacket.

A quote I once read springs to mind—how a well-tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to a man. In front of me is a man who personifies this. 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, and 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 that he wantsmesneaks in.

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

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

"Are you accompanying me to the party?" he asks, filling my glass with a dark liquid.

"Accompanying 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 adjoining room.

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

"Cheers." He chinks our glasses together 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 it, Dylan slips his arm around my waist in a way so natural the gesture breaks my heart, and almost my resolve.

---