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I walk away, back to the throng in the next room. Weaving my way through the suffocating crows, I head for the door to the kitchen, and the short cut to ‘my’ side of the house, and the edge of the party.
Dylan pursues me and I burst into the cool of the darkened kitchen, halting with my back to Dylan. "Now can you see why I don't want to be involved in your lifestyle? And that's just the tip of the iceberg."
We're alone, the silence a contrast to the hubbub of the party. The sound fades further as the door behind me shuts.
"Sky." Dylan touches my arm again, carefully turning me around.
Pissed off with the tears fighting their way into my eyes, I hold down the desire to run. Dylan places a palm on my cheek, rubbing a thumb across my cheekbone, and the heart-thumping reaction to him intensifies.
"I want to go," I whisper, looking at my hands. "Not just away from the party but away from this house."
"Tomorrow?" His face is shadowed, the only light from the nearby window.
"It's always tomorrow with you," I say hoarsely.
"Of course. There's always tomorrow. Every day." He smiles. "Hanging on to today is hard, but tomorrow is always in reach."
"Very deep." He attempts to hug me and I tense. "Is she the answer?" I ask.
"Who?"
"The girl you were with." This one didn't look like the complaining model girlfriend in the magazine—is she a new girl? Filling the gap he says only I can? "Are you planning to humiliate me? Is that the scene you’re creating—bring her inside and continue with… whatever. Dylan, with a more suitable girl?"
"What? No!" He succeeds in placing his fingers back on my face. "Who are you talking about? Cressida isn't here, and I told you that she’s nothing to me."
"Outside. The dark-haired girl." The jealous pang twinges again, but I have no right to him.
"Sky, that’s Myf. She’s a good friend who I’ve known for years—one of the few people who can keep me grounded. She helped me when things got bad in the past; she dragged me to rehab before I self-destructed. I was talking to her about how fucking hard this is for me."
"I’m so confused," I whisper hoarsely. "Your world scares me."
I attempt to get to the door and Dylan steps in the way. "Don’t leave."
Six-foot-plus of solid muscle stands between me and the way out. Sexy as hell guy, who kickstarted my heart. I'm no longer a hundred percent sure I want to go.
"Please move, Dylan," I say in a small voice.
"No. Not until you listen to me. I have to tell you some things."
"Dylan. Please."
He raises his voice. "Are you leaving because you’re scared you’ll believe me or because you’ll have to admityoufeel something?"
Dylan is right; he knows he’s right. I try to get behind him to the door but he puts his hand on the door handle. "Sky. Just fucking listen to me!"
"Don’t swear at me!" I lose my temper and shove him.
Dylan catches my arm, and pulls me towards him. I’m caught in his grip, the hard planes of his chest against mine, and I’m hyperaware the thin material is the only barrier between us. The warmth and scent of my beach house Dylan engulfs me.
"I had to speak to Myf because it’s pointless talking to the guys about this. Seeing you again tonight is killing me because this hurts. Really fucking hurts, Sky. I feel like the world held something out to me—a chance to be someone else—and then snatched the chance away again."
His words pierce my armour. "I’m sorry."
"Why does who I am change anything? I’ve never connected to a person like this before and I know you felt the same connection to me, so I fought for this. I’m sorry if I went about things the wrong way; I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted the opportunity to show you what that week meant to me."
"It wasn’t even a week," I whisper.
The sincerity in his words and his earnest expression strips away another layer of defence. This time when he cups my chin, I don’t back away.
