me.”
“I told you, I like you and wanted to catch up again.”
But, why? I want to ask, but “Right,” is the best response I can manage.
We head out of the house to the waiting cab. I feel ridiculous, like a teen girl heading to a formal with a boy she isn't sure what she’ll do with when the evening ends.
This could be a big mistake.
On the drive across the city, Bryn quizzes me about what I've done since we last met and skilfully fields any questions about himself. His solid thigh touches my naked leg, and I swallow against the arousal the slightest touch causes. The whole situation is edged by a surrealism that's stranger than the dreams I've had about Bryn – and there've been a few.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Nervous. I don't like going places where there'll be a lot of people I don’t know.”
“You'll be fine. I'll protect you,” he says with a small smile. “If you protect me.”
“From what?”
“Oh, you know, hordes of screaming girls wanting to get their hands on me.” He laughs at my wide-eyed response. “I'm joking. I'm not that irresistible, am I?”
Is he expecting an answer? In the dim of the taxi, I can't read his expression so I look out of the cab window instead.
The taxi pulls up on a quiet side street and I glance around in confusion as I climb out. No building shows any sign of life, every door closed.
Until we walk around the corner. I stop dead at the edge of an area cordoned off by red rope. Bulky security in black suits stand in the small doorway, and photographers loiter nearby. A couple head past us, and I catch a glimpse of the young woman's face beneath her platinum blonde hair. Do I recognise her? I'm sure I've seen her on TV. Instantly, the crowd of media shout at the couple and blinding camera lights flash.
What the hell? “Small party?” I ask sarcastically.
“Um, yeah. About that.”
My suspicions were aroused when we headed into the centre of London, and despite the unobtrusive entrance, the club is located in one of the more exclusive streets full of popular restaurants and nightspots frequented by celebrities. The number of people passing the press and heading through the cordoned off area, into the venue does not equal 'small party'.
“Where are we?”
“Destination 1. Yvonne Tyler's birthday. She runs one of the city’s big PR firms, has a lot of clients and this is one of her newest. Everybody who's anybody will be here.’
“Everybody and anybody – and me,” I mutter. “I wish you hadn't lied to me!”
“I didn't lie. I was just economical with the truth.”
This man is infuriating. Did I miss that part before I agreed to come with him?
We're interrupting the flow of people so I step to one side. I smooth my dress self-consciously as another expensively dressed couple pass. Amongst this crowd, I may as well have worn jeans; that's how far removed from their celebrity dress code I am. With the matching heels, I'm a few inches taller but still nose to chest if I turn to Bryn. Our height difference makes chastising him bloody difficult.
“I'm not dressed for this!”
Bryn casts a roving look along my body. “I said before, you look good to me.”
Not as good as him. Dark designer suit over the charcoal grey shirt that fits him beautifully. The night we met, he was wearing a suit too and his usual rough and inviting aura inside tailored clothing is sexier than my hormones can handle. With no tie, his smart shirt could easily be undone to reveal the tattooed guy who I've mentally undressed too many times.
I am embarrassed to say, I deliberately searched for pictures of Bryn on the internet to get another look at him semi-naked.
Shameful behaviour.
But, I was successful and the pictures were bloody hot.
Bryn holds a hand in my direction. “Shall we?”
I’m seconds away from refusing and heading back to the cab. “I don't know why I agreed to do this.”
“Because I'm awesome!” he says with a wink. “Let's go, cariad.” He
“I told you, I like you and wanted to catch up again.”
But, why? I want to ask, but “Right,” is the best response I can manage.
We head out of the house to the waiting cab. I feel ridiculous, like a teen girl heading to a formal with a boy she isn't sure what she’ll do with when the evening ends.
This could be a big mistake.
On the drive across the city, Bryn quizzes me about what I've done since we last met and skilfully fields any questions about himself. His solid thigh touches my naked leg, and I swallow against the arousal the slightest touch causes. The whole situation is edged by a surrealism that's stranger than the dreams I've had about Bryn – and there've been a few.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Nervous. I don't like going places where there'll be a lot of people I don’t know.”
“You'll be fine. I'll protect you,” he says with a small smile. “If you protect me.”
“From what?”
“Oh, you know, hordes of screaming girls wanting to get their hands on me.” He laughs at my wide-eyed response. “I'm joking. I'm not that irresistible, am I?”
Is he expecting an answer? In the dim of the taxi, I can't read his expression so I look out of the cab window instead.
The taxi pulls up on a quiet side street and I glance around in confusion as I climb out. No building shows any sign of life, every door closed.
Until we walk around the corner. I stop dead at the edge of an area cordoned off by red rope. Bulky security in black suits stand in the small doorway, and photographers loiter nearby. A couple head past us, and I catch a glimpse of the young woman's face beneath her platinum blonde hair. Do I recognise her? I'm sure I've seen her on TV. Instantly, the crowd of media shout at the couple and blinding camera lights flash.
What the hell? “Small party?” I ask sarcastically.
“Um, yeah. About that.”
My suspicions were aroused when we headed into the centre of London, and despite the unobtrusive entrance, the club is located in one of the more exclusive streets full of popular restaurants and nightspots frequented by celebrities. The number of people passing the press and heading through the cordoned off area, into the venue does not equal 'small party'.
“Where are we?”
“Destination 1. Yvonne Tyler's birthday. She runs one of the city’s big PR firms, has a lot of clients and this is one of her newest. Everybody who's anybody will be here.’
“Everybody and anybody – and me,” I mutter. “I wish you hadn't lied to me!”
“I didn't lie. I was just economical with the truth.”
This man is infuriating. Did I miss that part before I agreed to come with him?
We're interrupting the flow of people so I step to one side. I smooth my dress self-consciously as another expensively dressed couple pass. Amongst this crowd, I may as well have worn jeans; that's how far removed from their celebrity dress code I am. With the matching heels, I'm a few inches taller but still nose to chest if I turn to Bryn. Our height difference makes chastising him bloody difficult.
“I'm not dressed for this!”
Bryn casts a roving look along my body. “I said before, you look good to me.”
Not as good as him. Dark designer suit over the charcoal grey shirt that fits him beautifully. The night we met, he was wearing a suit too and his usual rough and inviting aura inside tailored clothing is sexier than my hormones can handle. With no tie, his smart shirt could easily be undone to reveal the tattooed guy who I've mentally undressed too many times.
I am embarrassed to say, I deliberately searched for pictures of Bryn on the internet to get another look at him semi-naked.
Shameful behaviour.
But, I was successful and the pictures were bloody hot.
Bryn holds a hand in my direction. “Shall we?”
I’m seconds away from refusing and heading back to the cab. “I don't know why I agreed to do this.”
“Because I'm awesome!” he says with a wink. “Let's go, cariad.” He
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