I push through the heavy black doors and straight into the noise of the party. Now the place is twice as full, the voices vie to be heard above the music and the heat level has risen. Earlier, I spotted double-doors leading to an outdoor area at the rear of the building. Maybe the bins are kept there. I don't care as long as I get out of the place.
The glass doors are propped open and a number of smokers stand in the shadows, indulging their vice in private. Outdoor chairs and heavy wooden tables are pushed together and stacked in one corner, furniture unneeded in the middle of winter. At least the January cold prevents the crowds extending out here.
Avoiding eyes, I head across the paved courtyard to the edge of the area, where a wooden bench rests near a high wall. The cool air is partly a relief and partly an indication why standing outside jacket-less is a bad idea in January. Knowing my luck, it'll start snowing soon.
I'm confused. Really bloody confused. When Bryn called this morning, once the shock wore off, I tripped around the house high as a kite for the rest of the day. Unable to eat with excitement, I tried on several outfits, spent an extra-long time on my make-up, and prepared myself for a date with Bryn. Not a gate-crashing of a restaurant pretend date. A date.
Wrong. Not a date. A return of a favour.
But why? Bryn makes no sense. There has to be a reason he asked me when he has a choice of girls.
Rubbing my bare arms, I consider returning inside and finding my coat to get the hell out of here. Bryn’s tall frame appears in the doorway. He crosses to me and I stand to leave.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What the hell was that?” I snap.
“What?”
“Mentioning our sex life!” I hiss. “Even if we had… done that I'd never allow you to talk about it! And then telling Mia I'll be at yours in the morning!”
“So? Come on. You could have a sleepover.”
“A sleepover? How old do you think I am? Ten?”
Bryn shrugs. “Okay, we could have hot, dirty sex all night if you prefer.”
I fight the ache the images his words conjure, determined not to react to Bryn’s teasing. “Yeah, right.”
“Was that a yes?”
“No, Bryn, that was not a yes.”
“Hmm. Shame.” His mouth tugs into the familiar smirk. “Let's go.”
My suspicion grows that Bryn could be serious. Or maybe that's wishful thinking from the bad part of me.
“Your sexual innuendo is not persuading me, Bryn.”
“Sorry, cariad,” he says in a low voice, “you know I'm only teasing.”
“That's the issue! Don’t play with my feelings!” I shiver and rub my arms more vigorously.
Bryn's eyes widen and he quietly removes his jacket and sets it across my shoulders. “If that's how I come across, I'm sorry.”
“I'm out of my depth,” I say quietly.
“We can leave.”
Bryn doesn't understand that being here with him is what drags me out of my depth. But that's not a conversation for 1 a.m. on a January morning in the freezing temperatures.
“Please,” I say.
“But we've only been here an hour. Don't finish the evening like this – pissed off with me.” He pauses. “Will you come back to my place?”
I knew it.
“Why?”
“It's too early to end an evening. I don't want to go home yet, but I don't want to stay here on my own.”
“Not for a 'sleepover'?” I make quotation marks with my fingers around the word.
“Not sex, Avery, a couple of drinks and a chat. Plus, I'm sure my place is warmer than that hole you live in.”
I woke this morning with ice on the inside of my bedroom window, not relishing the idea of undressing in a freezing cold bathroom.
“I promise not to get you drunk and take advantage.”
“You’d be wasting your time anyway,” I retort.
“So you keep telling me. I think I’ve got the message now,” he says with a smile.
“Just a drink?”
“Just a drink, cariad.”
Chapter Fourteen
AVERY
“Are you sure you're a rock star?” I ask as I walk into Bryn's place.
The apartment is one in an ultra-modern tower block overlooking the Thames, a short taxi ride from the club. I stiffly sit on the plump red sofa.
“What do you mean?”
“It's a bit sparse and not very expensive looking.”
“I'm hardly here, or I wasn't. I guess I should buy more furniture sometime.” Bryn drops his phone onto the low glass coffee table. “Maybe because the room is big it looks empty?”
The open-plan lounge is filled with items I recognise from my Ikea obsession. I'd expect expensive, solid furniture, not flat pack. Mia's things are spread around, as if she's marking her territory: jewellery on tables, clothes draped over chairs, shoes kicked off resting near the door. The house smells of strong floral perfume, not Bryn.
A small brown dog runs at me, yapping and I'm on the verge of standing and running.
“Shut up, rat dog!” snarls Bryn.
I stare. “You have a dog?”
“If I had a dog, do you think it would be one like this?”
The dog continues to bark and Bryn grabs it. I watch in amusement as he wrangles the Chihuahua that's attempting to bite him. Unceremoniously, he dumps it in the hallway and closes the door.
“Bloody thing!” Bryn wipes his hands on his suit trousers. “Right. Drink? Wine?”
Without waiting for a response, he heads into the kitchen and I follow. Bryn takes wine glasses from a glass-fronted cupboard on the wall above the sink. “You like white, don't you?”
This is more of a statement than a question as he opens a monstrous sized stainless steel fridge and pulls out one of several bottles. “I don't drink much wine; is this okay?”
I break from my gawking at the fact my kitchen could fit in here five times and it's at least five times as clean as Bryn sets a bottle on the black marble island counter between us. I glance at the label. “I don't like sweet whites.”
“Right.” He rubs a cheek. “You choose.”
Embarrassed that I'm rejecting something Bryn is giving me, I grab the first bottle I find in the fridge and I'm relieved to see it's a Sav Blanc.
“I'll join you in a glass,” he says and pours two overly generous drinks before passing me one and chinking the glasses. “Cheers, cariad.”
I stare back into Bryn's deep brown eyes, wishing I knew what he thought of me. Between the innuendo and the friendship, something else lurks.
I'm about to speak when he heads back into the lounge, places the bottle on the table and flops onto the sofa with his glass.
“Sit down,” he says as I join him.
Where do I sit? Mia's clothes cover the armchair adjacent to the sofa and if I moved them, it would be odd, as if I'm deliberately avoiding sitting with Bryn and then the question would be raised
why
I'm deliberately avoiding him. I plant my backside on the opposite end of the sofa instead.
Bryn slurps his wine. “How was your Christmas?”
My Christmas? I'm sitting alone with you late at night in your apartment and you want to talk about Christmas?
“Good. You?”
“Family things.” He scrunches his nose up. “Too many family. It's like our own village when we get together. And so many kids.”
“Not a fan of kids?”
“Don't meet many in my life. Liam has one now, well a step-kid. She's a bit whiny. I think having a little sister influenced my view of children. Have you any brothers or sisters?”
“Caitlin. Two years younger. Pain in the arse.”
“I'm with you on that one.” He tips his head. “So, you're back at uni? What do you do again?”
“Teacher. Start my on the job training later this year, if I pass my exams.”
“Ah, that's right, telling naughty boys what to do.” Bryn's eyes shine and he drops his gaze to my mouth.
No, no, don't get sexual.
“What are you doing now?” I ask.
“Rock star things. Smart subject change.”
“Rock star things?”
“Yeah, wasting time, drinking too much and… other stuff.” Bryn drains his glass. “The odd tour rehearsal.”
“When does that kick off?”
“27th. Portugal. We're only away a couple of months though; we're finishing the European leg we had to cancel last year, thanks to the dramas with the other guys.”
“Then back to England?”
“Yeah, maybe. Haven't decided yet. I had a long break last year. I need something to occupy my time.”
“Nice problem to have.”
Bryn sits forward and tops up his glass. “Not really. Remember what I said the first night we met? Everything's changing; the band’s all getting serious and growing up.”
“People change.”
Bryn looks away. “Yeah.”
Something's touched on again that I can't comprehend; a sadness beneath the humour. Isn't that what people say? The ones readiest with a laugh and joke are often the ones hurting.
“I'm sure you'll find the right girl too,” I suggest.
“I did. Well, I thought I had.” He shakes his head. “Why am I talking to you about this? Not the best way to impress a girl.”
“But I'm not a girl you need to impress; talk to me about whatever you want, Bryn.”
For a long moment, Bryn regards me and chews on a nail. “You know what? I think I can.”
Unsure what to think about this response, I drink my wine, uncomfortable by the pause in our conversation. Eventually, Bryn twists to face me. “Are you still upset about tonight?”
“You tricking me into going to your ‘small party’, you mean?”
“You didn't enjoy it at all?”
“Not really.” I sip my wine. “I don't like crowds, especially not ones I feel out of place in.”
“Right. No more big parties on future dates.”
He picks up a remote and leans across the sofa, extending his arm to switch on the entertainment system behind him. The action shifts up his grey shirt and reveals Bryn's lower back. I sit on my hands before I'm tempted to touch or drool on him. As the wine swirls around my system, I debate whether to ask if he's interested in the hot, dirty sex he mentioned.
Damn my self-respect for stopping me.
“You okay?” he asks as he turns back. “You've got that weird look on your face again.”
“No, this is just my face. Call it weird if you want.”
“Funny, Avery”
The sound of Blue Phoenix joins us in the room. “Do you miss the other guys so much that you have to listen to Dylan wailing before you go to bed?”
Bryn spits wine in amusement and wipes his mouth. “No. Avery, you say some funny shit and I think that's why I like you.” He grabs the bottle from the table and tops my glass. “Cute Welsh girl, do you miss Wales much?”
I scowl at his choice of words. “Sometimes. Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
“I get unsure if I belong anywhere apart from where I grew up. I don't know if I should've left,” I admit.
“You mean you don't think you should've studied? That would be a waste. You're too smart to waste your life in a dead-end job.”
“A dead-end job like waitressing?”
“No, a dead-end job you're capable of doing.”
I poke my tongue out at his poking fun. “I really want to be a teacher but sometimes I don't think I'll be any good at it.”
“How do you know?”
I drain my glass and pass it to Bryn for a refill. “I don't know. I'm not overly confident in case you hadn't noticed.”
“You're young, confidence comes. I was a shy kid and bloody terrified when Blue Phoenix hit the big time. Now look at me.”
“Cocky bugger?”
“I think the word you're looking for is self-assured.”
“Hmm. If you say so.”
“Follow your dreams, Avery. Okay, you left your friends and family behind and you're doing something different to them. So what?”
“I guess.” I gulp more wine and relax back into the soft cushions. “I started separating myself from the past last year when things ended with Martin. I think that was the first step to losing what was holding me back.”
When Bryn doesn't respond, I glance at him. He's peering into his wine glass, mouth tighter.
“Bryn?”
He tips the remaining wine into his mouth. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The sudden shift in mood isn't unnoticed and the sharp edges of Bryn are visible again. “You’re right,” I say lightly. “I'll finish my degree, suck it up, and start my teacher training. If I fail, I fail, but it won't be the end of the world.”
“You won't fail, cariad,” he says. “I think you're more capable than you realise.”
We lapse into silence again, Bryn disappearing into his own thoughts. I tap the side of the cool wine glass and sit with my own thoughts. Together, we create a strangely peaceful environment, even more enjoyable for me because the room isn't the temperature of a fridge.
The stressful evening and wine conspire to make me sleepy and I stifle a yawn. “I should go soon.”
Bryn breaks his reverie. “Stay?”
“It's fine; call me a cab.”
The expectation hovers, the unspoken attempts to gauge what happens next, read body language cues. Intense brown eyes look into mine and tell me exactly what he’s planning to do. I fight to hide what I want from showing in mine, but I'm damn sure I'm easily readable.
Bryn breaks the moment and sets his empty glass on the table. “I'll be straight with you, Avery. I'm not a nice guy to be around right now. I'm getting over a… thing I had with a girl and I’ve basically been getting drunk and screwing around.”
“Oh.”
Maybe, not then.
“When I called you, hooking-up was in my mind, but when I saw you, I kinda felt different. You’re a nice girl. I can’t treat you like that; plus, you’re a smart girl and wouldn’t let me. So, I told myself this was the same as last time we met, just a bit of fun with no expectations.”
I rub my tired eyes. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
He shuffles closer; both knees are touching mine, the electricity hovering between us ready to spark at any moment. “Problem is I enjoyed being with you tonight, more than I thought I would. I’d forgotten how attractive you are.” He pushes some of my hair over my shoulder, fingers brushing my skin.
We’ve completely misread each other; either that or being alone and close has knocked a hole in the idea we could ‘kind of date but nothing else’. As suspected by his shift in focus, a rock star’s expectations won’t match what I’m prepared to give him.
I swallow and focus on controlling my breathing. “Stop, Bryn. I wouldn’t sleep with someone on a first date anyway. I don’t care if you’re famous.”
Bryn’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Do you kiss on first dates?”
“Apparently so, since you kissed me last time.”
“So if I kissed you tonight, that would be okay?”
My chest constricts as I stare at his mouth, our combined blood alcohol makes this more likely by the second.
“I don't know,” I whisper.
“If it's just a kiss? I didn't do so well with the last one, apparently. Can I try again?”
“The last one was good. I mean… Um…”
He cups my face with his large palm. “I want to kiss you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean, okay I understand, not okay you can–” I hardly get the words out before Bryn's mouth crashes on mine, wiping the confusion over the whole situation away. The suddenness is matched by my surprising, overwhelming need to respond. I grab Bryn round the neck and kiss him back. Hard. He grips my hair in his fist, holding my head so I can't move, deepening his kiss. My resolve is snatched away by the intensity of the moment as I relish the way his tongue explores my mouth, the intoxication of the alcohol nothing close to that of the taste and scent of Bryn Hughes and his hands on me.
Bryn holds my waist with his other arm and pulls me onto him as he leans back on the sofa and I'm all for climbing on top of him and undoing his shirt buttons. Marvelling at my restraint, I dig my fingers into his curls and the kiss continues; neither of us stopping for air. My body reacts in a way I’ve never experienced, moments of touching and kissing and an aching need for more blinds me. I have never met a man who can turn me on this much by doing so little.
His hands roam to my backside and he shifts below me. When I'm aware of the erection straining between us, I tense because I’m losing my grip on the sensible Avery. Bryn lets go of my ass and pulls his mouth away. Our hot, heavy breaths mingle and every nerve ending in my body is alight as he rests his forehead on mine.
“Just a kiss?” he asks hoarsely. “Look at you, pinning me down!”
“I am not!”
He moves so I have to sit back. “Keep this up and I’ll want more than a kiss.” Bryn pushes hair from his face and he stares at my now dishevelled state. “My self-control is pretty crap currently.”
The connotation of Bryn’s words niggles and dampens some of the arousal. “You're not adding me to your collection of girls you screw.”