by Parker Swift
Holy shit.
This guy was off-the-charts gorgeous.
Chapter 2
There was no other word for him but stunning. He was definitely older than I was. Late twenties, maybe? Early thirties? He was built but not bulky and exuded lean, guarded strength and power, like he could use it when he wanted but didn’t have to show it off. I was getting that lightheaded feeling that happened when I glimpsed a celebrity on the subway, like I wasn’t sure if I was still in my own life. Only this time it was way more intense, and definitely more unexpected.
“Darling, it’s unseemly to be rushing off as though the office can’t survive without you,” replied the older woman.
“Quite right,” chimed in the older gentleman.
“Yes, well, it can’t be helped,” Mr. Aviators replied under his breath, a world of irritation in each word.
His mother sighed heavily and waved a hand at him, clearly resigned. “Well, do be down by half six. Amelia will be there, remember,” she added. But he was now looking my way and didn’t budge.
They’d gotten closer, so I could finally appreciate him in his entirety, and I could feel my jaw sinking even lower. His dark brown hair was cut short on the sides—short enough that his barber probably knew more about him than his mother—but it was slightly longer and messy on top. It looked hip, but still refined, suggesting something roguish beneath all the restraint. Before I knew what was happening I was imagining running my hands through it, clamping it between my fingers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, snugly hugging his biceps in a way that left no doubt to the hours he must have spent at the gym.
But it was his face that somehow upended me. He had a strong jaw peppered with a visible layer of stubble. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, but he had the bone structure of a model—just the right combination of chin, cheekbones, and brow. He looked intellectual and sophisticated, but also a seemingly impossible combination of ruthlessly sexy and tender.
I was definitely staring. I noticed his hand gripping his phone, and my mind immediately shifted to imagining those strong hands on me, grabbing my own hair, holding me. I was mindlessly enjoying taking in every detail of this guy until I realized he was watching me back, and, Oh god. I slowly realized that I was still holding my pretend clipboard and had a whistle hanging off my suddenly dry lip.
I straightened, let the whistle fall from my mouth, and licked my lips just as Maddy splashed me from the pool. “Lydia! What was my score on that one?” she shouted.
I jumped up and shrieked in surprise like some kind of startled animal—this was just getting better and better. My skin, hot from the sun, was now dotted in cold water, bringing goose bumps to the surface and making me shiver wildly.
“Maddy! For antagonizing the coach you get a penalty! A six at best! Three extra cannon balls!” I sternly instructed her. I heard a subtle chuckle coming from my right. Maddy pretended to be affronted but quickly giggled, hoisted herself out of the pool, and ran back to the stone ledge.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart, which was currently drumming violently in my chest, and turned to the older couple. I dried off my hand with a towel and reached out. “Hi, I’m Lydia Bell,” I introduced myself. “I’m travelling with the Franklins this summer. Are we in your way?”
Mr. Aviators was hanging back. He was still smiling wolfishly—surely amused at my situation. Suddenly I wished my cover-up wasn’t on the other side of the pool. I felt completely inappropriate and weirdly shy in my bikini, like I’d shown up in underwear to a swank dinner party.
“We’re quite pleased to have you use the pool, my dear, delighted,” the woman said. The word delighted dripped from her lips as though it was an often-repeated part of her how-to-be-cordial script. “Charlotte Hale, and this is my husband, Geoffrey.” The older gentleman reached out his hand, which I shook as firmly as I could: two strong arm pumps while maintaining eye-contact, just like my father had taught me.
“How do you do?” Mr. Hale asked, clearly not really expecting an answer.
Mrs. Hale continued, “La Belle Reve belongs to Geoffrey and his sister, Eloise, and their parents before them, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ve heard lovely things about your family.” It must be Eloise that the Franklins were friends with, I thought. I certainly hadn’t heard about any children, especially not any aviator-wearing gorgeous-but-most-definitely-trouble sons.
“Living in London, we don’t get to Murray Bay often.” Mrs. Hale gestured to the expansive property, talking more to herself than to me. She looked at her son, who still hadn’t departed, despite his previous urgency.
His stance had shifted. He lifted his sunglasses from his eyes, and, sliding them onto his head, stepped forward. He reached out to shake my hand. “Dylan Hale,” he stated, nothing more.
His eyes were an implausible shade of blue—warmer and brighter than the ocean, almost lapis—and framed by endless eyelashes. My breath, suddenly shallow, felt as though it was barely escaping my lungs. As I reached forward to shake his hand, I tripped on a foam pool toy and only barely regained my footing as he grabbed my hand in both of his.
My first thought was: At least I was wearing a sporty, secure bikini.
And my second thought was: I am touching the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
In that moment, skin touching skin, all the energy that had gone to breathing was now focused, like laser beams, on our meeting palms. “Hi” was all I managed to squeak out, coughing on my words. “Nice to meet you.” Since when was I unable to greet someone like a normal human being?
He grasped my hand firmly with both of his in response to my shakiness, essentially holding me up. “All set?” he said, looking directly into my eyes. I caught a hint of a smile, which just made the embarrassment worse. I withdrew my hand as soon as I could manage and brought my arms back to my waist. Then I went to smooth my skirt, remembering too late that I wasn’t wearing a skirt. I turned it into a little thigh tap, which probably looked bizarre, like: Yup, I’ve got legs. At this point, I kind of wanted to disappear.
“You’re quite the taskmaster,” he said.
I looked at him, puzzled, and then I realized he was looking at the children. “Oh! Well, you know, kids these days. They just aren’t willing to put in the hard work it takes to be an Olympian.” I glared at Maddy lovingly. When I looked back at Dylan he was smiling. God, those eyes were captivating. The eyes alone could have seduced me.
“Did I hear that you’ll be coming to London in the fall?” Mrs. Hale asked with a polite-at-all-costs energy that struck me as exhausting.
Dylan’s eyebrows rose, and I swore I saw his jaw tighten.
“I am. I’ll be working for Hannah Rogan, the fashion designer.”
“Lovely,” replied Charlotte, but she clearly wasn’t paying attention. As soon as I had started talking her gaze had shifted behind me to the view and then to her son, who once again seemed determined to head back to the house.
He turned to me and made steady eye contact. “Pleasure to meet you, Lydia.”
“You too,” I replied, replaying the way the word “pleasure” sounded with his upper-crust English accent, melting away at the end almost as if he’d never meant to say it all. He started to turn to the house. “And try the east side of the house for cell reception,” I added, smiling. He looked back and nodded quickly, eyes wide, clearly surprised that I’d caught his tirade earlier. And then, just like that he was gone, ascending the lawn up towards the house.
“Enjoy your swim, dear,” Geoffrey said to me while looking at his watch and already turning away, his daughter and wife in tow.
Enjoy my swim? I’d just had the wind knocked out of me by the most gorgeous guy I’d ever laid eyes on, somehow managed to politely converse with his parents, and by some miracle not allowed two children to drown in the process. I didn’t think I’d be able to walk, let alone swim, until I got Dylan Hale out of my mind. Part of me wanted to
will him back down to the pool, to somehow prolong our interaction. But the other part of me was so grateful he was gone. I had no doubt that he was the precious boarding school type, aware of his carefully curated charms, the power contained in those eyes, and all the more deadly for it. I needed time to recover—the intensity of the encounter was going to have me reeling for a while. Maybe a swim was exactly what I needed.
* * *
A few hours later, refreshed, I descended the steps of the guest cottage with a child holding each hand. I had dressed both in their summer finest—garden party outfits that probably cost more than my ticket to London. And I finally had the chance to wear the little black V-neck dress I’d brought. It had capped sleeves and was short enough to make my legs look longer—I needed all the help I could get at five foot three—but not so short as to be inappropriate. With the Hannah Rogan silver heeled sandals I’d scored at a sample sale and some cobalt dangly earrings, I felt like I could hold my own at an upscale cocktail party.
“Oh, Lydia, you look lovely,” Kate said as she saw me come down the stairs. She was standing by the waiting chauffeured SUV, and looked slightly chagrined. “I was hoping to catch you before you all dressed, but, well, I am just off the phone with Eloise, and the party is adults only.” She had a look of apology on her face.
My disappointment must have showed, because Kate quickly added, “But we’d love for everyone to meet the children, so I suppose it’s good that they’re not in play clothes. You can spend the first part of the evening exploring the grounds around the main house, and then duck in for a quick drink before we leave?”
I nodded in reply, hoping my defeat didn’t show. After so many days working, I’d been really looking forward to mingling with adults. And now, instead, I’d be playing tag in my only nice pair of heels and getting eaten alive by mosquitos as the sun went down.
On the upside I still felt slightly unhinged by my run-in with Dylan Hale, and perhaps it was better if I had a chance to come down from whatever that was before interacting with anyone. I’d been feeling the reverberations of our handshake all afternoon, and it was just a handshake! Meanwhile this guy was probably having actual sex in his actual life with his actual gorgeous girlfriend at that very moment and not fantasizing about an aunt’s friend’s gawky babysitter. Enough—I wasn’t going to let being attracted to a guy completely derail me.
Must not think of Dylan. Must not think of Dylan. Must not think of Dylan. I continued to repeat the mantra to myself as we climbed into the SUV and headed across the estate.
* * *
The main house was a large stone manor—symmetrical, sandy brown with white trim, and simply mammoth. It looked like the kind of place people might rent for weddings. It was hard to believe a relatively small family owned the entire thing and didn’t even live in it full-time. When we pulled into the wide circular drive, there were lines of cars already there, all black and silver, and many with drivers leaning against their hoods. I enviously watched Kate and Charles make their way to the front door and accept flutes of champagne from a server waiting by the entrance, and then I sighed and ushered the kids around the side of the house, and into the gardens below.
Finally, after an hour and a half of scampering with Maddy and Cole in the late afternoon sun, and dousing myself in bug repellant, I saw Kate come out onto the patio and motion for me to bring the children inside. I must have looked positively feral.
As soon as we entered the elegant living room, Maddy and Cole scampered to their parents’ sides, and Kate and Charles began the process of proudly showing off their children. I stood in an empty corner letting the cool air-conditioned air settle over me and took in the vast light-filled room. One side was lined with tall French doors facing the river valley below, and the pink of the late afternoon sun was pouring in. Enormous rugs and several elegant couches made this a living room officially, but without the seventy-five or so elegantly dressed partygoers currently orbiting its fine antique furnishings, I could only imagine it would feel far too enormous for actual living.
I spotted a tuxedo-clad waiter carrying champagne and made a beeline towards him, narrowly dodging an older gentleman wearing pink pants. Only, when the waiter was finally at arm’s distance, the hand of a tall sophisticated blonde in a killer cream-colored shift dress snagged the last one. Figured. As I took her in, along with the other guests’ smooth elegance, I decided it would probably be wise to find the bathroom before drowning myself in cocktails. I needed to assess the damage from playing hide-and-seek in the hedges in the late summer heat.
The bathroom, which I found through the cavernous main hall and down a short hallway, was the size of a studio apartment. After retaming the soft waves I had carefully blown dry and reapplying lip gloss, I ventured back into the hall. I was nearly at the door to the party when I felt a cool hand on my back bringing all my blood to the surface. I turned around to find myself face-to-face with Dylan Hale offering me a drink.
Chapter 3
Here,” he said as he moved to my side, putting the drink in front of me. “It’s a gin and tonic.”
So much for my mantra, I thought. I was completely tongue-tied, registering his presence in my body before my brain. He wore a slim navy suit that hugged him exquisitely and a trim light-blue shirt open at the collar. Now that we were inside I could appreciate his refined but also salty earthy smell—he had the scent of elegance with something primal lingering just beneath the surface, like sweat and fresh laundry in the perfect ratio. If I looked like I could just barely fit in at a stylish cocktail party, he looked like he was born into one. And he probably was. Too long a moment went by, and I was still silent.
“It’s for drinking,” he said, eyebrow raised, cracking a wry smile, still holding out the drink for me.
“So that’s what it’s for,” I said, and our fingers touched around the sweating glass. I brought the rim to my mouth, and took a tentative sip. “Thank you. That’s amazing. You’re like my alcohol-delivering knight in shining armor, riding in on a white horse, gin in hand.” He smirked slightly, almost if he was allowing me to poke my fun.
“Hardly. I simply couldn’t imagine being trapped out there,” he gestured to the windows flanking the large main entrance to the house, “when air conditioning and cocktails were to be had in here.” His English accent added charm to everything he said. He could have been describing the toilet, and it would have sounded elegant. I also couldn’t help but cringe at the possibility that he had seen me scampering with the kids outside. I must’ve looked like some overheated Muppet out there. Mortifying.
He swung in front of me to grab the door handle, and at the same time his other hand returned to the small of my back, ushering me into the room buzzing with chatter. My mind went fuzzy at the contact. It sent shivers of the best kind running straight to the apex of my thighs. This was the third time he’d touched me (apparently I was counting), and each time the world around me seemed to zoom out of focus, and he zoomed in. It didn’t seem possible to be this attracted to someone with whom I’d exchanged only a handful of sentences.
Just as I was managing to convince myself to break away and regain some focus, his mother stepped over and grabbed Dylan by the elbow. “Darling, we’ve been looking for you,” she said. She looked directly at me, and then through me, as if I were a potted plant. She returned her gaze to Dylan, and, radiating impatience, said, “Amelia has arrived with Piers and Louise—did you know she just returned from doing humanitarian work in Tanzania? It’s quite marvelous.”
As his mother tried to urge him away, he paused and held back, giving her the universal one-minute sign with his finger. He leaned over me, forcing me to look up into his eyes. His height was more apparent now that he was so close, and his intoxicating smell filled the air around me. I gulped, feeling my face heat up under his determined stare. I felt intimidated by this gorgeous, confident man in front of me, but in that moment I also felt stripped bare, like any façade I might manage to construct woul
d crumble under his gaze. It was captivating, and also infuriating. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, grazing his fingers against my cheek. I could feel my pulse everywhere.
He leaned farther in and whispered firmly, “I’ll be back.”
I gulped again, and watched him walk away from me.
What the hell was that? For that one moment we’d been the only two people in that room. Only now that he was gone were the voices of the party slowly creeping back into my consciousness. His instruction to stay put was implied, and for some unknown reason I felt compelled to obey. I sank against the wall where we’d stood, hidden between a large antique highboy and an even bigger indoor tree, and thanked all that was holy that I had an alcoholic beverage in my hand. The cool wall was like a balm for where Dylan’s hand had been—I could still feel him there when I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I saw that Dylan had found his way into the heart of the party, and was now engaged in deep conversation with Miss Cream Sheath Dress.
She was laughing at his every utterance. He said something to the group, and I saw her lean into him and place a kiss on his cheek. His back was to me, and I couldn’t see his reaction, but an unexpected stab of jealousy spread through my chest. I took a long gulp from my drink, hoping to restore my sanity. Surely this woman, who fit right into this cocktail party world, was whom he should be making feel the way I was feeling a moment ago. In fact she probably was feeling that way, and that seemed far more appropriate.
My ruminating was interrupted by Charles’s singsongy voice, made even more singsongy by a few rum punches. “Ah, there you are, Lydia,” he said. He looked over his shoulder, glancing back into the party where a slightly irritated-looking Kate stood with the children. “You’d better be off. Maddy is beginning to sing that chimney song from Mary Poppins, and well, as adorable as we both know she is, it’d probably be better to spare these folks. The car is outside waiting.” He gestured towards the driveway. “We’ll see you back at The Cottage in a bit.” I followed him back to his family, abandoning my woefully unfinished drink on a coaster along the way.
