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Chapter Twelve

It's amazing what a bit of make-up, some hair grips, a spritz of hairspray, deodorant and perfume, and a change of top can do for a really tired girly. Looking sideways at myself, I've scrubbed up alright. What I see in the mirror, is someone so ready for a fab party. The chiffon cold shoulder top has certainly livened up my work trousers and stilettos. My brown hair is no longer up, it's now tumbling loose and long down the right side of my neck and chest. My eyes are made up of a striking blend of gold and black, with the fullest ebony lashes that a girl can flutter with and my lips are now stained with a sultry blood red matt lipstick. Yup! I am liking what I see!

Just as I'm putting away all of my things into my now very messy bag, there's a gentle couple of taps on the dressing room door. "Come in!" I loudly call out.

"Hey, you nearly ready?" Rhys hesitates to fully come into the room, but as soon as he sees me, all of his movements just seem to slow right down. He blinks, slowly. He closes the door, slowly. He lifts his chin, slowly. He comes closer, slowly. It's almost as if he doesn't want to be near me but finds it impossible to stay away. "You look..." His words seem a little lost too. "You look..." he quietly says, stopping right in front of me. "Amazing."

Enjoying seeing Rhys Ryan looking a little shy and lost for words, has me smiling down at the floor before I slowly lift my eyes back to his. "It must be contagious." I quietly reply, loving being able to say something he once so sweetly said to me.

He smirks, then laughs with his sage spheres gazing intently at me. "I think me and my lips might be breaking promises later." He then blinks with a small frown, rubbing his cheek and chin with his fingers and his smirk obviously being restrained.

I'm a grown woman, but his pleasurable threat makes me blush like a crushing teenager. But...he and his lips are something that I shouldn't be getting quietly excited about. This is just one party. Then he will go his American way and I will go my British way. England and America are a very long way away from each other. It would be insane for either of us to ever lock lips again.

Too much distance. Too complicated. Too confusing. Too much everything.

Yes, it would be fun.

Unbelievable fun.

Unbelievable, sexy fun.

But sadly, short-lived fun.

As hard as it really is, I have to curb whatever is happening between us. I just have to. Taking a little step back from him, just to put an invisible safe zone around myself, I keep my answer lighthearted. "A promise is a promise, Rhys Ryan." My scolding is said in jest but my eyes tell him I am deadly serious.

"I know." He wryly remarks, guiding me near the door with his hand warmly held against the middle of my back. As he opens it, and just as I am walking through it, he quietly adds. "Promises sometimes get broken for a worthy reason, Clara Thorn." My full name sounds so very different coming from him. Somehow, his silken American voice makes it more arousing to the ear. "Now move your British butt, you're killing me here."

Scooting past him in my heels, in the most ladylike of ways, I giggle. "Okay! Okay! I'm ready!" Knowing that me and my British butt are undoubtedly being checked out by the incredibly irresistible Rhys Ryan. And you know what? Right now, I like it.

**

Being at the after show party is both exhilarating and overwhelming. Exhilarating, because I am here. Overwhelming because there are an awful lot of A and B listers here as well. Anyone who is literally anyone on the celebrity circuit has desperately wanted to be at this party. Then there's me, at this very party. I know, if that's not a squeeeeeeeeeee moment, I honestly don't know what is. As always, I hang back and people watch—here, famous people watch.