Page 123 of Washed Up

A nervous giggle escaped from Frankie’s lips before she could stop it.

Dylan pulled her to a stop, and turned to face her, his navy eyes roaming her face. ‘That is, if that’s what you want?’

Frankie looked into those eyes. They were so blue, like a deep dark pool, drawing her further and further in. She was powerless to resist. No longer wanted to. ‘Of course it’s what I want,’ she said. ‘How can you doubt it? But…’

He frowned.

‘But… what future do we have, Dylan?’ Something shuttered on his face and she panicked, adding quickly, ‘I don’t mean we have to get married or anything like that, we’re honestly not a cult here, I promise.’

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were still full of concern. ‘But…?’ he prompted again.

She gestured around. ‘But let’s be real about this. I live here and you live… well, wherever you want. You’re famous. You have a bloody helicopter on contract.’

‘That’s…’ he began, waving a hand as if it was nothing.

But she ploughed on. ‘You’ve had thousands of women, probably.’ He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. ‘And I’ve never been with anyone. Never kissed anyone, in fact, until this year. You’ve been to thousands of countries, cities, lived all over the place, seen so much, and me? I live here, on Herm.’ She finished, her arms dropping to her sides. ‘With my mum and dad.’

Saying it all out loud, it sounded even more hopeless.

Dylan put his hands on her shoulders, looked at her intently. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this,’ he said. ‘And the way I see it, none of it matters. What matters is this. Whatever is going on here, between us.’

‘And what is that, exactly?’ she managed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes dropped to her lips and before she could stop herself, Frankie was closing the space between them, her mouth on his. A little moan escaped from her as he wrapped his arms around her, returning it with passion, with an urgency that took the breath from her lungs.

They kissed deeply, and Frankie was just beginning to forget her own name, what day it was, everything, when Dylan pulled back. His pupils were huge and he was breathing hard, like he was trying to restrain himself. Which, of course, he likely was given they were in public.

‘Exactly,’ he said, nodding as if she’d spoken. ‘That, right there, that’s exactly what I mean. I knew it the first time I saw you, in Heron Cottage, when you were all flustered and annoyed and beautiful. I knew even then, I think.’

Frankie arched an eyebrow, trying to slow her hammering heart. Her racing pulse. This man could make her knees weak with just a look, let alone a kiss like that.

‘You couldn’t stand it here,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get to the boat quick enough.’

He winced. ‘Was I that awful? It feels like another life, to be honest.’

Frankie shook her head. ‘It’s not. You still have that life and it’s an amazing life. How much did that helicopter cost, by the way? No, come to think of it, never mind. I don’t think I want to know, I could never repay you.’

His turn to shake his head. ‘I’d never let you, anyway.’

Frankie carried on talking, mainly so she didn’t lose her train of thought and accidentally kiss him again. Those kisses would be the end of her. And they would destroy him. She had to make him understand.

‘The band’s not over yet,’ she said. ‘You’ve made something incredible. You could still save it. Go back and talk to Johnny. He’s your best friend. Surely he can be convinced to keep going if you change some things, maybe don’t tour as much or something?’

Without a word, Dylan took her hand and led her to the top of a nearby dune, pulling her down to the sand beside him. Blondie bounded up, gave his face a lick and raced off again, tongue and ears flying in the wind. Dylan laughed, a lovely light sound that made Frankie’s heart rate drop instantly.

‘You’re sweet to suggest it. But the thing is,’ he said, looking out across the water. ‘I don’t think I want that. I don’t think I want the band to get back together.’

She studied the side of his face, his jaw set hard in the cooling breeze from the water, as if in determination.

‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘Really, truly sure, I mean? Not just sleep deprived and famished and making rash life decisions because you’re on Shell Beach and it’s all beautiful and whatnot?’ He turned his face to hers. ‘What? We’ve all done it,’ she continued, with a cautious smile.

‘I am so sure, Frankie. I don’t think I want that life anymore.’

She swallowed, heart speeding again. ‘I love it when you say my name.’

‘I love saying it,’ he said.

‘What do you want, then, Dylan Wright?’ she said, looking deep into his eyes, letting herself sink into them, hardly daring to believe…