A Beautiful Danger (Beautiful #7)

by Lilliana Anderson

  “I don’t recall you being on the guest list.”

  “I would have texted to warn you I was coming, but you told me to lose your number. And I would have visited you to tell you in person, but you told me to forget where you live. Then there’re the multiple times you told me to get out of your life.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  He shrugs, grinning. “Seems I’m not so easy to get rid of.”

  “Seems that way.”

  “Plus, we kind of have the same friends.”

  “They were my friends first.”

  “What are we, seven?”

  Lifting my glass to my lips, I take a long drink, draining the contents as I stare him in the eye.

  He watches, amused.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my drink appears to be empty.”

  He smiles and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tan pants that are cuffed around the ankle. I look down and see that he’s wearing red Vans with no socks. Of course he is. On top, he has on a short-sleeved white linen shirt that probably hasn’t seen an iron in its recent existence. With his hair messed up and his face sporting a couple of days’ worth of stubble. His look is half fashion victim, half hobo.

  Turning on my purple suede heels, I honestly expect him to follow me. But when I sneak a look over my shoulder, I see him talking to some woman I've never met before. He catches me looking at him though and smirks. Arsehole. He gets a kick out of getting under my skin.

  Picking up another drink on my way to Coral, I take a mouthful, then slip my free arm through hers and rest my head on her shoulder. “Look at everyone who will miss you.” I turn her so she's facing the room.

  “I was just saying the same thing,” Paige adds, looking at everyone mingling and having a good time. “Why would you ever want to leave?”

  Coral fans at her eyes with her hand. “God. I'm already struggling here. Don't make it worse.”

  The three of us link up in a hug. “We're just sad to see you go.” I sniff.

  “Can I get the guests of honour up on stage, please?” the female band member’s voice cuts through the music in the room. All eyes land this way as Shane walks toward Coral and takes her by the hand.

  “To those of you who don't know me, my name is Naomi Prendergast. I’m the violinist and backing vocalist of Matairi.” The room claps and Naomi pauses until the noise dies down. “But most importantly, I’m also good friends with our favourite couple.” Another round of applause rings out, with added hoots and hollers from the crowd. I look toward the sound of a wolf whistle and find Flynn instead, watching me. A small skitter of nerves dances about inside my stomach, so I take another mouthful of wine to quash it before it gets out of control.

  Naomi continues. “I first met Shane and Coral a few years ago when we all shared a flat in Waterloo near London. From the moment they met, Shane was whipped in the best possible way.” She grins as the audience laughs. “He liked to act as though he wasn't, and we all remember the ringtone he had for her. But the moment Coral clicked her fingers, that man would go running.” From beside Naomi on the stage, Shane nods along as Coral laughs into her hands.

  Shane leans toward the mic. “The ringtone is still the same. The Wicked Witch of the West.”

  Coral laughs harder and grabs a hold of the mic. “Might I add that his ringtone is Darth Vader’s theme.”

  The room erupts with laughter.

  Naomi smiles. “The perfect couple. I remember the night before Shane was due to return to Australia. We had a big party—much like this one—but it could have just been the two of them. They spent the whole night in each other's arms, saying things that no one else could hear. Private things that obviously confirmed the one thing that all of us already knew—they belonged together. Even though I'm sure we would all prefer they were staying in Australia, I'm also sure that I speak for everyone in this room when I wish you both the best for your new life together in London. This song is for you, guys.”

  The lead singer and guitarist, Theo Bailey—a gorgeous man with dark features and a tortured edge to his singing voice—plucks at his instrument, creating the familiar chords of their hit song, “A Beautiful Melody”, to fill the room. The rest of the band joins in and the crowd seems to turn into a sea of couples dancing to the slow tune.

  Downing the last of my third glass of wine, I momentarily regret not agreeing when Joel offered to skip his tournament to come tonight. I feel lonely and out of place standing here. I need some air.

  Outside, I lean on the railing, looking out at the dark water of the Lane Cove River at night, its ripples glittering as they reflect the light from the various buildings on its banks and the stars from the night sky.

  The loneliness settles in. It's something I've carried with me for a long time. Something I fight and sometimes embrace. It's a leftover from a lifetime of feeling unwanted. It's what drives me to choose the wrong kind of men, and what stops me from wanting new people in my life. That feeling when people leave, it sucks.

  It’s kind of why this relationship with Joel is so important to me. He represents the stability I’ve been craving without any of the recklessness I tend to seek. I like him because he’s safe. I like him because he’s kind. I like him because he’s honest, forgiving, understanding.

  Who are you trying to convince?

  That little voice inside my head needs to shut the hell up. Where is the voice of my angel when I need her? I know they’re all in my imagination. I attribute the devil to my natural feelings—my instinct, if you prefer—because it keeps steering me wrong. And I attribute the angel to my logic. But alcohol likes to dull logic and let instincts take over.

  Yet I continue to drink. Two more glasses of wine and I'm really feeling sorry for myself. Everyone else is inside having a good time. The band is still playing and I can see Coral laughing and jumping around on the dance floor with Shane and other friends. They’re doing a cover of an eighties song that never fails to get crowds dancing. Even I tap my foot along to the beat.

  “Those two seem made for each other.”

  I turn around and am faced—yet again—with Flynn Trotsky.

  “I thought I drove you away after the aquarium?” I pretty much slur my words and I think there might be two of him. “I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

  “As hard as it is to stay away from you when you treat me so kindly, I did have business to take care of.” Both of his faces smirk. I frown a little to force my focus and bring those two heads into one.

  “You're being fac... fa... facetious,” I force out, pointing at him. I seem to be swaying on my feet. “I don’t even think you have a job.”

  He places his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “You're incredibly drunk.”

  “I'm am not.” I frown. I don’t think that sentence made sense.

  “If that’s the case, then I’m a little concerned you’re having a stroke. Your speech is all slurred.”

  “It’s not sl... slurred,” I argue, right before my stomach twists suddenly. I just make it to the railing in time to empty its contents into the river.

  “Well, at least the fish won't go hungry,” he says. Standing beside me as if me puking over the railing is a totally normal thing to do. “Here, I brought you some water.” He hands me a bottle.

  “Can you just leave me alone? I have a boyfriend, you know. You don’t need to take care of me.”

  “And yet he isn’t here. Again.”

  “He’s busy.” I take a sip of water. “And I just want to be by myself.” I spit a bit of the water out with my words and move quickly to catch it before it runs down my chin.

  “Yeah, well I don't.” Reaching out, he wipes a thumb across my skin, light but warm. “And you're pretty much the only person I know at this party.”

  “That's a lie.” I’m a little breathless after that touch.

  He shrugs.

  I lurch toward the railing as my stomach turns sour again.

  His hands steady me, pulling my hair
to safety while I puke. “Oh God,” I moan. “Did anyone see?” I'll die if any of my friends see the mess I’m currently in.

  “How about we go for a bit of a walk to try and get you to sober up?”

  “Fine. Just no... no funny business.” I squint up at him. “I know what’s in that dirty mind of yours.”

  Chuckling, he places his arm around my waist. “Your virtue is safe with me, Ruby. I assure you. Drunk chicks aren’t my thing.”

  “They should be. We’re very pliable like this.”

  “Which is why it’s shitty to take advantage. Let’s go.”

  He walks me down the path toward the boat shed. Normally the walk would only take a minute or two, but with the amount of times I need to stop and heave, it takes more like fifteen.

  “So, this boyfriend of yours, where is he tonight?”

  “Kickboxing tournament. He could totally kick your arse, by the way.”

  “I have no doubt. And what kind of work does this mystical arse-kicking man do?”

  “He’s a solicitor. And he’s not mystical. You’ve met him before.”

  “OK—he’s that guy I saw you coming out of the restaurant with?”

  “Yeah. His name is Joel. He's a good man. Better than you, and probably too good for me.”

  “That seems an odd thing to say—the part about him being too good for you, I mean. I think we’ve already established you think I’m a shitty person.”

  I stumble on a rock—or perhaps I stumble on flat ground, who knows. But he catches me and keeps me moving. My legs feel like lead dragging along the gravelled path.

  “No.” The word takes a while to come out of my mouth. “I don’t think you’re a shitty person. I think you’re bad for me.”

  “And how would I be bad for you?”

  “Because I’m trying to change my destiny.” I let out my breath. “But I don’t think it’s going so well.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Joel is so nice.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  “It’s why he’s too good for me. I don't do nice guys.”

  He doesn't say anything else on the subject, but my mind has started and I can't seem to stop the words from spilling out my mouth.

  “I mean, I'm trying and I like him and all, but it's different. He's different. That should be a good thing. But I don't know. I'm afraid to be me around him. I’m always careful of what I say and what I tell him. I can’t really talk about my past.”

  “Do you think he won’t understand?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never dated a guy like him before. I normally go for low-lifes. I don't know the rules when dating a clean-cut type.”

  “I don't think there are any rules.”

  I flick my hand out and it hits him in the chest. “Exactly. See, you would say that because you're my usual type.”

  “I’m a low-life?”

  Pulling at his crushed shirt, I say, “Well, you dress like someone who doesn’t give a shit.”

  “That’s because I don’t.”

  “See? I knew that. That's why I know what you're thinking when you look at me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. You think about what you’d do to me if you got me alone. You think about how my small body would feel wrapped around your cock. And, you wonder if the curtains match the drapes.” I point at my hair then at him. “They don’t, by the way.”

  He clears his throat. “That’s very... specific.”

  “But it’s right.” I nod once to prove my point and the world spins, causing me to lose my footing. My knees buckle and he eases me down until I'm sitting.

  Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I look into his, feeling lost in those dark pools as he crouches in front of me.

  “You have really lovely eyes,” I inform him.

  “Thank you. I quite like yours, too.” I see the corner of his mouth quirk up, creating a dimple in his cheek. I poke him in it.

  “And those dimples. Ugh. They slay me, seriously. I want to lick them. But, I can’t. I don't want you.” I push his face away from me. “I can’t want you.”

  He’s full-on grinning right now. “Why’s that, drunk Ruby?”

  “I’m not drunk.” I scowl, even though I know I am off my face. “And it’s because I can’t keep falling for the same kind of guy over and over again. I don't want to keep getting destroyed because they go crazy and either leave me or hurt me.” Stopping and thinking for a moment, I scrunch my face and pout before pulling at his shirt again. “That's why I'm so mean to you, Flynn. I don't want to like you. Guys like you are bad for a girl like me.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  I nod. “Because it’s true. Bad boys. Dangerous guys. Mysterious men. You appear in my life and make it exciting. Then I get caught up in whatever shit you're into and I lose. Bad.”

  “How do you lose?”

  Looking at the ground, I frown, fighting the memories of what Tony did to me from forcing their way to the surface. But they come anyway, putting a hitch in my voice when I say, “I just do.” My breath shakes when I inhale so I shake my head to force that awful feeling of fear and powerlessness away, then push myself to my feet.

  “I want to go home now,” I state.

  “OK.” Flynn falls silent as he steadies me then guides me so we're walking back toward the club. I'm so dizzy. The music in the air seems to vibrate in my skull.

  “I need my bag. It’s inside.”

  “OK.”

  “But I can't go back in there. I don't want to see them having fun. I don’t want them to see me like this. I’m a mess.”

  “I'll take you home and come back for it.”

  “And let Coral know I’m OK.”

  “Of course.”

  I don't argue as he guides me to his car and helps me inside. The only thing I can tell is that his car is black and it smells like him. I’d describe it—the smell—but there’s nothing else like it in this world.

  “I’m guessing you’re a bit down about Coral and Shane leaving?” he asks after a while.

  “Just Coral. She's my closest friend.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “A bit over a year.”

  He doesn't respond. It makes me defensive. “I know it seems like such a short time, but she entered my life when everything was falling apart. I never had a close girlfriend before she came to live with me. Now she's my rock.”

  “We all need a rock in our lives.”

  “I know.” My lip quivers. “And mine is leaving forever.” The last word comes out high-pitched and I lean my head against the cool glass of the window and sob quietly.

  He doesn't say ‘don’t cry’. He doesn't offer me platitudes about things getting better over time. He simply drives me home and quietly helps me inside, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

  “Flynn,” I say as I lie on my bed.

  “Yes?”

  “I'm scared to be alone.” My words come out on a whisper.

  His voice is gentle when he pulls my blankets up to my shoulders. “Being alone isn't the worst thing in the world.”

  “It is when you’re too scared to answer the door.” I roll over and face the other way.

  “Why are you scared to answer the door?”

  “Because that's when he got me, when I answered the door.”

  “Who got you?”

  “Tony. He broke my bones.” I tug my blanket up to my ears, hiding beneath it for security. “I think he broke my spirit too.”

  His hand rests on my back, warm and reassuring. He sits beside me, quiet for a moment. Then I hear him moving away.

  “Don’t leave me in this place on my own.” My arm shoots out and I grab his forearm.

  His hand covers mine and gently moves it back beneath my covers. “I’m here. You’re OK.”

  “I don’t mean all those mean things I say to you, Flynn. I like you. I like you a lot—too much.”

  “Lord knows why, but I like you too,
Ruby—a lot.”

  “Then don’t go. No matter how hard I push you away, promise that you’ll stay.” Panic rises up in my chest as the room spins above me. I don’t think I can close my eyes. “Flynn?”

  “I’m here. I won’t leave.”

  “Promise me. Please.”

  “I promise.” His fingers sweep my forehead, feather light. “Try to get some rest, Ruby. You’ll feel better after sleep.”

  Somehow, I don’t think any amount of rest can fix what’s broken in my life. Nothing seems to be working. I feel more lost than ever.

  18

  MY PHONE BEEPS, pulling me from my sleep. What the hell happened last night?

  The throbbing in my head tells me alcohol happened. What's the last thing I remember?

  Rolling over onto my back, I look at my ceiling as I try to recall how the hell I even got home. The band was playing. I was watching couples slow dance. I don't remember much past that. Looking around my room, I see my dress hanging on the back of a chair and frown. I wouldn’t have done that sober, let alone drunk. I’m a dump it on the ground kind of girl.

  Sitting up, I grab for my phone while at the same time registering that I'm still wearing my bra underneath my pyjamas. That means someone helped me change. God, I must have been a mess.

  My head hurts to move and I need to squint to focus on the screen. The action forces a memory to appear in my mind. It’s of Flynn having two head and me needing to squint to make them join back together.

  Was I with Flynn last night?

  “Shit.” My mouth drops open as I try to remember what I did. Please tell me it wasn’t him. “Oh God.” Groping around, I pat myself down, relieved when I find that I’m also still wearing my underwear. No drunken sex with the bad boy I’m trying to hate. That’s good news.

  Feeling a little calmer, I turn my attention back to my phone to read the message. It’s from Joel. There’re also three missed calls from him.

  Joel: Must have been a good party. Just about to leave. Will call when plane lands.

  A new wave of panic hits me—did I call him while drunk? Is that why he made the party comment?