"I'm all yours now!" When Rhys Ryan breezes out of his room, looking refreshed and thankfully rid of the last traces of the leggy brunette, I have to refrain from responding with any sarcasm whatsoever. Things such as 'Oh goody!' or 'Well aren't I the incredibly lucky one!' are strictly off my reply table.

Instead, I simply smile and say. "Great." Trying to sound as genuine as I possibly can. The only way I am going to be able to get a fab Rhys Ryan interview, is to be nice to the man himself. I can absolutely do nice. What Mr Mega Famous does with his nocturnal time is of no business of mine anyway. So yup, I can totally do nice. Professional and courteous, I can also do. My natural warmth and ease around him may have well and truly left the Hyde Hotel, but Clara Thorn the media journalist is still very much here. I have soooooo got this.

"Shall we go out on the balcony?" He's already walking towards it, which actually doesn't give me any choice at all. The rebellious part of me wants to protest. It wants to say 'Actually...I'd quite like to interview you in here' just to be a little difficult. But of course, I don't. I just smile sweetly and follow him out onto the balcony like the nice journalist that I am.

"What a beautiful view." I can't help but express my pleasure at seeing central London from up high. As the evening draws in, the glow from all the buildings below are wonderfully lighting up the darkness that the night is bringing with it.

Rhys Ryan is soon standing beside me, looking down at the very same view that I see. "Not bad." Is all that he says with an approving little nod.

"Not bad?" I push him a little, unimpressed with his noncommittal comment.

His chuckle is deep and casual. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just I've seen a lot of cities. I've seen a lot of places. I guess you could say that I've become immune to the beauty of the world."

Leaning against the elegant stone balustrade, I turn to face him as I pull out my dictaphone from out of the pocket of my jacket. "Okay, this is the perfect time to answer one of my questions."

Smiling, he says. "Ask away."

"Where is the one place in the world that you feel truly relaxed? Somewhere that you feel like you can just be yourself."

"A couple of years ago, I bought myself a cabin on Echo Lakes in California. I go there to unwind. It's my peaceful escape from reality. I fish there. Go for long walks around the lakes and in the mountains. The solitude kind of centres me again, if you know what I mean?" His face is a thoughtful one. One that is looking at me with calm seriousness.

"In your world, I guess you do need some time to centre yourself again. We all do at times, but you especially." I look at him, then look back out at a beautifully lit up London.

"By the way, you can print I have a cabin...just don't say where it is." He starts smiling to himself. "Otherwise I'll be having the fans tracking me down there."

Softly laughing, I glance sideways at him. "Don't worry, your cabin address is secret safe with me."

"What about you, Clara...where is your place to unwind?"

Frowning a little, I have to think about his question. "I don't think I have one. I'm always working. Most of my friends and family live in London, so I don't really travel outside of it."

He too now wears a frown, although a much deeper one. "But you must have been on holidays?"

I shrug and shake my head. "Not outside of the UK."

"Really?" His eyes widen as he cocks his head with disbelief. "How come?"

"My family never holidayed abroad. I think the farthest we had ever gone, was to Whitby. As I've got older, I have become more and more scared of flying. So the appeal to travel has never been with me."

Rhys Ryan looks truly shocked by my admission. "So you've never been on a plane?"

"I have, once to Paris and once to Edinburgh. Both because I had to travel for work. I think I must have consumed a whole bottle of those calming pills before each take off!"

He laughs, naturally deep and without inhibition. He has a warm and nice laugh. A laugh that a person likes to listen to. He then turns, taking a seat on the luxurious Rattan sofa. Surrounding the prestige outdoor furniture, stand four telescopic patio heaters, keeping the lingering autumnal chill right away from us. "What else do you wanna know?" He chirpily asks, leaning back to relax in his seat.

Running through my mind, trying to quickly think of the more important questions that I'm wanting to ask, I suddenly remember one as I place the dictaphone on the table in front of me. "I know you're just coming to the end of your UK tour, do you think you'll be doing another one in the near future?"

He nods without hesitation. "Oh yeah...for sure!" His American accent is enthusiastically thick. "I like it here, I've had a blast!"

"There have been rumours that you intend on doing some collaborations with some of our high-profile British song artists. Are those rumours true?" My eyes look at him with interest, liking how this interview just seems to be flowing.

With a knowing twinkle in his eye, his smile spreads right across his face. "There's some awesome talent here in England. I've met some great artists during my time here. So yeah, I'd love to collaborate with them."

I lean forward, throwing him a small smirk in return. "Care to share?"

His chin dips, running his hand through his messy short crop. Messily styled that way though, not the post-sex hair he was sporting earlier on. "I met James Arthur on a chat show we were both doing, he's a pretty cool guy...would love our people to get their heads together. I also went to watch a Rudimental gig, they're awesome too."

I smile, knowing that both those collaborations would turn out to be something musically special. "Sounds interesting." I tell him, my smile still very much there.

His soft gaze on me settles for a little while longer than all of his previous looks. He doesn't blink. He just keeps looking at me, like he's momentarily trying to know my inner thoughts. "Do you listen to my music, Clara?"

"Um...a little." I wish I could tell him that I've got the entire back catalogue of all his albums, only I don't. "I am liking quite a lot of your latest stuff." Which is the truth. His more recent tracks seem to have matured, much like him.

He grins. "Apart from my latest stuff, what other music do you like to listen to?"

I hate it when people ask me questions like this. I have such an eclectic taste in music. Grimacing a little, I try to answer as best as I can. "I listen to all sorts really. I like what I like. If a song appeals to me, I just like it. Whether it's country, folk, dance or pop...I just like it."

My answer amuses him. "It sounds like it depends on your mood, then?"

I agree. He's right, I do tend to go along with my moods whenever I listen to music. If I'm sad, I'll listen to Adele. If I'm happy, I'll listen to some girly tunes. If I'm angry, I'll listen to classical or ambient house. If I'm wanting to belt out a few tunes, I'll stick on my diva CD. If I'm wanting to have a good boogie, I'll stick on either dance, pop or R&B...whatever takes my fancy. Sitting forward in my seat, I eventually answer him. "I suppose it does depend on my mood." With him relaxed and open in my company, I turn his question back on himself. "What music do you listen to when you're not creating your own?"

Looking out at nothing, he thinks before answering me. In this quiet pocket of time, I study him from where I am sat. Although cleanly shaven now, in the actual flesh, he still appears much more mature than he appears on stage and screen. His bone structure is more defined and masculine. His hands look soft with no signs of hard labour. His green eyes look bright but burdened. He seems to have an old head on young shoulders. For someone as famous as he is, I get why he must be burdened. I also get that he must have grown up pretty quickly when he hit the big time. It's no wonder that he's had run-ins with the press and the paps. He had to go from a boy to a man under their relentless scrutiny. Looking at his handsome features, I can't help but feel a little sorry for him. Just as I'm wading my way through silent sympathy for Rhys Ryan, he pulls me right out of it. "I'm a little like you, I like all sorts. I listen to hip hop, boogaloo, mambo, rhythm and blues and rock. Different music inspires me. It influences my songwriting. I love mixing things up a little. It's like a new sound being born. Nothing beats that feeling. Creating something that hasn't ever been heard before." His whole face illuminates when he's talking about music. He isn't talking about his fame and he isn't boasting. He is simply expressing his passion for what he does. It emanates from him with every word that he says.

"You play the guitar, right?" I look at it propped up against one of the chairs just inside the living area of the suite.

Rhys Ryan turns around and looks at it. "Yeah, you wanna hear me play something?"

The offer is too good an offer to turn down, I eagerly nod. "I'd love you to."

Straight away, he gets up from out of his seat to grab his guitar. Settling back down in his seat, he sits forward with it resting in his lap like it belongs there. Plucking a few strings to warm up, soon, he and his guitar become one when he begins to beautifully play it. He strums and sings so naturally well. Here and now, it's just him and his guitar. Effortlessly creating something that is so wonderful together. Mesmerised, I sit still to the sound of his voice. It's just so raw and acoustically arousing. Without the huge stage, the impressive lights and the expensive pyrotechnics and without all the attractive dancers and backing singers—this is him stripped right back as a singer; bare and beautiful. I like this side of him. I like this Rhys Ryan. As the song comes to an end, my ears already begin to mourn the loss of his guitar and his voice. "That really was beautiful." Oh dear, I think I'm actually swooning a little.

His eyes flick up at me before lowering back down on his guitar that still sits so naturally upon his lap. For the first time ever, Rhys Ryan looks a little coy and bashful, it's a rather sweet and endearing thing to see. Rising up from the sofa, he stands to put his beloved guitar back to where it was before. As he slowly walks back with relaxed strides, he is talking to me as he prepares to sit back down. "How about one of those 'off the record' questions now?" He then reaches across to switch off my dictaphone that sits on the table in front of us.

Still slightly lost in the moment of him singing to me, I have to pull myself from out of my whimsical, floating feeling. "Okay, you have been seen at various different rehabs...is that because you have an addiction?" My personal question hangs in the air between us—there and awkwardly unanswered.

Rhys Ryan's body stiffens, shifting uncomfortably as his relaxed expression becomes tight and defensive. "No." He doesn't elaborate and he doesn't try to explain.

"But you've been seen at many rehabs. Is there a valid reason for that, other than being there for yourself?"

He becomes defensive. "Clara, I have my reasons...I just don't wish to share them."

"But the press are trying to make out that you've got a secret drug, drink or sex problem. This could be your chance to clear things up." I try to reason with him, diffuse his anger a little.

But he's not willing to meet me half way. "I don't need to clear anything up. They can all think what the hell they like."

I know he's closing down on me, so I try to reel him back into the interview. "I'm sorry, you know that question really was off the record, right?"

He glumly nods, refusing to gain eye contact with me. "I know."

Sighing, a little louder than I should of, I try to engage with him once again. "Am I allowed to ask you about whether you're involved with anyone? You've been linked with some models and actresses...or maybe some unknown leggy brunette?" My question is a playful lilt. My smirk tells him that I'm referring to the babe from earlier on.

His lips twitch, straining with amusement. "I can confirm that I'm most definitely single."

"Do you like the single life?" I ask, knowing that he must love the single way of life judging by the womaniser rumours that always seem to be circulating about him.

Remaining guarded but a lot less rigid in his demeanour, he thoughtfully responds. "I seem to be coping pretty well."

"You sure do." Oops, now that just slipped from out of my mouth.

"Yeah, I do." His look is one that is challenging me to go further with this.

I don't. I'm not here to play games with Rhys Ryan for crying out loud. "What about your future plans for your music? Any big surprises there?"

He moves down in his seat, almost in a slovenly way. "I don't like that question. Let's go back to my coping with the single life."

My back assertively straightens, knowing that I'm now making my acquaintance with the notoriously difficult Rhys Ryan. "I think we covered that." I hastily tell him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking his way.

"You don't approve?" His voice suddenly drops.

My head slowly lifts, making my chin defiantly high. "It doesn't matter whether I approve or not."

"So you don't?"

With pursed lips showing him my annoyance, I begrudgingly answer. "What does it matter? You're a big boy. A big single boy. You can do what the hell you want." My feistiness spills out from my mouth once again.

"Wow...you really don't approve, do you?" He's wincing, like my fiery reply has scorched him in some way.

"Listen, let's just move onto the next question." I don't want no part of this anymore. I foolishly let my mouth run ahead of my thoughts but now I need to rescue this interview for both mine and Fame-Us' sake.

"We will, if you answer me one more question?" His brows are risen slightly, a show of his seriousness.

With deep apprehension, I quietly answer him. "What?" I know I'm sounding stroppy but I'm beginning to seriously lose patience with this guy. Mr Mega Famous is really beginning to infuriate me.

"Have you had a one night stand?"

Narrowing my angered eyes on him, I almost yell. "Excuse me! That's totally inappropriate." Sitting tall, I cross my legs with temper.

Undeterred, he keeps on pushing. "But it's okay for you to ask me about my personal life?"

I'm quick with my answer, confident even. "I'm not the international pop star. No one gives a damn about me having a one night stand."

"Ah, so you have!" He smugly announces.

I snap. "That's none of your business!" Feeling my agitation growing and growing inside of me. "This is your interview, not mine."

He shifts to the edge of his seat and adopts a really awful British accent. "I hope you're using protection, young lady?"

My eyes now glare at him but his stupid facial expression, along with that stupidly fake British accent of his, makes my anger suddenly subside. "I always have, but my one night stand days are well and truly behind me." Feeling like two can play his silly and very immature game, I start using the corniest American accent ever. "Gee, I hope you're covering up that hot dog, too, booooooooy?"

He curls up in hysterics. "I sure do ma'am!" Then he unfolds himself, still laughing as he tries to say something. "That has to be the worst American accent I have ever heard."

Sniggering and running my hand down the length of my ponytail, I defend myself. "Hey, your British accent was pretty dire as well, you know."

For a few moments, we both allow ourselves to laugh in each other's company. In those lighthearted moments, I am just me and he is just him. As the silliness starts to leave us, Rhys Ryan is looking at me with a firm stare. He's done this to me a few times before, but this stare seems so much more intense and seems to hold so much more expectation. "So Clara Thorn has no boyfriend or husband?" He briefly looks down at my ringless wedding finger.

Shaking my head, I have no problem answering. "No boyfriend. No husband." I keep my reply blunt. Hopefully he'll soon get bored if he knows I have no desire to talk about my being perpetually single.

He begins to smile, a smile that spreads across his flawless face. "Let me guess, you're an all work and no play kind of a gal?"

Bringing my hands into my lap, I sit straight again; adapting a formal posture. "And I'm working now. So less about me and more about you."

Holding his hands up apologetically, Rhys Ryan regretfully smiles at me. "I'm sorry. It's just that everyone is always wanting to know all about me. It's sometimes really nice to just listen to someone else talking about themselves for a change." His smile really does seem genuine, as does his explanation.

Affected by his sudden honesty, I relent a little. "In that case, you can ask me one more question...just not about my self inflicted singleness, okay?"

He slowly nods and blinks, his way of telling me that he silently agrees to my terms. "You seem comfortable with a camera, do you take pictures of other things besides us celebrities?"

Happy with his question, I'm really eager to answer him. "I've always had a fascination with derelict buildings. All shapes and sizes, anyplace and anywhere. As soon as I was old enough, I started taking photographs of old barns, houses and warehouses with my dad's old camera. It never took great pictures but it was the being right there beside those old and abandoned properties that I absolutely loved. Every sound and shadow made me want to try and capture the desolation and abandonment of its structure. I still feel that way now." As I was happily talking, I hadn't even noticed how Rhys Ryan's intense stare had changed to one of deep admiration. It's only now that I've stopped talking, that I become much more aware of it.

His sage eyes soften as his steady gaze continues to remain on me. Then, as a slow grin reaches the corners of his mouth, he finally finds his voice. "Going back to your self inflicted singleness...do you snore?"

Leaning over the table to playfully whack him, I giggle. "No I do not!"

He teasingly argues back. "How do you know, you're asleep and very much single?"

Repressing a grin, I mumble. "I don't snore."

He's still smiling. "Yeah, yeah...everybody snores."

I'm just about to engage in yet another argument over snoring, when Cameron interrupts. "Rhys, we need to start getting ready for dinner....time is getting on."

Rhys Ryan smiles at him. "Okay." Then he looks back at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "This interview will most definitely be continued later on." Standing up, he has soon gone from the balcony and I'm left with Cameron looking at me in a confused way. He's trying to understand what joke has just been passed between myself and Rhys. Only, I'm wanting to keep the silliness of it all to myself for now.

It's now my turn to stand. "Is there somewhere I can go to freshen up?"

Seemingly a little miffed, he gruffly says. "Follow me."

I obediently do, struggling to keep up because he seems in such a big hurry all of a sudden. "It's just here."

Wondering why Cameron is being a little off with me, I try to gain some eye contact with him just before going into the bathroom. "Thanks." Without a word, he turns to walk away so I call out after him. "Hey, is everything okay?"

Cameron stops, turning slowly to face my direction. "Sure, why shouldn't it be?"

Not understanding the sudden onset of his aloofness towards me, I frown before throwing him a nervous smile. Feeling a little silly now for even bothering to ask him, I decide not to press him anymore about it. Obviously, something has bothered him but he isn't in the mood to divulge what it is. The gentlemanly Cameron who escorted me up earlier on, has most certainly gone AWOL. I really can't be done with fickle human beings, so I just close the door behind me, not giving him another thought.