Every Little Thing
Page 66

I squirmed beside him, remembering my aggressive come-on. “Is that what this is about then? You sticking your nose into my business? Your obvious jealousy over Rex and what I think now was you putting it to him at the fun park with all that rifle adjustment stuff?”
“Obvious?” He scowled.
“Yes, obvious jealousy. Are you going to deny it?”
He finished his iced tea and placed the empty cup beside him. “No. I wanted to kill him for breathing the same air as you.”
A sad thrill moved through me. “Is it just about the sex?”
“It was pretty spectacular.”
“Vaughn.”
He sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around them. “I try to stay away, I do, because I know I can’t give you what you want.” He looked at me with those pale, soulful eyes of his and I wanted to cry at the longing in them. Why? Why did he have to be the guy that looked at me that way? “I had the chance in New York to sleep with another woman. I couldn’t. So . . . no . . . it’s not just about the sex. But I’m . . .” He shrugged, seeming at a loss.
I let him off the hook, looking away so I didn’t have to see his expression, the one that tore at my insides. I didn’t even want to think about the idea of him sleeping with someone else, or how confusing and thrilling it was that he hadn’t. I searched for a subject change. “You must miss your dad. You two seem so close.”
“We are. He’s my best friend.”
Wow. That was nice. And surprisingly honest. “I’m glad. There are many people with parental issues these days. It’s sort of depressing.”
“Are you one of them?”
“No.” I shook my head. “My mom is a little off the wall, but she loves me, I love her. And my dad is just the best guy ever.”
Vaughn took a while to process that.
So long in fact I had to break the silence for fear I’d reach over to hold his hand, to touch him one last time before I got up the courage to sever this connection between us. “How is Liam?”
I heard his soft chuckle. “He’d love it that you call him Liam and still call me Tremaine.”
“You keep calling me Miss Hartwell,” I explained.
He shrugged and I felt the movement against my shoulder. Such an innocent touch, but it sent goose bumps up all over my arms. “My dad is well enough. I worry about him sometimes.”
The confession stilled me. Was Vaughn actually talking to me, as in . . . sharing his feelings? “Oh?” I treaded carefully, not wanting to scare him off.
“Remember how I told you about how much my mother loved my father?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if possible, my father loved her even more. When she died . . . he was a mess for a while. The only thing that stopped him from falling apart was me. I had a nanny but my dad was always there to tuck me in at night, read me a story, talk about our days. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t feel his presence in my life. As the years went on he dated but never anything too serious. Then about fifteen years ago he started a relationship with Diane. A very wonderful lady.” I could tell from the tenderness in his voice that he was fond of this Diane person. “While I was in New York she pushed my dad to consider marriage, something he has been adamantly against. Now they’ve separated. And he loves her. However, he has this deep-seated belief that he shouldn’t marry her because he gave that honor to my mother. He’ll never love anyone the way he loved my mother, but that doesn’t mean he can’t love at all. I worry he’s throwing away his happiness because of pure stubborn grief.”
For a moment I was astounded by Vaughn’s confidence in me. That he would share something so personal with me.
Yet as I sat there thinking about what he’d said, some things started to become clear. “You don’t want to get married, either.”
“What?” He frowned. “No, I’ve said as much.”
“Well don’t you think that’s a little bit of a coincidence?”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you ever thought that your problem is actually your father’s problem?”
“Bailey, stop talking in circles and just say whatever it is you’re getting at.”
“Vaughn, you pretty much hero-worship your dad, right? That’s clear. So a lot of your emotions are tied up with him. And you’ve spent the majority of your life watching him pine and grieve for his lost love. He can’t move on from her. No wonder you don’t want to commit to a woman. You’ve seen firsthand what it might do to you if you ever lost her.”
The muscle in his jaw ticked, a fairly good sign that he was pissed.
I braced myself.
Vaughn remained quiet for a while.
Then . . . “Maybe you’re right,” as he got to his feet.
I stared up at him, chilled by the blankness that had come over his expression.
“Or maybe you don’t know me well enough to make that analysis.”
“And whose fault is that?” I shot back.
With what sounded like a low rumble of frustration, Vaughn abruptly walked away, marching down the beach and out of sight around the bend. Running away. Like a little boy!
As for me I slumped back on the sand, willing the high-level hum to fade from my body. I was a furnace, and not because of the summer day.
To my utter horror the combination of Tremaine’s smoldering eyes and confiding in me had turned me on.