Every Little Thing
Page 88

I thought of that moment months ago, a moment that felt years ago instead, when Tom had begged me to consider taking him back. I’d asked why he wanted me to. I’d asked him why he loved me.
He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t answer because we were stuck in limbo “loving” each other because it felt comfortable and safe. We were a part of something that people expected. And there was comfort in that.
But it wasn’t real love.
Now I feared that Vaughn was confusing our sexual chemistry for something more than it was.
“Why?” I found myself stepping back from Vaughn’s intoxicating proximity. “Why do you love me?”
For a moment, as he stared at me in mild exasperation, I felt my stomach drop as I foresaw a replay of that moment with Tom.
“Why do I love you?” he repeated.
“Yes, why?”
“You know this sharing thing isn’t easy for me,” he grumbled. “I’m not exactly used to all this declaration stuff and I’ve been doing a lot of it lately.”
I tensed, ready to flee.
Vaughn sensed it and held up his hands. “Fine.” He was completely exasperated now. “I can’t believe you need to hear this. It should be obvious to you and to anyone why I’m so fucking in love with you I’m turning into a possessive Neanderthal who is going to ruin his reputation punching assholes in the face and trying to get into your pants in my hotel lobby.
“I love you, Bailey Hartwell, because you frustrate me, you annoy me, you bother me, you bewilder me, you make me laugh, you get under my skin, you take my breath away. I love you because I admire your strength, I admire how hard you work, how much you love the inn, this town, the people in it. I love how you care so much, too much, so much that it scares me because I worry someone will take advantage and you’ll get hurt. I love your fire. I love that you stand up to me. I love how you force me to remove the stick up my ass.
“Mostly I love you because you make me want to live a better life as a better man.”
And on that final, beautiful note, I gasped. An actual gasp. The breath escaped out of me because his words hurt. They caused a physical ache.
But in the most stunning way imaginable.
Slowly, I stepped into him and slid my hands up his chest and around his neck. His jacket fell off my shoulders with the movement and Vaughn’s arms encircled my waist. His strong hands flattened against my bare back and I felt the pressure of his fingertips as he held me close, as close as he could get me.
We stared into each other’s eyes, searching, enjoying the fact that we had the time to do that, that neither one of us was fighting this. We could look as long and as hard at each other as we wanted because our defenses were lowered.
Finally.
“Okay,” I whispered against his mouth. “Let’s give this a try.”
His answer was the happiest, sexiest grin I’d ever seen.
TWENTY-FOUR
Bailey
“I can’t believe I let you drag me here.” Vaughn stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking less than impressed by his surroundings. “And no one told me I had to wear someone else’s shoes.”
I struggled to keep a straight face. “I thought you’d know that part. Everyone knows that part.”
“And I told you I’ve never done this before.”
“Which is why I ‘dragged’ you here.”
“So everything I say I haven’t done, you’re going to make me do?”
Grinning, I sidled up to him with a hopefully mischievous and seductive smile. His eyes lowered to half-mast, shooting that seductiveness right back at me. I was halted when my chest pressed against his. “Am I planning to make sure that you experience all the things you missed out on because you were too busy working your ass off to get to the top? Yes. I am.”
Vaughn’s sexy look turned tender and amused. “And that includes bowling.”
“And that includes bowling.” I leaned past him, picked up a bowling ball, and shoved it at him. “Now have at it, mister.”
He took it tentatively, like it was something heinous. “You want me to put my fingers in holes that a million other fingers have been in?” He sighed as I struggled and failed not to burst into laughter. “You’re filthy.”
“I’m not the one that just said . . . well . . . that.” I laughed. “Oh, my God. Why am I the only one here when you said that?”
“Dirty girl,” he said fondly.
“I could have responded with something smart-mouthed about you and prostitutes but I didn’t. That’s progress.”
“You’ll be pleased to know I’ve never been with a prostitute.”
“With that face”—I brushed my fingertips over his cheek—“you’d never need to.”
“Are we really having this conversation?”
“Nope.” I stepped out of his way and gestured to our lane. “Now have at it.” When he didn’t step up to take a shot I sighed. “Come on, a little bacteria never hurt anyone.”
“Lovely, thank you.” He grimaced. “But I was considering the fact that I’ve never done this and I don’t like to fail at things.”
“You’re worried you’ll miss?” I grinned. “Baby, I know it’s hard for you to process the idea of losing, so don’t look at it like you have to win immediately. Look at it in the long term. The more you practice, the more chance you have of winning in the future. Kind of like how you got me into your bed permanently.”