NINE
Vaughn
He had offered to grab the bottle of wine from Bailey’s office to help calm her nerves. But it wasn’t just for her nerves. He needed to calm down, too. Adrenaline was pumping through him, and right now all Vaughn wanted to do was to work that adrenaline out with Bailey.
Don’t go there.
He was furious at Stu Devlin for breaking into her inn.
Do go there.
The anger distracted him.
As far as Vaughn was concerned Stu was a dead man.
He was also angry with Bailey. So angry at her for putting herself in danger, and being so unapologetic about it, that he felt this animalistic urge to fuck her into submission.
So much for the anger distracting him.
The tiny camisole and shorts she was wearing didn’t help matters and he felt like a bastard for thinking about sex when someone had just broken in and attacked her.
Vaughn grabbed the wine, knowing he hadn’t just offered to sit and drink with her to calm her nerves. He didn’t want to leave her alone just yet, and he had a feeling she didn’t want to be left alone.
As he came out of the office he bumped into her in the hallway. Vaughn was grateful to see Bailey had changed into jeans and a thick sweater. She handed him his jacket and nodded to the wine. “Let me just grab some glasses from the kitchen.”
When she returned she not only had glasses but a dish towel wrapped over ice. “For your jaw.” She handed it to him.
Grateful, he took it, not really wanting to sport a bruise his staff and guests would see. A few seconds later they locked up the inn and were strolling out of the gardens onto the boardwalk. The silence between them wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t the silence of two people who didn’t know what to say to each other.
It felt like the silence of two people who were afraid of what they might say to each other.
Or maybe he was just projecting.
“So you were just strolling by and saw the door?” Bailey queried.
“Thankfully, yes.”
But there was more to it than that. He had Jessica’s warning about Devlin on his mind, and so he had Bailey on his mind during his midnight stroll.
He felt something was wrong deep in his gut when he looked up and saw the doors to the inn open. Fear, like he’d never felt before, had rushed over him as he stormed inside the inn and heard the struggle coming from the office. And when he saw Bailey underneath Devlin, when he saw Devlin pull back his fist to hit her, rage unlike anything he’d experienced crashed over Vaughn.
It was a bad idea to stick around a woman who inspired those kinds of emotions but Vaughn wasn’t making the decisions right now; the hot blood pumping in his veins was.
They continued down the boards in silence until they neared his hotel. Bailey stopped where the railings gave way to a ramp that led onto the beach. She sat down at the top of it.
He followed suit, keeping a little distance between them, and opened the wine. Bailey held out the glasses and he filled them, feeling her gaze on his face.
“I’m not going to let him do this to me.” She tried to hide the tremor in her voice and failed.
Vaughn renewed his vow to destroy Stu Devlin as he pressed the ice to his jaw.
He cleared his throat. “Do what?”
“Make me scared. Make me scared in my own inn.”
“You could install security,” he suggested, watching as she raised the glass to her lips. Her hand shook.
Definitely going to destroy the fucker.
“That’s letting him win,” she said before taking a sip of the wine.
“He won’t come after you again. Even he’s not that stupid.”
Bailey grunted. “I knew the man was a moron but . . . what an idiot. There’s no way his father had anything to do with this.”
“I suspect you’re right.” Ian Devlin was a snake, but he was a smarter snake than his son.
Bailey threw back the entire glass of wine and then held out the empty to him to refill. He did so without questioning it.
“I’m glad you were there,” she muttered as he refilled her glass.
Shock rippled through him and his eyes flew to her face.
Bailey was staring at the wine, refusing to meet his eyes.
Stubborn wench.
He smirked, amused by her. “I’m glad I was there, too.”
Now her eyes met his, her own shock alight in them. She saw his smirk, but he guessed she saw his sincerity, too, because she gave a huff of surprised laughter and shook her head. “Vaughn Tremaine coming to my rescue. I would have lost that bet.”
Something hard twisted in his gut. Did she think he would let anything happen to her?
What else should she think? You’ve been nothing but an asshole to her.
He sipped at his wine, staring out at the dark ocean. The usual serenity it brought him was lost in the storm of emotions the woman beside him incited.
“I like to think I’m good at reading people,” she said. “But you are very difficult to read. To me you’re like that ice in your hand. Like you don’t care about anyone or anything but your hotels. But Jessica and Cooper swear that you’re a good man. And tonight, you came to my defense. Yet . . . here you are . . . back to ice.”
Vaughn studied the wine in his hand, feeling the itch under his skin; the itch to lose control. He could throw back the entire bottle and blame whatever he said and did next on that.
On that thought, or temptation rather, he placed the glass out of his reach on the boards beside them. “Maybe you’re not good at reading people, Miss Hartwell. Your boyfriend of ten years was having an affair behind your back after all.”