Chapter 12 #2
She looks at me, really looks at me, and then … I think I’m imagining it, I see a smirk.
“Fine. I’ll go.” She opens her door. “Give me an hour to get ready.”
“Should I—”
“Stay in your room, Daniel. I’ll knock when I’m ready.”
The door closes, leaving me in the hallway with a strange sense of foreboding. That woman is up to something, and it can’t be good.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m in my room reviewing emails when I hear her door open, then footsteps just as my door swings open.
“Bailey, you said an hour—”
The words die in my throat.
She’s standing in my doorway, backlit by her room’s light. And she’s reaching for the zipper of her dress.
“I need help,” Her voice is innocent, but her eyes are anything but. “The zipper is stuck.”
My mouth goes dry. “Bailey—”
I’m rooted to the spot as she turns, presenting her back to me. The zipper is halfway down, revealing the curve of her spine and black lace underneath.
“What?” She glances over her shoulder. “You offered to help me get ready. Come on.”
My feet move before my brain can stop them. I cross to her, fingers finding the zipper pull. It slides down too easily. It was never stuck.
“There,” I croak. “It’s—”
She shrugs, and the dress slides off her shoulders, down her arms, and pools at her feet in a puddle. She’s wearing nothing underneath. Nothing but black lace panties and heels that make her legs endless.
My brain short-circuits completely.
“Much better,” she says casually, stepping out of the dress and walking toward the closet where her garment bag hangs completely topless.
“What are you doing?” I manage to choke out again.
“Getting ready.” She pulls out a navy dress, holding it up and examining it in the mirror. The movement makes everything shift, and I have to grip the edge of the desk to stay upright. “I’m not sure about this color. What do you think?”
I think I’m going to have a heart attack. “Bailey.”
“Yes?” She turns to face me fully, completely unselfconscious. The black lace sits low on her hips, and I can see everything else. The curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the way her pulse jumps at the base of her throat.
“You’re—you’re not—”
“Not what?” She sets down the navy dress and picks up a black one, holding it against herself. “Daniel, you look flushed. Are you feeling alright?”
I’m dying. I’m absolutely dying. “Put something on.”
“I’m trying to figure out what to wear. That’s what you do when you get dressed, isn’t it? Try things on?” She tosses the black dress aside and reaches for the emerald one. “Maybe this? You liked it at the gala.”
She holds it up, and the green silk drapes across her bare chest. It covers nothing and somehow makes everything worse.
“Stop,” I rasp out.
“Stop what?” She lowers the dress slightly, eyes wide with false innocence. “I’m just getting ready for the reception. You said we have to be there.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?” She moves closer, and I back up until my legs hit the bed. “Daniel, I don’t know what you mean.”
She’s close enough now that I can smell her perfume. If I reach out, I can touch all that bare skin. My hands clench into fists at my sides.
“This is my punishment,” I realize.
Her smile turns sharp. “Is it?”
“For the last two days. For treating you like—”
“Like I was nothing?” She sets the dress aside, standing in front of me in just the lace and heels. “Like what we did meant nothing?”
“Bailey—”
“You want to know what this is?” She places both hands on my chest, fingers splaying across my shirt. “This is me showing you exactly what you’ve been pushing away. You’re a moron, Daniel Williams. Disrespectfully.”
My hands come up automatically, settling on her waist. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft. I miss her so much. “We have a reception—”
“In two hours.” Her fingers find my tie, loosening it slowly. “Plenty of time.”
“Bailey, if you don’t stop—”
“What?” She leans in, lips brushing my jaw. “What will you do, Mr. Williams?”
I’m shaking. Actually shaking with the effort of keeping control. “We can’t—”
“Can’t what? Touch each other?” Her hands slide up to my shoulders. “You’re already touching me.”
She’s right. My hands have moved from her waist to her bare back, fingers spreading across smooth skin. When did that happen?
“You’ve spent two days pretending I don’t affect you,” she whispers against my ear. “Pretending you don’t want this, so now I’m making it impossible to pretend.”
She pulls back slightly, and I see the anger underneath the seduction.
“You don’t get to treat me like a stranger because you’re scared,” she says, voice getting sharper. “You don’t get to push me away and then expect me just to accept it.”
“I know—”
“Do you?” She steps back, breaking contact. The loss of her warmth feels physical. “Because you’re still doing it. You’re still keeping me at arm’s length while pretending it’s for my own good.”
She picks up the emerald dress and slides it over her head in one fluid motion. It settles perfectly, covering everything I’d just seen.
“Zipper?” She turns her back to me.
My hands are still shaking as I reach for it. I take my time, fingers deliberately trailing up her spine as I pull it closed. She shivers, goosebumps rising on her skin.
“See?” she says softly. “We both feel it. The difference is, I’m not afraid of it.”
I lean down, lips brushing her shoulder. “I’m terrified of it.”
She turns in my arms, breaking contact again. I will actually cry if she keeps doing that.
“Being terrified doesn’t give you permission to hurt me.”
“I never meant to—”
“But you did.” She places a hand on my chest, right over my racing heart. “You’re still doing it. Every time you pull away or treat me like I’m just part of your business arrangement, you hurt me.”
“Bailey—”
“Fuck you.” She steps back, picking up her clutch. “Fix your tie, Mr. Williams. We have investors to impress.”
She walks toward the door, and panic surges through me. “Wait—”
“What?” She turns, eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out raw. “For hurting you.”
Bailey chuckles dryly, then she’s gone, leaving me standing there, pulse racing, body aching, and completely undone by a woman who just gave me the most devastating show of my life while making it clear she’s still furious with me.
I’m in so much trouble.
And God help me, I’ve never wanted anyone more.
***
The post-meeting cocktail reception is held at The Shard’s rooftop bar with panoramic views of London. The Thames winds through the city below like a ribbon of light, and Big Ben gleams in the distance.
I arrive ten minutes after Bailey, needing the time to compose myself. My tie is straight now, my shirt buttoned properly, but I can still feel the ghost of her hands on my chest.
She’s standing by the bar talking to Cindy, and when she sees me, satisfaction flickers across her face. Game on.
I grab a scotch and join a cluster of investors discussing market trends, but my attention keeps drifting to Bailey. She’s moved from Cindy to a group near the windows, laughing at something someone said.
That’s when Whitmore approaches her.
He’s too close. His hand touches her elbow as he leans in to speak. Bailey smiles politely, but I see the way she shifts slightly. Whitmore doesn’t take the hint. He moves closer again, saying something that makes her laugh, but it’s not a genuine laugh.
My jaw clenches.
“Daniel?” Cindy appears at my elbow. “You look tense.”
“Just tired from the presentation.”
“Mmm.” She follows my gaze to Bailey and Whitmore. “James does tend to be a bit… enthusiastic with attractive women. Should I intervene?”
“No. Bailey can handle herself.”
But I’m already moving toward them.
“—absolutely fascinating work,” Whitmore is saying as I approach. “You should come to our offices tomorrow. I’d love to show you our design department. Maybe over lunch?”
“That’s very kind,” Bailey says softly. “But—”
“Bailey.” I slide up beside her, my hand finding the small of her back. “Cindy was just asking about your animation work.”
Whitmore’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes narrow slightly. “Daniel. We were just discussing Ms. Rodgers’ impressive talents.”
“Were you.” It’s not a question.
“Indeed. I was extending an invitation for lunch tomorrow. With your permission, of course.”
“Of course.” My voice is cold. “Unfortunately, we have an early flight. Perhaps another time.”
Bailey glances between us. “Yes, another time would be lovely.”
Whitmore’s gaze lingers on her a moment too long before he nods. “I’ll hold you to that, my dear.” He gives her arm a soft squeeze before walking away.
The moment he’s gone, Bailey turns to me. “Was that necessary?”
“Was what necessary?”
“The territorial display.”
“He was making you uncomfortable.”
“I was handling it.”
“He was touching you.”
“So are you.” She glances pointedly at my hand, still pressed against her lower back.
I don’t remove it. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Her eyes flash. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re being awfully possessive for someone who has spent two days pretending I don’t exist.”
“Bailey—”
“Save it. I need another drink.”
She pulls away from my touch and heads toward the bar, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
I’m about to follow when I see her.
Cassidy.
She’s across the terrace near the entrance, blonde hair gleaming under string lights, wearing a white dress that’s cut to kill. And she’s not alone. She’s talking to someone, gesturing animatedly, but her eyes are locked on me.
On us.
My blood runs cold. “No.”
This isn’t possible. Cassidy has no reason to be at this reception, so what …
“What?” Bailey has returned with her wine, following my stare. Her face pales. “Is that—”
“Stay close to me.” My hand finds her waist again, pulling her against my side.
“Daniel, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, follow my lead.”
Cassidy finishes her conversation and glides toward us with a brittle smile.