Chapter 4 #2
The waiter returns with a big-ass bowl of fries, liberally doused in seasoning.
He places it down with a lingering look at Bailey, reminding me that I’m not the only one who sees how pretty she is.
Except it’s so much more than just looks with her.
I wish I had her gift with words, ’cause then I could explain it.
But it’s her attitude, her brain, her determination. It’s all … compelling.
‘Thanks,’ I halfway snap when the waiter just stands there ogling. A flush creeps up his cheeks before he turns and walks away.
‘You didn’t have to yell at him,’ she chides, reaching out and grabbing a few fries.
‘I thought he might be makin’ you uncomfortable.’
She arches a brow, all sceptical and hot. ‘Is that what you thought?’
Well, fuck me if she’s not calling me on what I’m feeling. Does she really want to do that? Reckon we both know we’re playing with fire here. One of us has to walk away, but I realise the second I speak that it won’t be me. ‘Fine, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.’
Now it’s Bailey’s turn to blush, a light pink blooming in her face.
‘I guess you’re probably used to it.’
She shovels the fries into her mouth, clearly embarrassed. ‘Whatever,’ she says a second later, taking a sip of her drink.
‘You trying to tell me you don’t get hit on all the time?’
‘Hit on?’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m not some teenager going to clubs to pick up or whatever.’
‘But you do exist in the world, right? You must see the way guys react to you.’
‘Beau,’ she says, clearly trying to step back from the fire. Clever girl. I don’t care if I get burned anymore. I’m more comfortable calling a spade a spade and when it comes to women, rejection’s never been much of an issue for me. Truth be told, I can’t remember the last time I got shut down.
‘Bailey.’ I say her name back, with a flicker of heat. Her eyes widen and my gut twists hard. Anticipation, unmistakable, flares inside me.
‘This isn’t going to happen.’
‘What’s not going to happen?’
‘Anything, here. With us.’
Her words say one thing, but there’s a husk in her voice that conveys something else entirely. I stay still, just watching her a moment. ‘Even if we want it to?’
She fidgets with her fingers. ‘Do you have any idea what it would do to my reputation?’
A sense of victory surges inside me. It might as well be an admission of her wanting me right back.
‘Reporters don’t go around sleeping with interview subjects. My editor would have my head on a tray, and, believe me, I don’t need to give him any more ammunition.’
I furrow my brow. ‘You’re serious?’
‘I mean, yeah. It’s completely unprofessional. So just … let it go.’
It’s not until a moment later I realise she’s talked about sleeping with me.
The words are out there. The idea, the concept, the possibility.
I know she’s saying it can’t happen, but she’s not saying she doesn’t want it to.
The air between us seems to hum with its own pulse.
It wraps around me, tempting me. God, but I want to reach over and touch her.
I want to kick my foot out beneath the table and brush hers, just to show her that some things are bigger than you.
Some things are worth breaking a few rules for.
Then again, what do I know? I just met the woman, and I’m the last man on earth to ask someone to sacrifice their career. For me? A guy who never stays put more than a few nights, who’s got a little black book as big as the Bible? What the hell could I offer Bailey to make her risk her job?
Then again, it’s not like me to get so bogged down in thinking that far ahead. I’m more of a live-in-the-now kinda guy—at least, that’s my shtick.
‘Well,’ I say, forcing a lighthearted-seeming grin. ‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’ I wink at her as I grab a handful of fries and shove them into my mouth.
Bailey
Holy crap.
I’m having a total meltdown. Seriously, I’m so overheated I’m half afraid my panties are about to catch fire. This is so not the direction I expected things to go.
Isn’t it?
I mean, I made a point of pulling on my defensive-armour outfit, as if I knew I’d need to keep Beau Donovan at arm’s length.
It didn’t work though. From the minute I got here, I’ve been way too aware of the man.
Even arguing with him was a turn-on. Which is a disaster, because I wasn’t lying about what the fallout would be if I let something happen between us.
It’s a huge no-no. Not illegal or anything, but completely frowned upon, and I’m already fighting an uphill battle to be taken seriously.
No matter how many articles I write, no matter how good those articles are, I have this cloud of doubt hanging over my head.
The political desk is all about making connections, being trusted and trustworthy. I’d be shooting myself in the foot if I was to hook up with an interview subject. No one would think I could handle the closeness that comes from working with sources without getting personally involved.
Ugh.
‘You’re living in Houston, you said?’
I’m glad he asks me something simple, something I can answer without too much thought. I nod.
‘D’you like it?’
I flick a smile in his direction. If he’s trying to take the temperature down, it’s not exactly working, but at least he’s respecting my boundaries. I still can’t believe we even had that conversation. Talk about getting everything out in the open.
‘It’s okay.’
‘Just okay?’
‘I’m there for work.’ I go to take a drink of beer, then realise the bottle’s empty.
Before I can replace it on the table, he’s lifting his hand in the air, signalling for the waiter.
This time, when the guy comes over, I’m aware of the way he looks at me, but it’s the heat in Beau’s gaze that keeps my temperature boiling.
He orders a couple more beers, then turns his focus right back on me. Bam—radioactive steam.
‘Tell me about the event tomorrow night,’ I say, needing him to start talking so that I can stop. So that I can breathe. Needing him to give me a moment to gather my scattered thoughts, and become the version of myself I was supposed to be all along.
‘What do you wanna know?’
I can hardly think straight over the erratic pounding of my pulse. ‘Everything.’ My voice is raspy. ‘How does it work, what do you feel, what does winning mean to you?’
‘I take it you’ve never been to a rodeo, Bailey?’
I pull a face. ‘Nope.’
He leans closer, so I can see those creases on the sides of his eyes—lines that talk of a man who smiles often. ‘Then buckle in. Ain’t nothing quite like it.’