We really brought out the maturity in one another.
He grinned. “I do find I’m wittier around you.”
“Yes, well, that happens when arming yourself in a battle of wits against a wittier opponent.”
There were moments, like now, when I thought I glimpsed a flash of respect in Vaughn’s eyes. But I knew that couldn’t be true. I was just looking for something I wanted to see. “We’re particularly feisty today.”
“Don’t royal ‘we’ me, Tremaine. I’m not impressed by your pomposity. In fact it pisses me off.”
He stepped closer into me, and I had to steel myself against stepping back. Vaughn Tremaine did not need to know his nearness made my breath catch. His eyes drifted over my face. He always did this, like he was savoring my every feature, and I knew his only purpose in doing so was to make me feel uncomfortable.
Mission accomplished.
Bastard.
“You shouldn’t tell me when something pisses you off,” Vaughn said. “You know it only makes me want to do it more.”
If he’d been anyone else, I would have laughed in grudging respect. Instead, like always with him, I took it personally. Like I said, it didn’t start out that way. Vaughn was smart. I think a large part of me actually enjoyed our battle of wits. But after he said he didn’t like me, everything he said to me became an insult. Worse, at around the same time he admitted his dislike for me, I actually began to see more in him than just an arrogant, selfish businessman who thought himself superior to me.
Deep down I knew Vaughn wasn’t a bad guy. I discovered that when he helped out my friends Cooper and Jessica last year. When Jess was convinced that things between her and Cooper were falling apart, Vaughn gave her a place to stay in town so that Cooper had time to win her back.
And the truth was we all felt safer with Vaughn around: there was the matter of Ian Devlin and his sons.
Devlin owned a lot of property in Hartwell, including the Hartwell Grand Hotel in town, and the amusement park behind the boardwalk. But he didn’t own anything on the commercial north end of the boardwalk. And just as he’d used less than honorable means to gain properties on the popular, touristy Main Street, he’d tried underhand ways to gain property on the expensive coastline. He was desperate to add boardwalk property to his portfolio. In fact, I guessed he was desperate to one day own the entire length of the north boardwalk. He had it in his head to turn it into a five-star resort, which would decimate what made Hart’s Boardwalk so charming.
When the old boardwalk hotel went up for sale, we, the close-knit community on the boardwalk, thought we were done for. Ian Devlin was the only man we knew who could afford to buy it.
But then came Vaughn. A hotelier with more money than God and a better pedigree than most Manhattanites. For whatever reason, he bought the old boardwalk hotel, knocked it down, and put up his own establishment.
The good thing though—despite the modern appeal of his hotel—was that Vaughn liked the boardwalk as it was. And even I had to admit that he seemed to genuinely like and respect Cooper. So when Devlin threatened Cooper’s boardwalk bar by bribing someone on the city board to deny Cooper his liquor license renewal, Vaughn stepped up alongside us to put a stop to it.
And despite the fact that was the moment he told me he didn’t like me, I saw what I hadn’t wanted to see.
Vaughn Tremaine may have been a pompous, smug, wealthy, arrogant businessman who thought he was better than me, but he could also be kind of honorable when he wanted to be.
Moreover, he was our defense against Ian Devlin.
According to Cooper, Vaughn had said something that made Cooper feel confident that Vaughn would never let Devlin do anything to damage what we’d built on our boardwalk.
And Vaughn had the money and influence to back up that sentiment.
“What? Do I have something on my face?” Vaughn said.
I realized at that moment I’d just been staring into those startling gray eyes of his. No one had a right to eyes like those. He must have known what those eyes did to a woman.
To women. Other women. Not me.
“No.” I stepped away from him, even if doing so did give him the upper hand.
“What? No sharp reply? You sure you’re feeling alright?” He cocked his head to the side, studying me. A crease formed between his brows. “You do look a little tired.”
I huffed, running a hand over my hair. I hated when he scrutinized my personal appearance. “Always so complimentary, Tremaine. It’s a wonder you don’t have a trail of panting ladies following after you. Oh, wait a second. It’s not.”
He just stared at me, which for some reason made me feel worse, because it felt like he could see right into me, and that he could see how unhappy I was and—
“No wonder you’re single.” I gave him a look that would have made a lesser man’s balls jump back up inside him. “You’re cold through and through. You haven’t got anything real to offer a woman. Nothing but money. And sooner or later they’ll realize not even money is worth a lifetime of nothing.”
It was harsh.
It was horrible.
And it was all about me, not him.
Immediately I wanted to take the words back, but they were out there.
Me and my stupid no brain-to-mouth filter.
Like the ice I’d accused him of being, Vaughn’s expression turned an arctic level of cool. “I’m single because I want to be, Miss Hartwell. Unlike you I’m strong enough to be alone rather than settle for mediocre. But then like attracts like, doesn’t it.”
And on that parting shot, a shot he had no idea hit dead center on target, Vaughn Tremaine sauntered away like he hadn’t just had a bitter encounter with me.
I didn’t touch him.
Ever.
But he always got me.
And it always hurt.
Bastard.
Pissed, I marched off in the opposite direction back to the inn, trying to will Vaughn’s words out of my head, trying to shake off what he made me feel.
After all, I couldn’t be angry and pissed when I showed up to “raincoat and sexy lingerie” Tom to get us back on the right track.
Vaughn
For not the first time, Vaughn fought the urge to turn back around, find Bailey, get on his knees in front of her, and beg her for forgiveness.
No one else pushed his buttons like Bailey Hartwell. He’d had people say worse things to him than Bailey did, although always in that passive aggressive, superficially polite manner he couldn’t stand.
Yet, Bailey was the only person he ever lost his cool with. He retaliated. Lashed out like an immature teenager.
And he hurt her every time.
She wasn’t like the women he’d grown up around. They had learned from a young age the art of masking one’s emotions.
Bailey’s emotions were out there for all to see.
For instance . . . he knew she was attracted to him. He also knew she hated that current of attraction because she may have been attracted to him but she didn’t like him. Bailey hadn’t liked him from the moment they’d met and that was partly why he lashed out at her, too.
But sometimes, like just then, he went too far.
He winced as the words he’d said to her reverberated around in his head. That resentful longing he felt whenever he was around her became a throbbing pang, an ache—an ugly ache of regret in his chest. Bailey Hartwell was anything but mediocre.
In truth, it had taken all of his willpower to will away his erection when that lingerie had tumbled out of her shopping bag. He’d stared up at her, imagining her in it, and the blood had shot straight to his dick.
In an effort to not get aroused in public he’d turned his thoughts to Tom Sutton and let his angry frustration take over. It was absurd that an idiot like Tom Sutton got to enjoy the honor, the unadultera
ted pleasure, of seeing Bailey in skimpy lingerie. It was a sin that he got to hold her at night, to walk by her side in the daytime, to be one of the people she cast her light over. So much light. He’d never met a woman like her. Every thought, every feeling she had she put out there—brave, upfront, outspoken. It was refreshing coming from a world where women rarely spoke their mind, where they played subtle games, to a world where someone like Bailey Hartwell existed.
And she cared so much.
Too much.
Sometimes he wanted her to stop caring so much because he was terrified she was going to get hurt beyond repair.
He’d heard about how much she had cared when Dahlia McGuire moved to Hartwell to run the gift store she’d bought from her great-aunt. There were rumors that Dahlia had taken herself for a midnight swim just after she’d moved to town and she’d almost drowned. Bailey apparently saved her life. They were best friends now.
And he’d witnessed firsthand how Bailey cared when Jessica Huntington came to Hartwell. Bailey had latched on to that woman from the moment they met, like she knew Jessica was harboring a secret, like she knew Jessica needed a friend. Bailey befriended her, no questions asked.
Vaughn had watched how Bailey cared about her town and the people in it—how she felt like he was a threat to all that and tried to make his life as difficult as possible until she realized he wasn’t out to hurt her beloved town.
But she would have fought against him if he had been. Bailey, with her little inn, and nothing but friends to back her up.
She would have gone up against him. Vaughn with all his money and power.
No fear.
Just fire.
Fuck, he admired her fire.
And Tom Sutton didn’t seem to realize he was in bed with fire. He had no clue he had something extraordinary in Bailey Hartwell.
She was loyal to the bone.
Vaughn admired all of that. He wanted all of that. He wanted her. He wanted her in his bed. Every night.
However, it wasn’t just Bailey’s dislike and the existence of her boyfriend that stood between him having her. It was partly his ability to hurt her. Like he’d hurt her only moments ago. But mostly it was his aversion to relationships. Vaughn had sworn off relationships entirely and not even Bailey Hartwell could change his mind when it was made up.
So yes, it was strange hating a man like Tom for having something he wanted, knowing that Tom didn’t deserve Bailey, because as much as he hated the man, he was glad Tom existed.
There never would be a Vaughn and Bailey.
But that lingerie . . .
Tom needed Bailey to wear sexy lingerie to get turned on?
Yes. The lingerie was nice.
And picturing her in it was more than nice.
However, it was pointless to him. It covered what he wanted to see more than anything.
Bailey Hartwell. Naked. On his bed. Fire in her eyes but a submissive body. She was so fucking antagonistic and battle ready all the time . . . nothing turned him on more than the idea of winning a battle with her, of her letting him tie her to his bed—
“Fuck,” he muttered, his skin feeling flushed with arousal.
He was getting turned on walking down the goddamn street.
Thankfully his cell vibrated inside his suit pocket, distracting him. He pulled it out and saw “Dad Calling” on the screen.
Grateful for the interruption to his wayward thoughts, Vaughn answered it.
“I thought you might have seen the news about Caroline in the paper,” William Tremaine said without preamble.
“I did.”
“Are you okay?”
This, right then, this call was one of the reasons he should go back to New York.
After his mother died of a heart condition she’d had from birth that no one knew about until it just gave out one day, Vaughn’s dad had been there. He was only five when he lost his mother, and his father was a successful construction giant in New York. He didn’t exactly have the time for a five-year-old son.
But he made time.
Yes, there were nannies, but Vaughn had never felt unwanted or unloved, and as he grew older he realized how rare that was in the rarified world he’d been born into. He had no doubt that his friends were loved but that love was often crushed under the weight of expectation that was thrust upon them.
William reared him to work hard, but he never pushed his own agenda on Vaughn. Not like his friends’ parents. His father was his best friend. A man he admired and respected more than anyone else.
And he should go to New York for him.
He just couldn’t make his feet move in that direction.
“I’m fine, Dad,” Vaughn reassured him.
“I’m sure you are, just thought I’d check. You know . . . I was thinking I could stop in Delaware tomorrow. I have a business trip to London in a few days. I thought I’d make a pit stop.”
Vaughn grinned. “I’m really okay.”
“I’d like to see that for myself.”
“Then you know you’re more than welcome.”
By the time he got off the phone, his brain was whirling with thoughts of his father’s upcoming visit and his earlier encounter with Bailey Hartwell. He stopped in the middle of the street and realized he’d passed the sandwich shop he’d been on his way to, to pick up lunch.
The hurt in Bailey’s eyes flashed before his own.
He should have let one of the hotel staff get the damn sandwich for him after all but no . . . he’d wanted a stroll.
He could promise himself that it was the last stroll he’d take for a while but he knew he’d go nuts if he stayed confined to the hotel while he was in town.
Moreover . . . as torturous as it was seeing Bailey, it was the sweet kind of torture he’d become addicted to.
THREE
Bailey
There was something exciting, adventurous, and more than a little risqué about getting in my car wearing nothing but sexy underwear beneath a raincoat. I was positive if anyone saw me, they’d know what I was up to, and so I’d made a mad dash to my car, almost going over on my ankle in my red stilettos.
I’d laughed at myself as I pulled out of my driveway, and I’d giggled at the excited butterflies in my belly.
It felt good to be doing something out of the norm.
However, as I pulled up to Tom’s apartment, the butterflies took on a different flutter. The excitement was tempered by the reminder of my partner pushing me away the night before.
I stared up at his place, saw the light burning in the window, and I froze for a moment before giving myself a pep talk.
“You’re wearing a raincoat. And lingerie.” There was no way a guy could turn that down.
Taking a deep breath, I let that knowledge revive my confidence and I got out of the car. That turned out to be the hardest part. As I let myself into the building with my key, I couldn’t help but move quickly with anticipation. I bounced lightly up the stairs on my toes so the clacking of heels wouldn’t alert him to my arrival.
I should have clacked.
I should have clacked like hell.
Perhaps if Tom had been alerted to my arrival, I wouldn’t have had to witness his naked ass moving up and down as he thrust into the woman who was laid underneath him on the couch.
Shock froze me to the spot as I entered the open-plan apartment and tried to process the scene in the living space and what it meant.
They were facing away from me so they had no idea I was there, and Tom’s body was blocking the woman so all I could see were her purple-polished fingernails clawing his ass in an attempt to pull him deeper inside her.
“Oh, God, yes,” she panted in a high-pitched voice.
A voice I didn’t recognize.
“Erin,” he grunted. “Fuck.”
Erin?
My gaze drifted over them, landing on Tom’s feet. He was still wearing his socks and the soles were dirty. He was wearing dirty socks while he screwed someone named Erin on his couch.
I stared down at my raincoat, feeling foolish. Humiliated.
All this time I’d been worried about how to get our relationship on track and he was fucking someone else.
What an idiot.
My head snapped up on a surge of sudden fury, and I was surprised fire bolts didn’t shoot at them from my eyes. I wasn’t the idiot. I wasn’t foolish! The fuckwad cheating on me was the goddamn idiot!
Ten fucking years!
Enraged, I slipped off my heels, letting my bare feet take me into the kitchen. I glanced over at the couch and noted they still were so busy getting it on that they hadn’t noticed me. I yanked open the fridge and grabbed the jug of ice water he kept in there.
“What the—” Tom, alerted to the noise of the fridge door closing, looked up just as I made it to the couch. His eyes widened with horror as I upended the ice-cold water all over him and his fuck buddy.
Erin screamed as Tom cursed, jumping off of her like she was covered in fire ants.
While they scrambled off the couch in search of clothes and warmth, yelling the entire time, I spotted Erin’s purse and marched over to it.
“Bailey, I can explain.” Tom’s voice was high with panic.
I glanced over at him as I rummaged through the stranger’s purse. He was hurrying into his jeans, tripping over his feet, glancing from me to Erin with wild eyes.
As for Erin she was standing with a blanket I kept thrown over the couch, a blanket I curled up with when watching movies, wrapped around her. She was too busy looking shame-faced at her bare feet to realize I had her phone in my hand.
“Erin and I—”
“Are cheating scum!” I interrupted.
My voice brought Erin’s head up and the blood that I didn’t think could get any hotter in my veins hit boiling point. I recognized her after all. She was the girlfriend of one of Tom’s colleagues, Rex McFarlane. His very likeable, handsome, twenty-four-year-old colleague. And Erin . . . Erin was twenty-three!