Loving Bailey (12 page)

“Wow,” her sisters said in unison.

“What did Trace say when he found you there?”
asked Taylor.

“What could he say? He’s had plenty of
chances of his own to turn me down.” But Bailey still remembered
the look on his face and the possessive way he’d held her when
she’d needed him.

“He doesn’t know you’re a virgin, too, does
he?” asked Rachel, looking horrified.

“God no. We never got that far. Until
yesterday, he wouldn’t touch me. Not even casually.”

“But we all thought you guys were dating.”
Taylor looked at Rachel who nodded.

“You always seemed like such a couple, like a
team. We just assumed.” Rachel let the rest of the sentence trail
off.

“I thought we might be,” said Bailey. “Turns
out he wasn’t interested.” The image of the blonde intern in
Trace’s arms came unbidden into her head and her stomach
knotted.

Rachel let out a disbelieving noise. “Of
course he’s interested. He dragged you out of some other guy’s bed,
drove you the whole way here and then refused to go home without
you. He’s interested.”

“No, he’s just a nice guy and very decent. I
think I’m more a sister to him than anything else.” Saying out loud
what she’d been thinking twisted her stomach tighter but there was
no use pretending things were different than they were.

Taylor and Rachel still looked at her in
disbelief.

“I saw him with someone else – one of his
interns.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose with distaste. “That
doesn’t sound like Trace.”

“Maybe it’s not serious,” said Taylor.

“Everything with Trace is serious. He sends
his roots deep. If he’s seeing one of his interns, it’s serious.”
And that was what really hurt, because Bailey knew it was true.
Trace wouldn’t love lightly and when he did, it would be forever.
As much as she’d loved thinking it might be more, he was here
looking after her as a friend.

“Well,” said Rachel, slumping back against
the pile of pillows. “Then there really is only one thing left to
do.”

“Fuck the writer,” said Taylor with a wicked
grin.

The house was dark when Jude dropped Trace
off.

“I’ll come in and help you get settled if you
want,” said Jude.

Despite the levity of the previous couple of
hours, Trace could see the stress and exhaustion had put lines
around the doctor’s eyes.

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
Trace opened the door to get out but Jude’s hand on his arm stopped
him.

“In case I don’t have a chance to say it
again, thanks for bringing Bailey home. It means so much to me
knowing she has you there to look out for her.”

Trace nodded and swallowed hard. “Any time,
man.”

Someone had left the kitchen light on,
presumably for him, but there was no sign of anyone when Trace went
into the house. The senior Southerlands must have gone to bed
already to get ready for their early departure. He didn’t expect
anyone to wait up for him, but he wished he’d thought ahead to ask
where he was supposed to sleep.

Slipping off his boots, he stretched out on
the sofa. The leather was soft and there were throw pillows and
some sort of knit blanket on the back. He’d certainly slept in
worse places. He closed his eyes with Jude’s “absolutely” echoing
in his head, but the sound of women’s laughter filtered down from
upstairs.

He couldn’t hear well enough to tell what
they were laughing about, but he was glad after the stress of the
day, that the Southerlands had found something to make them laugh.
That Bailey replaced her haunted look with laughter, even if
imagining her in an upstairs bedroom giggling with her sisters was
going to make it damn near impossible for him to fall asleep.

He closed his eyes and a moment later heard
the sound of a door opening and shutting and footsteps on the
stairs. He managed to sit up just in time to see Bailey coming down
the stairs, wearing a T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, back lit by
the light from the stairwell.

She wasn’t indecent. She had on more clothing
than some women wore to go out in public, but she wasn’t some
woman. The thin cotton did nothing to hide the silhouette of her
ample curves and his hands practically itched to stroke the small
of her back, feel the rise of her hip, and cup the swell of her
breast. Bailey saw him watching her in the dark and stumbled.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were back,” she
said, catching herself. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry. She
was coming closer and he was becoming painfully aware of how little
there was between Bailey’s sweet flesh and his hands. “I’m not sure
what to do with that.” He pointed to the bandana filled with
nickels sitting on the coffee table.

“You beat them,” she said delighted.

He grinned back at her. God, he’d give
anything to see that look on her face every day.

“If you really don’t want them, you could
leave them for Abby. She’d love them. Summer’s little girl,” she
said when he didn’t answer.

“Oh, the sweet little thing from the
engagement party who kept telling me she was going to be a flower
girl,” he said, smiling at the memory of the little girl leading
the black dog as tall as she was around the party.

“That’s the one,” said Bailey, settling next
to him on the sofa.

Sitting this close to her, he could tell she
wasn’t wearing a bra, the outline of the tight peaks of her breasts
clearly visible through the pale pink T-shirt. He had a quick flash
of bending to take her into his mouth, suckling her through the
damp cotton and his mouth actually watered. He was so lost in his
day-dream, it took him a moment to realize, she’d said something to
him and was waiting for his answer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head
desperate to clear it and willing his body back under control.
“What did you say?”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said, laying a
hand on his leg.

How could she not know the effect she had on
him? His cock strained like it had a mind of its own, trying to get
closer to Bailey.

“It’s been a long day. You must be tired and
here I am keeping you awake.” She gave his thigh a squeeze and he
sucked in his breath. “I just said I could see that Abby got them
and tell her they were from you if you want.”

“Great,” he said, his voice sounding
unsteady. “That would be great.”

“Let me take you to your bed,” she said. “The
carriage house is ready for you. Unless you’re hungry.”

His tongue felt thick and unwieldy in his
mouth and her words had all his remaining blood heading south. He
couldn’t manage even a no so he shook his head so she’d know he
didn’t want to eat.

“Come on,” she said, standing and reaching
for his hand.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks for the dark
so she wouldn’t see how hard he was, Trace took her hand and
followed her to the door. His mouth finally unfroze when she turned
the knob to go outside.

“You can’t go out like that,” he said.
“You’ll freeze. You don’t even have shoes on.”

She looked down at her feet and his and
grinned. “Neither do you.”

In his hurry to follow her, Trace had
forgotten to slip into his boots.

“It’s not the same.”

“Please,” she said, hand on her hip. “Feet
are feet. Don’t be a baby. It’s not far.”

She scooted away from him and was out the
door before he could say anything else. Frustration warring with
desire, he grabbed a sweatshirt from the hook beside the door and
followed her outside.

The cool air hit him as soon as he stepped
outside and he could tell by the way Bailey wrapped her arms around
herself that she felt it, too. Damn infuriating woman. He stepped
gingerly across the gravel and before she could protest, he wrapped
the sweatshirt around her and scooped her up in his arms. She
laughed and swatted at him as he carried her the remaining few
yards to the carriage house door.

“Put me down,” she said, gasping for
breath.

“Inside,” he growled, shifting so he could
turn the knob and back through the door with her in his arms.

As soon as he bumped the door closed with his
hip, he set her down. Her body slid the length of his and he knew
there was no way she’d miss feeling how turned on he was. Maybe
that was a good thing because he sure as hell wasn’t taking her
home tomorrow to go back to the writer’s bed. Her feet touched the
floor but he kept his arms around her, one hand holding the base of
her skull, the other at the small of her back, pressing her
closer.

He looked into her wide eyes and saw his
whole world reflected there in the dim light streaming in through
the windows. Bailey Southerland was everything he wanted –
everything he needed – and he was done trying to pretend he could
live without her. He slid his hand up her back, tangling his
fingers in her soft curls and then he took her mouth in a kiss
which held years of pent up desire.

She tasted sweeter than he’d imagined, her
lips soft and warm under his and when he tugged at her full bottom
lip with his teeth, she opened for him with a sigh. He was lost,
overwhelmed by desire and practically shaking because he couldn’t
get his hands on her fast enough.

Her tongue met his in a teasing, tangling
dance that aroused his hunger for her, but did nothing to sate it.
He held her head in his hands, cupping it in a way that showed how
very precious she was to him, and his world narrowed to the single
focus of kissing Bailey. Tasting Bailey. Loving Bailey.

He tipped her head so he could work his way
along her jaw to the tender skin behind her ear. When he nipped at
her earlobe, she trembled in his arms. Desperate for her, he slid
his hands under the soft cotton hem of her T-shirt and over the
warm skin of her sides to – dear God – her naked breasts, full and
heavy in his hands.

He groaned with the pure pleasure of feeling
her nipples tighten under his thumbs. Pushing her T-shirt up, he
wrapped an arm around her waist holding her in place for him while
the other hand cupped her breast. Bending, he took her in his mouth
and suckled her, her nipple impossibly tight and impossibly sweet
on his tongue. Her cries had his cock straining at the denim of his
jeans and he had a flash of worry that he would come just from the
simple joy of having his mouth on her flesh.

He drew her nipple into his mouth, molding
her with his lips and tongue, pausing only to move from one breast
to the other. She arched in his arms, offering herself to him,
threading her fingers in his hair and holding him to her breast.
When he slipped his hand under the elastic waist of her shorts and
found out she wasn’t wearing panties, he groaned with sweet
torment, his mouth still around her nipple. Sliding a finger
through her damp curls, he parted her lips and found her wet, slick
and hot. For him.

Using the tip of his finger he teased circles
around the tight bud of her clit. Continuing to stroke her swollen
flesh, he ran a trail of kisses up her throat and along her jaw.
Claiming her lips as he drove her on, he caught her cries of
pleasure with his mouth and drank them in with the intoxicating
taste and feel of her.

Bailey’s mind stuttered over the exquisite
pleasure of Trace’s mouth on her breast, of God, his hand on her
sex. There was a reason she wasn’t supposed to be doing this, but
damned if she could remember why not.

She’d spent so much time wanting him and now
that he was here with his mouth on her, she couldn’t do anything
but give herself over to the pleasure of his touch. He suckled her
hard and it was as if parts of her body which had been out of
alignment suddenly lined up with the pull and draw of his mouth on
her tender nipple. Her back bowed and she wondered for a moment how
it was possible she was still standing. How could her legs possibly
hold her against the delicious onslaught and gentle scrape of his
lips, teeth and tongue.

His hand dipped into her shorts and into the
slick wet heat of her. He teased circles around her clit and she
felt the ribbons of her orgasm start to build, coiling in on
themselves as he wound her tighter and tighter. Trace slid the tip
of one finger inside her and she froze, everything coming back to
her. All the reasons they weren’t supposed to be doing this.

“Sweet Jesus,” he said, his voice ragged and
hoarse with need. “You are so fucking wet. So fucking tight.”

“The skinny blonde,” she said, her brain
finally catching up with her body.

“What?” he asked, trying to pull her
closer.

“You’re with the blonde.” She swatted at his
chest, and he struggled to pull his hand out of her pants to defend
himself. She couldn’t hide her groan of disappointment but she
couldn’t exorcise the image of Trace with his hands on the other
woman. “You don’t want me.”

“The hell I don’t,” he said, his voice rough
and outrage etched on his face. “Bailey.” He caught her, holding
her wrists in the vice of his hands and held her facing him. “I
want you more than the air I’m breathing.”

“I saw you with that woman. You were kissing
her.” Even as she said the words, she started to question herself.
Trace didn’t cheat at anything. He was one of the most
straightforward, honest people she knew. If he was with someone
else, he wouldn’t be here kissing her.

“She kissed me. I didn’t kiss her back. If
you’d watched a moment longer, you’d have seen me put her off.”

“I couldn’t,” she said. The memory of the
pain of seeing him with someone else made her voice sound small in
the dark room.

“Baby, it was a misunderstanding.”

He tugged her toward him and reluctantly, she
went, knowing full well when he put his hands on her, she’d stop
being able to resist him. Wrapping her in his arms, he tucked her
head under his chin and she heard the steady beat of his heart.