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* * *
Jared was eating breakfast on the terrace when she arrived downstairs, newspaper spread out in front of him, undoubtedly having already inhaled a couple of the croissants from the basket as he did every morning. He had the highest metabolism of anyone she’d ever encountered, which she had to admit was likely stoked by all the muscle on display for her this morning. Athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt left little of it to the imagination.
Not helping.
Heat rushed to her face as he glanced up at her, and the night before slammed into her brain like an unavoidable fact. But this was cool and controlled Bailey in charge now. She could do this.
She sat down opposite him at the little table. His gaze traveled over her face. “Good morning.”
She tried to ignore how sexy and rusty his voice sounded before he’d put it to use for the day and muttered a greeting back. Refused to imagine how superhot it would be if she was still in his bed at this time of the morning, which of course she was not, because he’d walked out on her as though she was a communicable disease.
Not that she was bitter about it or anything.
She reached for the croissants, still warm from the oven, her fingers closing over one with chocolate oozing out of it. “Georgina outdid herself this morning.”
He gave the croissant a hard look. “I’ve been trying to figure out how they get the chocolate in the center.”
“You roll them this way.” She spread her napkin on the table and demonstrated.
He lifted a brow. “You’re handy in the kitchen, too. That’s a big turn-on.”
Apparently not when combined with her virgin status. She picked up a knife and sliced through the croissant with a vicious movement. “But then I would want to commandeer all your baking supplies at the homestead. How horrific…”
A smile edged his lips. “I knew you were going to look that up. And actually, Bailey, I love nothing more than when a woman cooks for me. As long as she shuts the door after her when she leaves.”
She closed her eyes against the oh-so-tempting vision of him with the chocolate pastry smeared all over his face.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What? Live with me for another week?” His tone was overtly amused. “Feel free to speak openly.”
She shook her head. No. No thanks. She was not letting him draw her in again. He was a professional instigator—head and shoulders more skilled than her in that department. She picked up the coffeepot, poured herself a cup of the steaming brew and set the tall silver canister back on the table so it effectively blocked him from view. He reached out and slid it aside, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You think you can block me out with a coffeepot?”
“Not really.” She gave him an even look as she stirred milk into her coffee. “But what’s the alternative? We talk about last night?”
He shrugged. “At least you had some sort of relief. Me? It took a five-mile run this morning to work it out.”
Her already-hot face incinerated. “I am so not talking to you about this. In fact, I suggest we never reference it again.”
A wide smile curved his lips. “Fine. I’m just saying you aren’t the only cranky one this morning.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not cranky.” Angry, more like it. “Reading the rest of your manifesto was a good wake-up call. Stupid me for thinking my virginity wouldn’t make a difference to a Lothario like you.”
His smile faded. “First, I think that’s an exaggeration. And second, there’s only one reason I walked away from you last night, Bailey. I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I don’t like taking women for a ride like some guys do. And if that makes me a jerk then so be it.”
“Who was asking you for a promise?” She shook her head in amazement. “You’re so caught up in yourself, in what you think you know about people, you haven’t got a clue, do you?”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his gaze spearing hers. “Tell me you don’t want the full deal. A man who loves you. A diamond ring…everything that goes with it.”
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, knowing he was sucking her in again but too stung to care. “You want the truth, Jared? I don’t know what love is. I’ve never had it so how would I? My parents kicked me out when I was seventeen…dancing pretty much ruined my trust in men…” She lifted her shoulders. “I’ve been fighting my own battles for so long, I’d settle for a man who respects me. A man who tells me the truth.” She angled her chin at him. “One who wants me for who I am.”
His lips tightened. “This is about my rules, Bailey. Not you. If you hadn’t been the last virgin on the face of the planet last night we’d be acting out my deepest, darkest fantasies about you—and believe me, I have many.”
Her breath caught in her throat, heat searing through her in a potent combination of lust and humiliation. “You are such a jerk, you know that?” She pulled in a breath and stared at the hard, uncompromising lines of his face. “You know what I think? I think your rules are a cop-out. Your parents’ marriage was a disaster so you think all relationships are like that. You avoid ties to anyone so you don’t have to face the reality of being in one yourself.” She lifted a brow. “I think you’re scared.”
His face took on a gray tinge. “Look who’s talking.”
“You’re right.” She abandoned her croissant and pushed away from the table. “But at least I admit it.”
“Where are you going?” he barked. “We aren’t finished here.”
“I need a walk. All of this denial is making me lose my appetite.”
* * *
Jared had been trying to avoid the truth the entire two hours he’d been up and Bailey had been in bed. Kissing her, touching her like that last night, had almost been an inevitability. He got that. Bailey’s being a virgin had not. How did anyone reach the age of twenty-nine and be a virgin? Honestly?
He watched her walk down the path toward the beach, back ramrod straight, her shoulders up around her ears.
For once I wasn’t holding back. For once I was doing what I wanted.
He scowled and tossed his napkin on the table. How was he supposed to interpret that? What was he supposed to do with that? He needed to stay away from Bailey. She was like a flashing neon danger sign for him. A weakness he couldn’t afford to indulge at a time when winning this deal was all that mattered. So why was he now striding down the path after her like a raging bull intent on having his way?
She looked warily at him as he fell into step beside her. “Go away, Jared.”
“When you said dancing destroyed your trust in men, what did you mean?”
She gave him a long look. “You wouldn’t ask that if you’d spent any amount of time in a strip club.”
He shrugged. “It’s not my thing.”
“I don’t imagine. Not when the women are beating down your door for a night with the lion.”
“Bailey…”
“Why are you asking this?”
“I want to know.”
She looked as though she was going to tell him to mind his own business. He wasn’t sure what was going on in those cool blue eyes. Embarrassment? The need to protect herself? But then she lifted her shoulders. “There are four types of men who come to a strip club. The jokers, the guys who come in with a bachelor party or to party with their friends, they drink too much, leave you nice tips and go on their way. Then there’s the regulars. Some of them become friends, they pay you to dance for them, sit with them, listen to the things their wives won’t because their marriage is so far gone, they don’t listen to them at all anymore.”
His mouth twisted. “You realize you’re proving my point.”
She ignored him. “Those are the good regulars. Who can become bad regulars if they fall for you. Then they decide you need to be rescued. That you shouldn’t be living this life and they want to marry you. If you’re unlucky, they become stalkers and then they’re a real problem.”
“Did that happen to you?”
“Once. The club saw him follow me to my car and called the police.”
He looked horrified. “And the final kind?”
“The men who want to degrade you. The ones who are unsuccessful in life, feel they aren’t appreciated enough at home—the ones who don’t feel manly enough. They come in to put themselves on a power trip. They’ll call you names, call you stupid, whatever makes them feel better about themselves by making you feel like you’re about an inch tall.”
“So how did you deal with that?” A wry smile curved his mouth. “I can’t imagine you took it well.”
“I didn’t. One night when a guy grabbed my butt, I slapped him across the face.” Her mouth pursed. “He hit me back, only, much harder.”
Jared’s heart lurched. “What happened after that?”
“The bouncers threw him out. He came back the next night.”
“They let him back in?”
“He was spending. That’s all they care about.”
“Did that happen often?”
“No. It was more verbal abuse. You got used to it, you developed a thick skin, but it still wears away at your self-confidence.”
