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Or maybe that was the champagne bringing on a delusion of grandeur and a shitload of wishful thinking.
She laughed. The man should intimidate the hell out of her. He was wealthy and affluent—famous in his own right. Had ice-blue eyes that could likely cut through diamonds. A set jaw. Squared shoulders. The whole nine yards. And yet when he looked at her … those ice-blue eyes melted a little. His rigid features loosened. His smile brightened.
Unable to stop herself, Bayli let out a dreamy-sounding breath. Then rapidly pressed the tips of two fingers to her lips as her own eyes widened.
Christian gave her a quizzical yet amused look.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s the champagne.”
“Is it really?” he quietly challenged.
And oh, boy, did that push the door wide open!
FOUR
Christian still had his mind on the prospect of Bayli Styles being exactly what he and Rory needed to turn around their epic failure, a cooking show that had never gotten off the ground—which luckily wasn’t public knowledge at present. They’d managed to keep the development of the show under wraps in its infancy. The pilot hadn’t even launched, because, quite honestly, they hadn’t come up with a fresh, provocative idea.
Well, that and the fact that test audiences had been more terrified than entertained by Rory, because he was a bit too abrasive and forebidding when in chef mode.
A bit being a huge understatement.
But Christian had been toying with the idea of having a friendly face to interact with the audience while Rory did his thing in the background. It’d only been a hint of a concept to nibble on, but it grew by leaps and bounds with every passing second in Bayli’s presence.
She’d make a sensational frontwoman.
Yet there really wasn’t anything Christian could do about his rampantly running thoughts this evening, prior to first discussing these new ideas invading his brain with Rory. Besides, Christian’s body had already moved on to another possibility. Sampling Miss Styles.
Sure, he’d also prefer to do that first with Rory, because they worked extremely well together in arousing and satisfying a woman. And this was one Christian longed to apply their expertise to, provided she was game.
But Rory was at the restaurant and Christian didn’t really want to wait until his next rendezvous with Bayli. He wanted her tonight.
When they reached the hotel where she said she was staying, he climbed out of the limo and then offered his hand to assist her. He told her, “I’ll walk you inside.”
She gave him a small, quirky smile. “That’s not necessary. There’s a doorman. Thank you, though. And thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime,” he said. “But I’d still like to walk you to the door. Your door, to be precise.”
He flattened a palm at her lower back to guide her down the sidewalk, toward the hotel.
Bayli’s steps were slow, hesitant.
Gazing down at her, Christian asked, “Something wrong?”
“Um … no.” She gnawed her lower lip, then shook her head. “Yes, actually.”
She stopped and turned to face him, her back to the double doors at the entrance and the man guarding them.
“What is it?” Christian asked.
“It’s a little embarrassing.”
Several red flags sprang to mind. Perhaps she wasn’t single, after all. Or maybe she was perfectly aware of his intentions and it wasn’t a good time of the month to act on the mutual attraction.
In a nonassuming tone, he said, “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Nothing to worry about.”
Even if it turned out that she did belong to someone else. Though he really didn’t think that was the case. She didn’t seem like the type who’d flirt and bat her lashes, especially when he’d been forthcoming about his interest in her.
“Bayli,” he said while she appeared to contemplate or debate whatever was going on inside her head. “We’re adults here. Just tell me—”
