Mad About You (31 page)

He rolled his shoulders awkwardly. "Uh, yeah."

"Not at the moment." She went back to rummaging, then gave up, lifted the bag by the handles, and headed toward the bathroom.

"Ginny?"

With one hand on the knob, she stopped and turned.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I'm seeing anyone?"

She adopted a wry expression. "I don't have to ask, Bailey. Last night at the saloon I saw almost as much of her as you've undoubtedly seen."

She turned and entered the bathroom, closing the door with a firm
clunk.

Frustration propelled him to the bathroom door. "I'm not seeing her," he said loud enough to penetrate the wood. "Lisa's just
a... an
acquaintance."

The faucets were shut off, followed by the sound of light splashing, as if she were testing the water.

"Are you jealous?" he asked hopefully.

After a few seconds of silence he heard her walk back to the door. He held his breath in anticipation. Was she going to invite him in?

The distinct click of the lock sounded.

Bailey swore softly under his breath, but he remained at the door, riveted by the sounds of Ginny removing her clothes, then sliding into the water. Only supreme restraint kept him from kneeling to find a keyhole. He closed his eyes and pictured her naked skin, slick and glistening. A full minute passed, his desire for her swelling, literally, as he listened to her move around in the water. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.

"Go away, Bailey," she said.

Damn.
He turned from the door and retreated to his bed, then removed his shirt and kicked off his boots before dropping onto the lumpy mattress. The day's events swirled in his head, culminating in a knot of pain over his left eye. Less than forty-eight hours earlier he'd been a happy-go-lucky bachelor, surrounded by laughing friends and willing women. Now he was father to a too-wise eight-year-old, and trying to patch things up with an ex-wife who barely tolerated him.

And who just happened to be bathing in the next room.

Bailey groaned, massaging his aching temple. Running his tongue over his dry teeth, he acknowledged how welcome the taste of whiskey would be to his throat. The tasks before him suddenly seemed overwhelming, and he wondered how most men dealt with the crushing weight of family responsibility. His own father had mostly ignored his wife and children unless they disobeyed. His boss had a running string of complaints about his ungrateful, spoiled children and wife. The attitudes of most of the married men who worked for him typically ranged from begrudging loyalty to downright resentment.

Then there was Jerry, his brother-in-law, the one man he knew who seemed eager to go home to his wife and child, content to watch television on the weekends rather than shoot pool and down a cold one at a bar with Bailey. What was it between Jerry and Rita, Bailey had often wondered, that was strong enough to keep Jerry coming home every night with a smile on his face?

Since his divorce, Bailey had experienced a couple of near misses at the justice of the peace, but he'd always come to his senses at the last minute. He frowned, eyes closed. Although he'd loved Ginny, he remembered feeling trapped during their brief marriage. Even now he wanted her so much his body hurt, but he couldn't be sure it would translate to long-term commitment. And despite his promise to her on the plane, he worried if he'd ever settle down long enough to become a permanent fixture in anyone's life, even his son's. Although he knew in his heart the best thing for Chad would be to rebuild a lasting relationship with Ginny, he still had doubts about his ability to live up to his end of the bargain. And Ginny had made no secret of her opinion on the matter.

When the bathroom door opened, he sat up. Ginny floated into the room on a cloud of fruity fragrance, wrapped in a satiny knee-length robe, her dark gold hair shimmering damp and loose on her shoulders. Her legs were long and lightly tanned, her feet slender and shapely. The troubling thoughts behind his headache dissolved. His heart thudded against his chest wall at the overpowering impact she had on his senses.

"It's all yours," she announced as she folded her clothes and stacked them in a neat pile on her bed.

"It used to be all mine," he said softly, meeting her gaze when she lifted her head. He rose to his feet and took a few seconds to absorb her, to memorize her all over again. Every muscle tensed, tingling with anticipation. Instinct spurred him. He took one tentative step toward her, then another. As he neared her, she inched backward, but the awareness and desire in her eyes kept him moving forward. She came up short when the bed prevented her from going any farther. He stopped, leaving mere inches between their bodies.

Moisture glistened where the deep vee in her robe revealed the base of her throat. The locket he'd given her nestled in her cleavage. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her caramel eyes shone, her pink lips parted slightly. Her cheeks glowed from the effects of the bath. Bailey studied her face, looking for a sign to stop, praying for a sign to continue.

He lowered his mouth to hers carefully, poised to retreat at the slightest resistance. But as his lips touched hers, her mouth came alive, and the realization fired his arousal. The kiss deepened as she opened her mouth to allow him full entry. With a groan he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her damp body to his. Familiarity cloaked him as her curves melded against him, as she nipped at his tongue and ran her nails lightly across his naked back.

With controlled urgency he slipped his hands down and underneath her robe, his breath catching at the feel of her muscles clenching as she strained to meet him. His fingers found the waistband of scant panties, then slid inside to knead her bare bottom, sliding her up and against his hard arousal. She lifted her mouth to gasp, rolling her neck and shoulders.

He fumbled with the tie of her robe as she pulled at his belt buckle. Within seconds the robe was discarded, revealing a peach-colored camisole and matching undies. Her nipples were straining at the sheer lace. He ached to touch them, to taste them, but stopped long enough to shed his jeans.

When he came back to her, though, a slight frown marred her smooth complexion. Her eyes were worried. "I'm not sure this is right, Bailey."

Panic gripped him. He was so close to reminding her—reminding himself—how good things could be between them. He folded her into his arms. "Ginny," he whispered, his heart hammering, "I want my family back."

At his words Virginia stiffened. A sensation akin to shame washed over her. Bailey didn't want her, he wanted a tie with the mother of his child. A guarantee he could always have access to his son. From the beginning she'd been part of a package deal. What had Chad said? No kid, no marriage? Out of the mouths of babes.

She straightened her arms and pushed against his bare chest. Bailey stepped back, confusion evident on his face. "What did I say?"

"The truth—this has more to do with you wanting to be with your son than wanting to be with me," she murmured, fighting to control her breathing. He shook his head and reached for her again, but she held up her arm to stop him. She yanked up her robe from where it had fallen on the carpet and gathered it around her, tying it securely with a double knot.

"Leave Chad out of this, Ginny. You’re not that good an actress—you wanted me as much as I wanted you."

She turned her back and bit her bottom lip hard as she straightened her folded clothes again. "You're wrong, Bailey."
More...
I wanted you more than you wanted me. Always have, always will.
"On the plane you promised our relationship would be strictly platonic, and I expect you to keep your word." She crossed her arms over her breasts. "I think you'd better take your bath now."

He grunted in frustration, then strode to the bathroom. When the door closed, Virginia sagged onto the bed, hugging herself hard. How could she be so stupid? Having Chad meant having to see Bailey regularly. It was going to be hard enough on her without adding casual sex to the equation.

She hurriedly cleared her bed, turned off the lamp, and climbed in, intending to be fast asleep when he emerged. But adrenaline was still pumping through her body when he opened the bathroom door. Unable to resist, she watched him move by her bed and across the room in the shadows.

The light from the window provided enough silhouette to reveal he'd wrapped a towel around his waist. He paused by his bed long enough to fling back the covers and drop the towel. Virginia squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the creak of springs as he lowered his big body onto the old mattress. She counted as he punched his pillow four times and rolled over twice before settling down. Same old routine, she thought sadly, minus the part where he'd lay his hand on her stomach before falling asleep.

As pain ballooned in her chest, she twisted the sheet in her hands and brought it to her mouth, fighting the urge to call out his name. She had to regain control of the situation, and fast. She'd once heard that in any relationship, romantic or otherwise, the person who cared the least had the most power. A wry laugh died in her throat. If the saying was true, between the two of them Bailey definitely had the most power.

Then a thought occurred to her. She could be the person who
appeared
to care the least. Bailey Kallihan was wrong—she was a great actress, and she would play the part convincingly until her heart healed completely. Eventually, she'd get over him.

But her heart squeezed sadly, reminding her that if she pulled off this part, she'd deserve an Academy Award.

* * *

Bailey started awake, disoriented at first, then remembering where he slept: in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, in the shelter where his son was staying, in a hot room exactly five strides from Ginny's bed.

Moonlight streamed through the opening of the curtains at the small window. He estimated approximately an hour had passed since the last time he'd awakened, with about four more hours to go until dawn. He knuckled his scratchy eyes, then swung his legs to the floor and sat on the side of the bed.

Ginny lay in the shadows of the wall, her figure barely discernible. After a few seconds passed and she hadn't stirred, he stood up gingerly and padded over to her bedside, standing close enough to make out her features. She lay on her back, one arm folded across her stomach, the other flung wide. She was so lovely. High cheekbones and finely arched brows, a sculpted nose and full mouth. Her hair fanned over the pillow, tangled and wild.

His gaze roved lower. She'd kicked off the covers, as was her habit. A spaghetti strap from her camisole had slipped off her shoulder, offering a tempting glimpse of the curve of her breast. The silky fabric had crept up, displaying her flat, sexy stomach. The skimpy panties were nearly hidden in the valley created by her slightly raised knee. And underneath all that luscious, smooth skin lay a heart of pure gold and a passion of pure intensity.

His naked body responded to his musings, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to crawl in beside her and stroke her to full consciousness. She had wanted him earlier, he was sure of it. Ginny had always been forthright about her feelings—he'd been the accomplished cover-up artist. So why had she pulled back?

A disturbing thought struck him. Perhaps she did want him, in the physical sense, but felt no affection, no love for him. To a woman like Ginny, sex without emotion would be a mistake. Maybe that's why she'd changed her mind—because she had absolutely no feelings for him.

Although many obstacles blocked the road toward a long-term relationship between them, Bailey had never doubted their true affection for each other. If that one flickering flame had been doused in Ginny's heart, his chances of winning her back were bleak indeed. He took an enormous breath and exhaled slowly, then limped back to his bed. The worst of the night was yet to come.

* * *

"Did you sleep well?" Ms. Andrews asked.

Virginia nodded, lying. Her normal ten-minute makeup application had stretched to thirty that morning in an attempt to camouflage her tired, puffy eyes. Bailey and his luggage had been gone when she awoke, his bed passably made. Her momentary relief had given way to growing concern because she would have preferred their first exchange after the awkward evening be conducted in private.

Chad's counselor pushed a newspaper across the table. "I thought you might want to see this."

Frowning, Virginia picked up the paper. It was startling to see herself standing next to Bailey in a picture after all these years. She looked scared and shy, he looked confident and comforting, his arm draped around her protectively.
Return of Kidnapped Boy After Eight Years Could Reunite Divorced Parents.
The story gave scant details of the kidnapping and of the reunion, giving the most space to Bailey's quip implying they might get back together.

Virginia rolled her eyes. Love conquers all, love is the answer, all you need is love—the media portrayed romantic love as some kind of panacea, but she'd learned long before that it took more than love to keep a relationship together. Her love for Bailey had been unshakable, yet her marriage had crumbled anyway. Pushing the paper aside, she laughed dryly. "Don't believe everything you read, Ms. Andrews."