He stared at the name neatly printed in bold caps:
MISS BAYLI STYLES
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned. Though he was glad to have found the note that evidently had fallen from the box, probably due to the stiff breeze and the vacuum it created when the door was opened.
He tore at the tiny flap and removed the card inside.
And bit back a litany of curse words at the message printed in the exact same way as her name:
STAY AWAY FROM HIM
Rory did an abrupt about-face and went back to the elevator. Returned to the apartment.
Christian and Bayli were standing by the fireplace. He’d changed into a pair of black drawstring pants and nothing more. She wore one of Rory’s sweaters and socks, the tops bunched at her ankles.
Christian took one look at him and visibly steeled himself for this next attack on Bayli.
Rory thrust the card at Christian, who snatched it away and then yelled, “Goddamn it!”
“Yeah,” Rory barked. “It is that fucking YouTube video!”
EIGHTEEN
Bayli took another shower. Then soaked in the tub with both Rory and Christian.
She needed the water rushing over her skin to chase away the lingering sensation of a gazillion legs crawling all over her. The guys needed something to relax them. Bring the blood pressure down a few notches. Make them a little less ready to wrap their bare hands around someone’s neck for terrorizing her.
She saw it all in their tense muscles and hooded eyes.
Unfortunately, Rory was doubly pissed off because he blamed himself for the whole mess. Bayli tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault.
She sat between Christian’s parted legs, her back to his chest as he cupped his hands on each side of her, filled them with water, and poured the streams over her shoulders and down her arms to keep her from being so damn creeped out. But her gaze was on Rory across from them in the giant tub.
“This’ll blow over,” she said. “The men who e-mailed me suggesting Internet affairs and swapping nude photos got bored with my lack of a reply and quietly went away. My more persistent stalker hung in there until I closed my e-mail account. He didn’t bother to track down the new one. Until recently, that is. When you don’t engage, they go away. That’s been my experience.”
“I’m not discounting that,” Rory said between clenched teeth. “On the other hand, has anyone ever sent you a box of spiders?”
“Well … no. Of course not.” Okay, so he had her on that one.
“This isn’t the same as annoying or lewd e-mails, Bayli,” he said.
“I understand that, Rory. And from here on out, I won’t accept any deliveries I’m not expecting. But what else am I supposed to do? What does this nutjob think I’m going to do? Back out of the show or my relationship with you and Christian just because he did something menacing to warn me off?”
“It scared the shit out of you,” Rory said with an unwavering look.
“Yes.” She sighed. “No lie. It did. But not enough for me to cower in a corner. I’m not walking away from everything we’re all currently building because someone thinks in their deluded mind they have a claim on you—or even me, if it’s my guy who’s all amped up.”
“Sweetheart,” Christian said in his low, sensual tone, ever the voice of reason. And extreme stimulation. “Rory’s just saying that it’s infuriating to see something so insidious happen to you, and I’m with him on that. The video is likely the catalyst. Whether it is or not is actually irrelevant.” He paused and she could tell Christian was staring at Rory over her head, making his own point. “We’ll have to deal with this, because chances are very good it’s not the last attempt this person will make in their quest to be heard. And there will no doubt be plenty of other fans who will get out of hand. Comes with the territory. Rory already knows this.”
“So we ought to talk about security measures,” Rory said.
Bayli gave a sharp shake of her head. “Do not go there, Rory.”
“Go where?” Christian asked.
“Bodyguards. She needs one.”
“Rory, I do not—”