Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

They continued down the boards in silence until they neared his hotel. Bailey stopped where the railings gave way to a ramp that led onto the beach. She sat down at the top of it.

He followed suit, keeping a little distance between them, and opened the wine. Bailey held out the glasses and he filled them, feeling her gaze on his face.

“I’m not going to let him do this to me.” She tried to hide the tremor in her voice and failed.

Vaughn renewed his vow to destroy Stu Devlin as he pressed the ice to his jaw.

He cleared his throat. “Do what?”

“Make me scared. Make me scared in my own inn.”

“You could install security,” he suggested, watching as she raised the glass to her lips. Her hand shook.

Definitely going to destroy the fucker.

“That’s letting him win,” she said before taking a sip of the wine.

“He won’t come after you again. Even he’s not that stupid.”

Bailey grunted. “I knew the man was a moron but . . . what an idiot. There’s no way his father had anything to do with this.”

“I suspect you’re right.” Ian Devlin was a snake, but he was a smarter snake than his son.

Bailey threw back the entire glass of wine and then held out the empty to him to refill. He did so without questioning it.

“I’m glad you were there,” she muttered as he refilled her glass.

Shock rippled through him and his eyes flew to her face.

Bailey was staring at the wine, refusing to meet his eyes.

Stubborn wench.

He smirked, amused by her. “I’m glad I was there, too.”

Now her eyes met his, her own shock alight in them. She saw his smirk, but he guessed she saw his sincerity, too, because she gave a huff of surprised laughter and shook her head. “Vaughn Tremaine coming to my rescue. I would have lost that bet.”

Something hard twisted in his gut. D

id she think he would let anything happen to her?

What else should she think? You’ve been nothing but an asshole to her.

He sipped at his wine, staring out at the dark ocean. The usual serenity it brought him was lost in the storm of emotions the woman beside him incited.

“I like to think I’m good at reading people,” she said. “But you are very difficult to read. To me you’re like that ice in your hand. Like you don’t care about anyone or anything but your hotels. But Jessica and Cooper swear that you’re a good man. And tonight, you came to my defense. Yet . . . here you are . . . back to ice.”

Vaughn studied the wine in his hand, feeling the itch under his skin; the itch to lose control. He could throw back the entire bottle and blame whatever he said and did next on that.

On that thought, or temptation rather, he placed the glass out of his reach on the boards beside them. “Maybe you’re not good at reading people, Miss Hartwell. Your boyfriend of ten years was having an affair behind your back after all.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he flinched.

There was a tense, awful silence but Vaughn could feel the heat of her gaze on his face. Bracing himself he turned to meet her accusing stare. “I’m sorry. I have a bad habit of being a bastard to you.”

Bailey’s eyebrows rose at his admission. And then something rueful and mischievous glinted in those beautiful eyes of hers. “Maybe that’s because I have a bad habit of being a bitch to you.”

He laughed before he could stop himself.