Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

All the hostility between us made absolute sen

se. Vaughn was right: maybe I wasn’t very good at reading people, because we were two people who were attracted to each other and didn’t want to be.

Of course there was going to be hostility.

And here I thought he was just a dick.

The truth was I should have been annoyed by the fact that Vaughn was attracted to me and didn’t want to be. Instead I felt a thrill tremble through me.

Yesterday if I’d discovered he wanted me but didn’t want to want me, I would have said it was because he still thought I was beneath him. Now, after having stared into those icy gray eyes of his, I saw something I hadn’t wanted to see before.

Vulnerability.

A wound, even.

Something had happened to Vaughn Tremaine.

I’d bet anything that something was a woman.

“Have you ever been in love?” I blurted out.

For a moment he just stared at me. My wine-flushed skin turned hotter than hell. “Have you?”

I nodded.

“How many times?”

A month ago I would have said twice. But now I wasn’t so sure. In fact . . . I wasn’t even sure if I ever had been. “Does it count if the person doesn’t love you back?”

And that’s when it happened.

For the first time ever, Vaughn Tremaine’s hard gaze softened, and I didn’t feel quite as stupid for showing him my underbelly. “Yes, Bailey. I think you can love someone even if they don’t love you back.”

Maybe it was because he said my name. Or maybe it was the kindness I’d never seen or heard in him.

But I wanted to cry.

I looked down at my lap as I tried to control the impulse. “Then once. I’ve been in love once. You?”

“My father . . . he loved my mother. The way he talks about her I’m not sure I’ve ever . . .”

His tone drew my gaze and once more I found myself captured in his study of me. “I’m sorry about your mother. I know you lost her when you were young.”

Vaughn stared back out at the ocean. I realized he did this, avoided a person’s gaze, when he didn’t want them to guess his thoughts. “I had my father.”

“I like him. Your dad. I like him a lot.”

“Most people do. He’s a very charming man.”

“A good dad?”

“A very good dad. A very good man.”

“He’s very . . . down to earth for a man of privilege.”

“Well he wasn’t always privileged. He’s the son of a postal worker.”

I was astonished. “I thought you were born a blue blood.”