Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

My lips parted in consternation. “And how do you know that?”

“I told you. I have great intuition.”

“I didn’t want to want you.”

“I didn’t want to want you, either, but I did.” Vaughn stepped closer to me. “You are everything I’ve never known. I fell in love with you a long time ago, princess. I’ve tried to fight it, but I can’t, and I don’t want to anymore.”

His words thrilled me, they did, but they also scared the shit out of me.

Vaughn thought Camille was only worried about her reputation when he left her, about her status, but as cold as she may have been, I knew . . . I knew she’d loved him. It would be impossible to spend a year in his arms and not fall in love with him. Even with his guard up. Vaughn was capable, successful, hardworking, protective, and gorgeous. There was a whole lot there to like.

A

nd that was what I was so afraid of.

“I want those things you said you don’t want anymore. I want marriage. I want kids.”

Taking my hands in his, Vaughn leaned down to whisper across my lips. “I’ll give you anything, Bailey Hartwell, anything you want.”

The sincerity in his eyes caused tears to well in mine. “You need to want those things for you, too.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “I used to want them. I told you that. I just . . . let myself let go of the fantasy of it. With you . . . God, Bailey, you’ve got me wanting things I gave up on believing I’d ever have.”

There was a part of me, that bright, young, nineteen-year-old girl still inside of me, that wanted to throw my arms around this gorgeous, complicated, stubborn man and say, To hell with it, let’s give this a go. But the cautious thirty-four-year-old who’d wasted too many years already on the wrong man was still taking the wheel on this one.

I thought of that moment months ago, a moment that felt years ago instead, when Tom had begged me to consider taking him back. I’d asked why he wanted me to. I’d asked him why he loved me.

He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t answer because we were stuck in limbo “loving” each other because it felt comfortable and safe. We were a part of something that people expected. And there was comfort in that.

But it wasn’t real love.

Now I feared that Vaughn was confusing our sexual chemistry for something more than it was.

“Why?” I found myself stepping back from Vaughn’s intoxicating proximity. “Why do you love me?”

For a moment, as he stared at me in mild exasperation, I felt my stomach drop as I foresaw a replay of that moment with Tom.

“Why do I love you?” he repeated.

“Yes, why?”

“You know this sharing thing isn’t easy for me,” he grumbled. “I’m not exactly used to all this declaration stuff and I’ve been doing a lot of it lately.”

I tensed, ready to flee.

Vaughn sensed it and held up his hands. “Fine.” He was completely exasperated now. “I can’t believe you need to hear this. It should be obvious to you and to anyone why I’m so fucking in love with you I’m turning into a possessive Neanderthal who is going to ruin his reputation punching assholes in the face and trying to get into your pants in my hotel lobby.

“I love you, Bailey Hartwell, because you frustrate me, you annoy me, you bother me, you bewilder me, you make me laugh, you get under my skin, you take my breath away. I love you because I admire your strength, I admire how hard you work, how much you love the inn, this town, the people in it. I love how you care so much, too much, so much that it scares me because I worry someone will take advantage and you’ll get hurt. I love your fire. I love that you stand up to me. I love how you force me to remove the stick up my ass.

“Mostly I love you because you make me want to live a better life as a better man.”

And on that final, beautiful note, I gasped. An actual gasp. The breath escaped out of me because his words hurt. They caused a physical ache.

But in the most stunning way imaginable.

Slowly, I stepped into him and slid my hands up his chest and around his neck. His jacket fell off my shoulders with the movement and Vaughn’s arms encircled my waist. His strong hands flattened against my bare back and I felt the pressure of his fingertips as he held me close, as close as he could get me.

We stared into each other’s eyes, searching, enjoying the fact that we had the time to do that, that neither one of us was fighting this. We could look as long and as hard at each other as we wanted because our defenses were lowered.