“Why?”
“Because—” Her hand fluttered, as though in search of an answer. “Because I want to be with you,” she answered finally.
Ian knew he was on dangerous ground,
but he couldn’t seem to back away. “Even though I make you crazy?”
“Maybe because you make me crazy,” she whispered, looking at him with eyes that glowed in the soft, intimate lighting.
“You make me crazy, too, Bailey Gates,” he murmured.
She leaned a little closer, as though to better hear his lowered voice. “Do I?”
He nodded, his gaze falling to her moistened, slightly parted lips. “You make me want—”
“What?” she whispered, her mouth only an inch from his now.
A groan pushed its way from somewhere inside him. “Things I can’t have,” he said roughly.
A moment later, he was on his feet, standing several feet away from where she sat blinking at his sudden movement. “Go inside, Bailey, and lock your doors. You’ll catch cold out here in the night air.”
“Bran—”
Just once, he thought, he’d like to hear his real name on her lips. “Good night, Bailey.”
“But—”
He turned and walked rapidly away, into the darkness, into the rain he couldn’t feel. He disappeared quickly into the shadows, before she could notice that his hair and clothing were still completely dry.
The weather had no effect on a ghost.
Bailey, on the other hand, was tearing him apart.
BAILEY SAT on her bed, her feet drawn up in front of her, and listened to the rain splashing against the bedroom window. Usually she enjoyed the peaceful sound of rain in the night. This particular night, it only seemed to emphasize how very much alone she was.
Maybe she should have taken a room in the inn. Aunt Mae would be close by, then, as well as the staff and guests. She would be surrounded by people.
But she would still be alone.
There was no one she could talk to about this, no one who would truly understand what a mess her life had become. No job, no home of her own except a small apartment in Chicago that held no pleasure for her now, no plans for her future. And now, to top everything off, she was falling hard for a man who seemed to have more secrets and more emotional barriers than anyone she’d ever made the mistake of getting involved with.
It was ridiculous for her to feel this way about Bran, she told herself, trying to be sensible and logical. She hardly knew him. She’d been with him—what? Three times? Four?
She wished he were with her now.
He was the most frustrating man she’d ever met. Though he somehow managed to get her to tell him things she didn’t tell anyone else, he steadfastly refused to tell her anything at all about himself. She knew something had come between him and Anna, but he wouldn’t discuss it. He was unemployed, and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a relationship.
You make me want things I can’t have, he’d said just before he’d moved away from her as though she’d explode in his face if he didn’t.
She’d wanted him to kiss her so badly she’d ached.
She buried her face in the crook of her arms and groaned. Oh, Bailey, you really are a fool, she thought in despair. Something told her Bran could hurt her worse than she’d ever been hurt before.
She was just as certain that the hurt was already inevitable.
THE WATCHER WAS WET. He was cold. And he was furious.
She was inside, warm and dry and surrounded by people who seemed to be going out of their way to make her happy. She didn’t deserve that after what she’d done to him.