Loving Bailey (15 page)

“Okay,” said Jen, breaking through the burnt
sugar and flaking it away from the creamy custard underneath. She
handed Bailey a spoon. “Spill.”

Bailey told her everything, starting with
going to Spencer’s for dinner and ending with kissing Trace in her
dining room minutes earlier. Jen licked custard off the spoon and
watched her without speaking her eyes getting wider as Bailey
spoke. When she got to Spencer’s earlier offer, Jen’s mouth fell
open.

“That’s about it,” said Bailey, digging her
spoon into the dessert.

“Wait,” said Jen, holding her spoon like a
pointer. “So you’re telling me you tried to have sex with Spencer
on Tuesday night, but he wouldn’t because you were a drunk
virgin.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” said Bailey.
When Jen said it, Spencer sounded like a decent guy not a
self-righteous dick who assumed she’d fallen in love with him.

“But it’s true.” Jen waved her spoon
dismissively. “And the only reason you didn’t have sex with Trace
last night was because you didn’t have a condom?”

Bailey took a bite of custard so she wouldn’t
have to speak and nodded.

“Damn,” said Jen, drawing the word out to two
syllables. “You do realize most people manage to do this in the
back of someone’s car by the time they turn seventeen.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” said Jen, flicking away a bit
of burnt sugar. “So what the hell are you doing here? Pick one of
them and go get laid.”

“I can’t leave in the middle of dinner
rush.”

Jen snorted. “This can hardly be considered a
rush,” she said, swinging her spoon expansively. “The season hasn’t
started yet. The line is slowing down already. Sam and I can handle
it.”

“But you’re not even supposed to be here this
late. Don’t you need to get home to Mark and the kids?” The idea of
leaving , just walking out with Trace – because of course it had to
be him, Spencer might be a good guy, but he wasn’t the guy, not for
her – made her stomach flutter.

“He can handle baths and bedtime stories
tonight. It’s good for him. The kids, too. I can’t do it all the
time, but every once in a while it’s kind of nice to be out at
night with the adults. Go on, sweetie. We’ve got this. Go have
sex.”

Bailey leaned over the desk and gave her
friend a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks,” she said, already sounding a little
breathless. She stood and smoothed out her chef’s coat. “God, I
must look like a wreck.” She’d planned on having a little more time
to get ready before she saw Trace.

“You look beautiful. Just lose the whites.
But honestly, sweetie, I don’t think it’s going to matter. You’re
going to be naked most of the time anyway,” she said, sticking out
the tip of her tongue. “Whichever guy you choose is just going to
be happy to be the one. Nothing else will matter.”

“Trace,” said Bailey. “It’s always been
Trace.”

Trace sat at the bar, sipping his coke, and
fumed. The smug bastard on the stool next to him had no business
wondering about his commitment to Bailey. No business at all. He
only prayed Spencer hadn’t said anything to Bailey. The last thing
in the world he wanted was her doubting the reasons they were
together.

He loved her. He might not be able to say it
out loud. Hell, he could barely think it, but that didn’t make it
any less true.

And he was going to do his damndest not to
fuck things up. His parents couldn’t do it, and he and Anna had
been a disaster, but Bailey’s parents were still together. From the
outside at least it looked like they were very much in love. Jude
and his fiancée, Autumn, hadn’t been together long, but it seemed
like they would stick, too. He and Bailey could be like that. He’d
work every day to make sure of it.

“Can I get you something else?” asked the
pretty server with the long dark ponytail.

“Not now, thanks.” Trace paused for a moment,
trying to remember the young woman’s name.

He’d met her before, but her name escaped
him. She didn’t wait to see if he’d remember. She moved on to
Spencer, leaning against the bar in front of him.

“Do you want some more wine?” she asked,
running a finger along the rim of his glass. “Or anything else?”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and the writer let out
a soft chuckle.

“Yes to both,” said Spencer, leaning his
elbows on the bar. “I’d love some more of the syrah and I’m getting
hungry. Bring me whatever you think I’d like.”

“I know just the thing,” she said with a toss
of her hair.

She poured a rich dark red into his glass and
turned to the kitchen, her hips swinging more than normal in the
short black skirt. Trace watched the writer watch her go. When the
door to the kitchen closed Spencer made a low noise of approval and
Trace turned to him, anger creasing his forehead. He snorted with
disgust and Spencer turned his attention from the door the woman
disappeared through to him.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Spencer.

“Your devotion to Bailey is overwhelming,” he
said with a shake of his head.

“Bailey and I never had anything serious. In
fact, I was very clear about that. Don’t want any hurt feelings. I
like her and respect her and if she wants help with her problem,”
he tipped his head to the side and grinned. “Well, I’ll be more
than happy to help. Hell, after thinking about it for two days, I’d
consider it a fucking honor.”

“What problem?” asked Trace, regretting the
entire conversation.

“She didn’t tell you?” He took a swallow of
his wine and smiled. “Maybe things aren’t as settled as they
seemed. If she confided in me and not you, I might not be
completely out of the running. In which case, I’m going to have to
disappoint the pretty waitress. Bailey’s worth waiting for.”

Trace clenched his fists under the bar. It
was nothing. The writer was just fucking with him. When he’d gotten
there, Bailey had practically thrown herself into his arms. They
were fine and as soon as she was done for the night he was going to
take her home and make sure she forgot everything except the feel
of his hands on her. His mouth on her. Him inside her.

He heard the swish of the door and turned
back just in time to see Bailey coming in from the kitchen. She’d
traded her chef whites for jeans slung low on her hips and a sheer
white blouse. He could clearly make out the outline of her bra
through the lace and his mouth practically watered. He also wanted
to throw a jacket over her to hide her lush curves from the
writer.

But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking at
Spencer; she was looking at him with heat and anticipation and
something he prayed was love shining in her eyes.

She licked her lips, slick with pale gloss
and every drop of blood in his body left his brain and fled south.
“I’m done. Jen’s going to cover the kitchen for me and help close.
Are you ready?”

“God yes,” he said, jumping off the stool so
fast he stumbled and had to catch himself against the bar.

He hurried to meet her and then she was
pressed against him, tucked under his arm, her hand on his waist.
He kissed the top of her curly dark hair, breathed in the spicy
sweet scent of Bailey, and led her out the front door. When he
glanced back over his shoulder, he saw Spencer looking after them,
wistfully.

Bailey was glad she’d taken the time to run
upstairs to change. The expression on Trace’s face had been more
than worth it.

“Where do you want to go?” Trace kept his arm
resting on her shoulder, a solid reassuring weight.

“Can we go to your place? Jen said she could
handle closing. I’d kind of like to make a clean getaway.”

“We can go wherever you want.” He led her to
his truck at the back of the restaurant and walked around to the
passenger’s side. Instead of opening the door for her, he turned
her in his arms and pressed her back against the truck, caging her
with his body. He bent to kiss her, soft at first, but when their
lips touched she made a hungry noise deep in her throat.

He groaned, forcing her lips open, no longer
gentle but with a bruising touch which set off flares of heat deep
in her body. She arched up to meet him, pushing away from the cool
metal so she could take what she wanted from him. Her fingers
threaded in his dark hair, holding him as she stretched up and
tugged his bottom lip, full and firm, between her teeth. She nipped
and he let out a throaty growl, sliding his tongue past her lips to
tease and taste her.

“It’s too far,” he said, his voice a low
rumble in the dark. “I could take you to the lodge. God, Bailey,
I’ve got to get my hands on you.”

She thought for a moment of the cool white
sheets and rustic rooms in the lodge, but she wanted to see Trace’s
bedroom. And she couldn’t stand the idea of him jumping out of bed
in the morning to race down the mountain to the farm.

“I think I’d be more comfortable at your
place,” she said with the part of her brain that still
functioned.

He pulled away from her and cool air rushed
over her flushed skin. She fought the disappointed noise
threatening to escape from her lips. Maybe the lodge wasn’t a bad
idea after all.

“Get in.” He reached past her to open the
truck door, and she started to climb into the cab, almost stumbling
back when he palmed her butt.

“Stop it!” she squealed, grinning over her
shoulder.

“Hurry,” he said, his voice a low command as
he practically launched her into the truck.

He climbed in behind the steering wheel and
she slid across the bench seat to him. His plaid cotton shirt lay
open at the collar, revealing the tanned skin of his throat. Bailey
scrambled to her knees so she could kiss the warm skin under his
jaw. God, he smelled good, sharp and clean like freshly mown grass
and something citrusy. She nuzzled his neck, opening another button
on his collar so she could lick at the pulse which beat under the
skin at the base of his throat.

“That’s it,” he said, catching her hands
before she could go any further. He pushed her away gently, sliding
her across the seat to the passenger’s side. “You stay over here on
your side of the truck.” He reached over and pulled the seat belt
across her, making a show of straightening the strap where it
rested between her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat as he
clicked the belt tight. “Or I’m going to forget I was ever a
gentleman and fuck you on the side of the road.” He kissed her
cheek, the soft chaste touch at odds with the coarseness of his
words. Bailey sucked in some air and nodded, unable to speak past
the tightness in her throat.

Trace raced down the mountain, sending her
sliding on the slippery vinyl seat. Thankful for the seatbelt
holding her in place, Bailey shifted so she could see his profile.
She loved the way he looked, love the way his dark hair started to
curl over his collar when he needed a trim, which was most of the
time. She loved the way stubble shadowed his jaw by the end of the
day and the way his eyes shifted from almost blue gray to the color
of thunderstorms when he was angry. Or excited.

He clenched his strong jaw and kept his gaze
pinned to the winding road, his hands gripping the wheel at ten and
two. Everything in his body language suggested a single minded
determination to get them down the mountain as fast as he could.
The air in the cab crackled with sexual tension. Bailey wanted him,
wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. It was more than
just physical. Though that part was strong enough, a hunger which
had turned into an aching need.

She wanted more than just his body. Trace had
been a quiet, steady thread running through the backdrop of
everything she’d done for the last four years. He’d been there when
she opened the restaurant, been there every week bringing her the
things she needed to make Seasons run. He’d stood beside her at
family events and helped without her having to ask. And when she’d
been so scared about Travis, he’d held her and told her things
would be okay; that they’d figure it out together.

Working to plant her roots and nurture her
dream, Bailey had built a home for herself at Mountain Lake and
Trace was part of it. She couldn’t go back to pretending he was
just a friend. Trace was family and family meant everything to
her.

Overcome by a need to touch him, to make a
physical connection to match her emotional one, she reached across
the cab and put her hand on his arm. She felt his muscles bunch
warm and strong through the fabric of his shirt. He glanced over at
her, taking his gaze off the road for a moment, and smiled, a soft
smooth curve of his mouth.

“Almost there,” he said, making the final
switchback before the long gentle downhill run to the bottom of the
mountain.

“Good,” she said, more ready than she’d ever
been for anything.

As she watched, he opened his mouth and then
closed it again without saying anything.

“What?”

“Well…”

This time when he looked at her there was a
crease in his forehead. “Tell me,” she said, giving his arm a
little squeeze.

“That writer, Spencer,” he said, correcting
himself. “He said you had some kind of problem he wanted to help
you with.”

She froze in the seat next to him, careful to
keep her face smooth when his gaze darted to her. He waited a
moment, but there was no way on God’s green earth she was offering
information. She’d done it the last time and it had wrecked things.
Not that she wasn’t glad she and Spencer hadn’t…she couldn’t even
think the words sitting in the truck with Trace. But there was no
way she was going to risk messing things up with Trace. He was too
important for her to take a chance with. And after tonight it
wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Never mind,” he said, a doubtful edge to his
voice. “He must have just been messing with me.”