Runaway Attraction Page 4

  “The only thing I’ve agreed to do so far is to meet with you,” she reminded him.

  “Thanks for even that much. This is going to be amazing. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  But as soon as Bailey ended the call, doubts began to swarm her. The last time she’d sat across from Micah Jones for an interview, she’d inadvertently given some lunatic the means with which to abduct her. Was she setting herself up for something even more sinister?

  She gripped the sofa’s armrest as panic cascaded through her. The all-too-frequent tightness in her chest seized the air in her lungs.

  “Stop it,” Bailey ordered herself.

  She slowly released her grip on the armrest, her chest heaving with her heavy breaths.

  She refused to go down this road again today, and she was not backing out of this documentary. She needed to regain the power she’d lost—the power that had been stolen from her by a faceless assailant who continued to haunt her.

  Not anymore. Micah Jones had just given her a way to take back control of her life. And she was going to use it.

  Chapter 3

  Bailey spotted Micah as he walked past the coffee shop’s large windows and moments later entered through the glass door. He stood at the entrance, his eyes roaming until he spotted her.

  A smile broke out across his face, and suddenly an issue she hadn’t considered popped into her head. How would she curb the undeniable attraction she’d felt toward him from the moment she’d met him?

  The man was the personification of masculine beauty, with dark, intense eyes and chiseled features. His tan suede jacket fit perfectly over his dark brown corduroy pants. He was untying a cream-and-red-plaid scarf from around his neck as he approached the table.

  “Hello,” he said. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Not at all,” Bailey lied. She’d left her apartment over an hour ago, sneaking away while the bodyguard was in the bathroom. The need to break away from those four walls had all but consumed her.

  He nodded toward her half-filled cup. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes while I get coffee?”

  “Please, go ahead,” she said, gesturing to the counter.

  As he studied the menu along the wall behind the baristas, Bailey studied him. His broad shoulders filled every inch of his sports coat. His muscular build befitted a professional football player more than a television producer. However, that sculpted jaw and those arresting brown eyes were definitely made for TV.

  As she observed him, Bailey concluded that the laid-back, relaxed demeanor that had put her at ease during their interview was not an act. It was evident in the way he walked, the way he stood. He exuded a calmness that made it easy to feel comfortable around him.

  That could prove to be dangerous for reasons she hadn’t considered when she’d agreed to this meeting. Bailey wasn’t oblivious to the tingly sensations that had been traveling along her skin from the second Micah had entered the coffee shop. Those tingles were definitely trouble. She already had too many things to contend with—she had no desire to add a hyperactive libido to her plate.

  He returned to the table with a paper coffee cup and took the seat across from her.

  “Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me,” he said. “I have to give you fair warning—I’m going to do everything I can to convince you to sign on for this project. I really think this documentary will be amazing, Bailey. Not just amazing, but beneficial, too.”

  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what the documentary will entail? But, first, here’s my fair warning—I am not doing another live, one-on-one interview on your show. On anyone’s show, for that matter. I know better than to expose myself to that kind of ridicule.”

  His brow wrinkled, drawing her attention to the deep brown of his irises. They were so dark they were almost black, and they had the frightening ability to steal the breath from her lungs.

  “What makes you think you would be ridiculed on my show?” he asked. “Did I give you reason to believe that any moment of our previous interview wasn’t one-hundred-percent genuine?”

  “No, but as I told you yesterday, things have changed significantly since our first interview. You did see the press conference, didn’t you?”

  “I would never treat you that way.”

  “Why should I believe that? You’re a reporter—”

  “I’m not—”

  “Fine,” she said with an impatient flick of her wrist. “Producer, TV personality, whatever you want to call yourself. The point is that it’s your job to get the dirt on people. And no matter how much I tell everyone that there isn’t any real dirt out there about me, the media doesn’t seem to comprehend that. Some of them have taken to actually making stuff up. My brother thinks I should file a slander lawsuit.”

  “Filing a lawsuit will only draw more attention to yourself, which those same reporters will no doubt put a negative spin on.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. In a slightly lower and devastatingly smooth voice he said, “Look, Bailey. I know you’ve had a contentious relationship with the media lately, but you don’t have to worry about me twisting the story for my own benefit. That’s not how I operate. I make sure everything I say on Connect is thoroughly vetted.”

  “I don’t care how thorough you are. Just know that I am not joining you on your couch again.” His brow quirked and an immediate rush of heat flooded her face. “You know what I mean,” she said.

  His lips curved in a quick, sexy grin as he reached for his coffee.

  “I do,” he said after taking a sip. “But it doesn’t matter, because what I have in mind doesn’t involve you on my couch.”

  Bailey bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. This volleying of sexual innuendo was totally inappropriate given how much was at stake.

  She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  His brow cocked again.

  “In regards to the documentary,” Bailey clarified. Lord, she so did not have the mental energy to engage in suggestive banter with Micah Jones.

  He set his cup aside and folded his hands on the table. “Before you even ask, I’m not seeking to do an exposé or some other such nonsense that would harm your reputation rather than help it.”

  “Exactly what did I do to warrant this sudden concern for my reputation? Especially from a reporter?”

  His long-suffering sigh was genuine, and Bailey realized in that moment that the sarcasm toward him was completely unwarranted. Micah had never been anything but honest and sincere, both during their interview and since he’d contacted her yesterday. Yet she’d mentally lumped him in with the rest of the paparazzi who’d set out to make her life a living hell.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Blame my bitchiness on lack of sleep and an abundance of stress.”

  “The last thing I want to do is stress you out. My goal is to give New Yorkers a more in-depth look into your life from your perspective. And you were right when you said that I would get something out of it, too. Your interview was one of the highest rated in Connect’s history. The numbers guys back at the network think it was because of you and your appeal, or the hype that was surrounding Fashion Week at the time, or the attraction of RHD as a company—no one can really pinpoint it. But personally, I think you were the biggest draw.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Bailey. You were fascinating. You came across as the glamorous supermodel you are, but you were so down-to-earth and approachable. You were completely different from what I’d expected.”

  She put her elbow on the table and cradled her chin in her palm. “Exactly what did you expect?”

  “A diva,” he answered. “But you weren’t. You were so...authentic.”

  A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Funny you shoul
d use that word. My brother Daniel came up with RHD’s slogan: Authentic Fashion.”

  “It’s more than just a slogan—it’s how you really are. I sensed that from the moment I met you, and that’s what I want to show the rest of the world. I want to give our viewers a glimpse into what it’s really like to be Bailey Hamilton.”

  That was easy. Confused. Afraid. Going out of her mind.

  No. That was not who she was, and that was not what she wanted the world to see. It was not what she wanted Micah to see, either. Hearing him recount her attributes in such a flattering way had summoned those tingles again.

  With a self-deprecating chuckle, Bailey asked, “Do you really think people want to know that the real Bailey Hamilton would rather lounge around in sweatpants and an old T-shirt instead of those runway-ready outfits I normally wear in public?”

  “You’re the only woman I know who can make sweatpants and a T-shirt look like something that belongs on a runway.”

  Maybe those words wouldn’t have set the butterflies in her stomach aflutter if he hadn’t spoken them in such a soft, seductive voice. Their eyes connected, and Bailey was instantly entrapped by the heat radiating from him. They stared at each other much too long to deny what had passed between them. Bailey was the first to look away.

  She peered up at a framed black-and-white photo of a coffee cup on the wall next to them.

  “So,” she said, after she was able to get the air flowing into her lungs again, “I’m assuming this documentary is going to be about more than just the clothes I wear?”

  She returned her gaze to Micah to find him still staring at her with that bold, penetrating look. Desire flared to life within her, and Bailey had to pull in another deep breath.

  “Micah, I can’t,” she whispered. She couldn’t handle this right now. She had too much on her plate; she couldn’t heap on this dose of outrageously intense attraction.

  “I know,” he said.

  The air continued to pulse with deep, dark need. The fervency of it was palpable, the electricity arcing across the table undeniable. But deny it she would.

  “The documentary,” Bailey prompted.

  “Yes.” Micah cleared his throat as he picked up his phone and swiped across the touch screen. “I’ve been brainstorming. I want to give my viewers an inside look into RHD and the modeling industry as seen through your eyes. I want you to tell the story, Bailey.”

  “Why me?” she asked. “I’m not the only one who can give an insider’s look into the industry.”

  “You’re the one everyone wants,” he said.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he included himself among that number, but that would require a level of boldness she’d never felt off the runway. Instead, Bailey took a healthy sip of her tea to give herself something to do while she processed his words—and avoid the penetrating look that had returned to his eyes.

  He propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands, resting his forehead on them for a moment before looking up at her.

  “Okay, can we just get this out in the open?” He blew out a deep breath. “I’m attracted to you. I have been from the very beginning.”

  A dizzying jolt of awareness raced through her at his announcement. Before she could respond, he held both hands up. “But that’s not the reason I want to do this documentary. In fact, it will make things harder.”

  Bailey couldn’t help the laugh that sprung from her mouth.

  His brow dipped in a frown seconds before he caught his unintended double entendre. “You know what I mean,” Micah said.

  “I do. I’m attract—”

  Micah stopped her with a hard shake of his head. “Don’t tell me the attraction is mutual. That’s not what I need to hear right now.” He ran a hand down his face, the picture of barely contained sexual frustration. “Look, Bailey, I need you to be the subject of this documentary and nothing more. I’d give my left arm to have you be more, but it wouldn’t be a good idea—not if we’re going to work together.”

  Bailey knew that what he suggested was the best thing for both of them, but that didn’t stop her from feeling a little hurt. She pushed the hurt to the side.

  She was carrying a boatload of baggage; she didn’t need to add any romantic entanglements. She had a specific goal in mind when it came to this documentary, and she needed to remember that.

  “I agree,” she answered. “We need to keep this on a strictly professional playing field.”

  Micah’s shoulders relaxed, but his expression still held traces of longing and regret.

  Bailey could commiserate.

  “So,” he asked, “have I convinced you that this documentary is the best idea in the history of the world yet?”

  “Maybe.” She laughed. “But unfortunately for you, I’m not the only one you have to convince.”

  “Ah, yes.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “The package deal that is the Hamilton family.”

  “I know, I know. We’re obnoxiously close-knit.”

  His head tipped to the side and he gave her a curious stare. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  Bailey lifted her shoulders in a light shrug as she wrapped her palms around her tea. “I complain, but it’s not all bad. Being the baby of the family, I’m spoiled by everyone, and I take full advantage of it whenever I can.”

  She laughed, but he didn’t join in. His body stiffened as he looked past her.

  “Bailey, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s this guy on the other side of the coffee shop who walked in about ten minutes ago, and he’s been staring at you ever since.”

  Bailey glanced over her shoulder and cringed under her bodyguard’s reprimanding gaze.

  “Oh, great,” she muttered, feeling like a teenager who’d been caught sneaking out of the house. She pivoted toward Nick, one of the three bodyguards who took turns watching her every single move.

  She put a finger up to tell Nick she needed more time. Then she turned back to Micah and said, “Don’t ask.”

  “You don’t have to answer, but I have to ask.”

  Of course he did. Regardless of whatever label he tried to put on it, he was a reporter. It was in his nature to ask.

  “He’s...a bodyguard,” she said.

  Micah’s gaze went from curious to concerned.

  She shook her head. “I can’t get into it, so please, don’t ask. Just pretend you didn’t see him. No, wait!” She stopped short, realizing this could very well work in her favor. “When you meet with my family, let that be the first thing you bring up. Maybe then my dad will see just how ridiculous it is to have these bodyguards following me around.”

  Micah’s brow furrowed. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “Bailey, what really happened during Fashion Week? I’m not buying this exhaustion story your family has been feeding to the press. You were so excited about RHD’s show you could hardly sit still during our interview, yet you pull out right before your big moment? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that there’s more to the story. What happened to you that night?”

  “You said you wouldn’t grill me like a reporter.”

  “This isn’t me being a reporter. This is me—” he tapped his fingers to his chest “—being concerned about you. I just want to know that you’re okay.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Why?” she asked, although she already had her answer. The intensity in his eyes suggested that his question was wrapped in something much more powerful than just concern, and Bailey suddenly realized that trying to fight the pull between them would be a thousand times harder than she’d imagined.

  The attraction had sparked the moment she’d sat across from him a few months ago. She had tried to write it off as insignificant. But there was nothing insignificant about the h
eat she could feel like a physical touch on her skin right now.

  Micah reached across the table. “Bailey,” he said, but then his cell phone rang, making them both jump. He pulled his hand back.

  A breath she didn’t realize she was holding rushed out of her mouth.

  He answered the phone, and Bailey could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t thrilled with whatever the person on the other end of the line was telling him. He disconnected the call and grimaced.

  “We’re going to have to cut our meeting short,” he said. “I need to get back down to the station.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, even as a flicker of despondency in her chest contradicted her words. Bailey ignored the unwarranted emotion. “So when do you want to meet at RHD?”

  “The sooner, the better. We’re meeting about our production schedule this afternoon, so I’ll have an idea of a target airdate for the documentary before I meet with your family.”

  “Why don’t you make sure there’s a definite airdate before we bring my family into this?”

  “I think we’ll be able to convince them,” he said.

  Her brow hitched. “We? So we’re a team now?”

  “I’d like to think so.” Did his voice deepen, or was her mind teasing her? “When it comes to the documentary, we have the same goal in mind,” he finished.

  “We both have goals in mind, but I’m not convinced they’re the same,” Bailey said. “Regardless, the documentary will be mutually beneficial. But I have to warn you, Micah—convincing my family won’t be easy.”

  The smile that drew up the corner of his mouth was so tempting Bailey could hardly stand it. “Well, it seems as if we’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see you later.”

  He stood and nodded at Nick as he walked out of the coffee shop.

  * * *

  “Stop hovering,” Brianna demanded as she sketched at her worktable.

  “I’m not hovering,” Bailey defended. “I’m just...perusing.”

  “Since when do you peruse?” Brianna smeared gray charcoal, filling in a drawing of a wrap dress. She covered her mouth and nose with her other hand. “Get away,” she said. “That perfume is making me want to hurl.”