Runaway Attraction Page 9

  “Hey, you guys hungry?” Rafe asked.

  “Starving, actually,” Bailey replied. “I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch, and that was only a granola bar.”

  “We can do better than that. How about I start you two off with some drinks?” Rafe asked, motioning for them to follow.

  Even though it was early, the crowd was a respectable size. Club goers milled about, drinks in hand, conversations flowing. Micah knew from his previous visits that in a few hours there would be twice as many people and the music would be twice as loud.

  The sunken hardwood dance floor was rimmed in deep red fluorescent lights that produced a warm glow. Gold-brushed velvet settees and ottomans lined the interior walls. Each seating area was cordoned off with wine-colored curtains and required a thousand-dollar bar tab just for the privilege of sitting there.

  “This place is fantastic,” Bailey said, her eyes roaming around the club. Micah noticed several people who seemed to have recognized that one of New York’s biggest names in fashion was in the building, but so far the crowd was playing it cool.

  “How long have you been open?” she asked Rafe.

  “A few months,” he answered. He stretched his arms out. “It’s the first of my soon-to-be empire.”

  Micah rolled his eyes again.

  As they walked to the bistro, which was located toward the rear of the club, a passing couple bumped into Bailey on their way to the dance floor, causing her to jump.

  “You’re okay,” Micah said, cradling her elbow.

  She looked over at him and nodded. He could see the war being waged inside her. She was trying to appear cool, but the fear radiating from her was palpable. Micah wondered if her sister had been right. Was it too soon for her? Had he pushed her into doing something she wasn’t ready for?

  He leaned over and spoke into her ear. “Bailey, if you’re uncomfortable, just let me know. We don’t have to stay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  It was a lie, but Micah didn’t dispute her claim. He simply nodded and took a step closer to her.

  Rafe led them to a room that was closed off with frosted-glass doors. There were more gold-velvet sofas, but also several bistro tables.

  The moment they sat, a hostess produced menus. But Rafe instructed her to bring out a sample of everything.

  “I’m still testing the menu,” he said. “You two can be my guinea pigs.”

  Bailey looked over at Micah and with a sly grin asked, “Is that what the P in VIP stands for?”

  Missing the joke, Rafe started in on Bailey, bombarding her with questions. Micah had warned him that questions regarding her disappearance were off-limits, but that didn’t stop his friend from asking her about everything else.

  “What about you two?” Bailey asked. “How did you meet?”

  “Freshman year at Harvard,” Micah answered.

  Bailey’s head jerked back in surprise. “Harvard? Really?”

  Apparently, she hadn’t read up on his background the same way Micah had hers, scouring the internet to learn everything about her.

  “Both Micah and I were majoring in government, but he switched to broadcasting around the same time I switched to marketing,” Rafe said. “We did all right for ourselves. From the housing projects to practically running a television studio and owning a place like this.”

  Bailey looked upon Micah with a sense of wonder, and something else. Pride. It caused a rush of warmth to seep into his bones.

  The server returned in record time with a platter of signature tapas from the menu. Apparently, there were perks to being with the club owner.

  “This all looks amazing,” Bailey commented.

  “Thanks.” Rafe beamed, as if he’d personally prepared the dishes. From what Micah could remember, his old college roommate hadn’t been able to boil an egg. “You know—” Rafe pointed at her with a bacon-wrapped shrimp “—it’s nice to see a model who doesn’t insist on eating rabbit food. You’re okay with getting your grub on.”

  Micah had to agree. Over the past week, he’d discovered several things about Bailey that were atypical of what he’d thought was standard for models. Most notable was her complete lack of diva attitude.

  If anyone had the right to be a diva, it was Bailey Hamilton. With a face that could grace every single magazine cover in the world and a body to match, she commanded attention simply by existing. But Micah had yet to meet a woman more down-to-earth.

  They dined on an array of dishes that were rotated in and out by two table attendants. After nearly an hour of eating and listening to Rafe share stories of their days on the Yard, Rafe was called away to handle an issue with the DJ.

  Micah leaned over and, taking a moment to inhale the scent of Bailey’s perfume, spoke into her ear. “You know we can’t hide back here all night, right?”

  “You sure about that?” she asked with a tense laugh. “This seems like the perfect place to hide.”

  “You do remember why we’re here, don’t you, Bailey?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I guess it’s time for me to go out and be seen.”

  Micah captured her wrist. He took her hand between his and rubbed the soft, smooth skin. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, Bailey.”

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  As they left the back room and headed for the dance floor, Micah spotted one of the eager jerks Bailey had warned him about sidling up to her. He caught the discomfort etched across her face and stepped in front of her in a heartbeat.

  “Can I help you?” Micah asked the guy.

  “Step off, man. I was just asking for a dance.”

  “Actually, she promised me the next dance.” Micah stared down the twentysomething, who looked as if he wasn’t old enough to buy a drink. Where in the hell did this youngster get off thinking he could step up to a woman like Bailey?

  With his hand on the small of her back, Micah guided her to the middle of the dance floor.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m not in the mood for dealing with that tonight.”

  “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

  She looked up at him. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The up-tempo song ended and a much slower ballad began. Bailey brought her arms up and folded her hands behind Micah’s neck. Micah held her at the waist, his fingers meeting at the small of her back. He pulled Bailey more securely against him and began an easy sway. His breathing slowed as he stared down into her eyes, drowning in them.

  “You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he whispered.

  “I’m not,” she answered, but Micah knew better. He’d witnessed that type of fear before; he knew how it looked. And he hated seeing it in her eyes.

  The noise of the other club goers seemed to fade away as they danced. When Bailey rested her head against his shoulder, Micah’s chest tightened with such yearning he could barely breathe.

  He knew it was wrong to close his eyes and imagine this was real, but he did so anyway. If he were honest with himself, he could admit that he’d been dreaming about this for weeks—months even. From the moment Bailey had sat across from him for their interview, he’d been completely enthralled by this woman. Actually getting the chance to hold her, to feel her body nestled against his, was a dream come true.

  “It’s been a while since I went dancing,” Bailey said. “I forgot how much I enjoy it.”

  “Do you think you can stand to step out on the town more often?” he asked. “Not only would it help quell some of the rumors, but I think it would be good for you to have some fun, Bailey.”

  She raised her head and looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. “I think there may be some merit to that. As long as I’m listed as a VIP and get free food.”

  “I c
an arrange that,” Micah said with a grin. After a moment, he lowered his voice and said, “Don’t look now, but there’s a photographer at four o’clock.” Bailey started to turn, but Micah tightened his hold. He shook his head. “This is what you want, remember?”

  “You’re right. Let him fill up his entire memory card.”

  “That’s my girl,” Micah said. The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. She was not his girl, a fact he’d had to remind himself of at least a dozen times in the past few minutes. It was dangerous to allow his mind to go that route.

  Even more dangerous was the subtle smile playing across Bailey’s lips as she looked up at him.

  “I would have thought that spot was taken,” she said. “What happened between you and the anchor from Channel 4 News? I can recall seeing you together in the tabloids quite a few times.”

  She hadn’t looked far enough into his background to know that he’d attended Harvard, but she had looked far enough to know about a past relationship.

  “Angelica and I are friends. Colleagues,” Micah amended.

  “Did things just not work out?”

  “You can say that. It was never all that serious. We went to a couple of industry events together, had a few lunch dates. The only reason it made the gossip pages is because we’re both local personalities.”

  Her brow peaked with curiosity. “So you really are single and available?”

  “I’m single,” Micah said. “But available is another story. You know that, Bailey.”

  “Is it only because of the documentary?” she asked. “Because we won’t be shooting the documentary forever.”

  God, why did she have to remind him of that?

  “Bailey...”

  She tilted her head to the side, staring at him, not giving an inch.

  “I already know how you feel about me,” she said. “You let that cat out of the bag a while ago.”

  If she wanted to know how he felt about her, all she had to do was take a step closer—she’d feel it gaining life behind his zipper.

  “It’s okay, Micah. I don’t have to be your girl if you don’t want me to be.”

  Micah’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. I mean, if you—”

  She put her hand to his chest, laughter lighting her eyes. “I’m teasing you. Goodness, Mr. Jones. Do I need to give you lessons in how to take a joke?” She shook her head. “Look, I understand that circumstances being what they are, nothing can happen between us.” She looked up at him. “But if it could...”

  Micah’s eyes slid closed, and a groan came from deep in his belly.

  She was killing him.

  The temptation to say to hell with propriety and journalistic integrity and all that other crap that was keeping them apart was so strong that Micah had to take a physical step back. For a number of reasons, he and Bailey just could not be together.

  He opened his eyes to find her still staring at him with that sexy, vulnerable look.

  “We can’t, Bailey.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m trying to be okay with that. I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

  The DJ switched things up, moving from the string of ballads he’d been playing to an R & B and hip-hop mix.

  “Come on,” she said. “Time for me to see what kind of moves you have.”

  She started dancing and, for a moment, all Micah could do was stand there and watch. God, this woman was gorgeous. And sexy. The way her hips swayed from side to side—it was as if she was auditioning for a part in his nightly fantasies. She didn’t need to try any harder. The part was hers. Hands down.

  Apparently, all Bailey needed was this small push to get her back into party mode. They remained on the dance floor for a solid hour. The photographer he’d spotted earlier was no longer trying to hide the fact that he was catching Bailey on film, and she didn’t shy away from the camera. It was fascinating to witness her in her element, living it up, having fun.

  But even as she let her hair down—literally—and fully embraced everything Micah had wanted her to enjoy tonight, he remembered that there was still a threat out there. He kept his eyes open, looking for anyone who seemed to be paying too much attention to them.

  Of course, that meant he also saw all the men in the club blatantly staring at her. Micah couldn’t blame them. But he had one up on them tonight—he was the one who was actually here with Bailey.

  The DJ switched things up again, and Bailey tapped at her throat.

  “I need a drink,” she mouthed over the blaring music.

  Micah nodded and led her to the bar. “You want something with a little bite to it, or not?”

  “Not, please,” she said.

  He ordered two sodas on the rocks, then turned back to watch the action on the dance floor. At least, that was what he thought he would watch. Instead, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Bailey. Her face was flushed from the nonstop dancing. Her hair had lost a bit of its bounce. And she was, hands down, the most gorgeous woman in the club. Probably in all the clubs along this stretch of the Meatpacking District, if not all of Manhattan.

  She turned to him with a smile on her face. “Your friend Rafe has himself a winner here. This place is packed.”

  “If anyone can make this club work, it’s Rafe,” Micah said. He took the drinks from the bartender and handed Bailey hers.

  There was a loud crash at the other end of the bar, where, from what he could tell, the other bartender had dropped several glasses. Bailey jumped so high some of the soda splashed over the rim of her glass. Just then, a guy walked up to them and grabbed Bailey’s shoulder from behind.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Bailey froze. Her eyes widened with stark terror.

  Micah tore the guy’s hand from her and stepped up to him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  The guy put both hands up. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought she was someone else.”

  “Something wrong?” asked a woman as she came upon them. She had wavy dark brown hair and a leather jacket similar to Bailey’s.

  “There you are,” the guy said, and the two of them took off for the dance floor.

  Micah turned to Bailey. She was trembling from head to toe, resonating with fear.

  “It’s okay, Bailey.” He had to pry the glass from her hand; she was clutching it so tightly Micah was surprised it hadn’t shattered.

  He took her into his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her temple.

  Micah tightened his hold as he felt her body continue to tremble uncontrollably. He looked up and spotted Rafe marching toward them. He put a hand up, stopping his friend’s approach.

  “Come on,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Her body still shivering, she nodded against his chest.

  Gone was the confident, fun-loving woman who’d spent the past hour living it up on the dance floor. She looked as scared as a cornered mouse.

  Micah bit back a curse.

  A night out on the town wasn’t enough to cure Bailey’s real problem. Neither was a few months in the Virgin Islands. She needed professional help, someone who could teach her how to properly deal with her post-traumatic issues. If she didn’t address this, the abduction would continue to haunt her.

  He just needed to figure out how to get her to see that.

  * * *

  Bailey rubbed her clutched fists up and down her thighs as she sat in the passenger seat of Micah’s sedan. Her chest still felt tight, her skin tingly as panic continued to claw its way up her throat.

  She was going crazy.

  There was no other way to put it. An innocent case of mistaken identity, a simple touch from a stranger, and she’d nearly lost it. How was she ever going to get past this?

>   They pulled up to a light, and Micah’s warm palm slid over her left hand. Her eyes traveled from his hand up to his face, settling on his brown eyes. The understanding and sympathy staring back at her caused her chest to tighten with something other than fear. For the moment, gratitude had taken its place.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She glommed on to the comfort he offered, hating that she needed it but relishing it all the same.

  “You’re okay now,” Micah said. “You were always okay, Bailey. Nothing is going to happen to you on my watch.”

  “That’s just it, Micah. I don’t want to be on anyone’s watch,” she said. “God, I’m so tired of this. I just want to be my old self again.”

  She’d tried so hard not to succumb to the fear that had plagued her since the attack. But it lurked around every corner, making her feel like a frightened lunatic who was afraid of her own shadow.

  “Bailey, you know that you can’t do this on your own, don’t you?”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Get over what happened. You need professional help.”

  Bailey’s head jerked back. Apparently, she wasn’t the only crazy one in this car—he must be insane to suggest such a thing.

  “Be real, Micah. The press made a headline out of me going to the dentist. Can you imagine the field day they would have if I went to a shrink?”

  “Forget the press. You need—”

  “What I need is to not bring any more bad press down on RHD. I’ve caused enough problems for my family.”

  “RHD is one of the most successful design houses in this city. Do you really think you seeing a mental-health professional can bring down an entire fashion empire, Bailey?” He looked at her, his eyes boring into hers. “I’ve seen PTSD before. It won’t get better until you learn how to properly deal with it.”

  “I was tied up for a few hours in a basement at Lincoln Center, not captured by enemy fighters in the mountains of Afghanistan.”

  The light turned green, and they continued up 10th Avenue in silence for a moment.

  “PTSD is not just something prisoners of war experience,” he finally said, staring straight ahead.

  He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. After the extensive research she’d conducted online while recuperating in the Virgin Islands, Bailey didn’t need some professional to diagnose her. She knew she was suffering from post-traumatic stress, but she refused to give the media any more fodder for their sensationalized stories.