Baylee pinned a smile on her face while swallowing her disappointment. His words had nothing to do with her personally. “Just doing my job.”
Chapter Twelve
Baylee stared at herself in the bathroom mirror of the New York hotel room. Was she seriously going to parade in front of Trey in this nightgown? She loved the chocolate satin trimmed in champagne lace. There was a matching robe. It wasn’t like Trey was going to see anything more than he’d ever seen. Arms and legs—she wore shorts and tank tops to work almost every day. If she put the robe on, which she certainly intended to, all he’d see would be her legs beneath the short hem.
You are being ridiculous, she warned her mirrored reflection. Trey wouldn’t care. He probably wouldn’t even notice. She could hear the drone of ESPN alternating with the announcers from a baseball game on another channel as Trey flipped between the two. She’d have to pass in front of him to get to her bed, but so what? Not like you’re sexy, or anything, she reminded herself. Not like guys ever think of you that way. Especially not guys like Trey.
Besides, she was the one who had screwed up the hotel arrangements, somehow making an online reservation for one room with two queen beds instead of two rooms with king beds. The hotel was booked solid, but the desk clerk had offered to obtain a room for her at the hotel’s sister accommodation two blocks away. She and Trey had engaged in a brief, loudly whispered discussion in which he’d stated his objection to her staying elsewhere. He obviously saw some need to protect her here in the big, bad city, and Baylee had called him on it.
“I’m a grown woman, Trey. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m the one who screwed up the reservation. I’ll be perfectly fine in the other hotel.”
Trey wasn’t convinced. “No.”
Baylee threw up her hands. “It’s either that or we can share your room.”
Trey cocked his head. “Good idea.”
Before she could voice an objection to her own solution, Trey had turned back to the clerk and was signing forms. He handed her one of the key cards and turned toward the bank of elevators.
We’re both adults, she told herself now. She could platonically share a hotel room with Trey for a couple of days.
She put her glasses back on and slid her contact lens case into her toiletry bag. Boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses. She grinned at her reflection. She had absolutely nothing to worry about. She opened the bathroom door, navigated the short hallway to the bedroom area and thought, Wrong!
Trey’s focus wasn’t on the television, which he’d muted when he heard the bathroom door open. His gaze lasered her as soon as she reached his line of vision. Her steps faltered slightly before she strode as nonchalantly as she could to her bed about three feet from his. She bent to pull back the covers and felt the heat of his gaze all along the backs of her thighs, even as the lace hem tickled her right below her buttocks.
What am I doing? she screamed internally. The sick sense of anticipation that Trey would make some kind of move on her had her on a roller coaster from which she was certain to fall. Her warnings to herself weren’t doing her any good at all. Because the truth was, she wished he wanted her.
She slid between the sheets and grabbed the extra pillow to stuff behind her head, yanking the sheet up to her armpits. Sex-y! She stared at the now silent television set, where an ad for one of the male sexual enhancement drugs played itself out to its final tag line of “Ready when you are.”
From her peripheral vision she knew Trey was also staring straight ahead, but he made no move to change the volume setting. He’d also propped himself up with both pillows behind his head. He was still fully dressed except for his shoes and socks.
Baylee stared at his bare feet. No woman in the history of mankind got turned on by a guy’s feet. Except for her. A guy’s feet were hardly considered an erogenous zone. Why then was sucking his toes all she could think about at the moment? She could use her mouth and her hands and her tongue—
Fingers snapped nearby, yanking her out of her fantasy. She turned her head to stare at Trey. He’d extended one arm toward her. Was this the invitation she’d hoped for? To join him in bed? Might her fantasies turn into reality?
“I’m going to go take a shower. Do you want the remote or not?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” She took the remote she now saw was in his hand. When his fingers brushed hers, another minitingle slid through her. Her gaze locked with his until she forced herself to look away. She pressed the volume button on the remote control to bring the sound back. She could feel Trey studying her. Feigning nonchalance, she changed channels until she found a Sex and the City rerun. How apropos. She could use some tips from the pros right about now.
Eventually Trey swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up. She watched him make his way to the bathroom, his limp barely noticeable. Only when she was certain he’d closed the door behind him did she let out a long shaky breath. Sharing quarters with Trey wasn’t going to be quite as easy as she’d thought.
Trey stripped and stepped under the spray before it warmed up. Good, he thought. What he needed was a nice cold shower to get rid of the hard-on he’d evidently developed for Baylee.
She’d somehow sneaked under his radar and wormed her way into his existence, tearing his defenses down as she went. She wasn’t his type for damn sure. She wasn’t even classically pretty. She had a slender, coltish body, when he’d always gone in for the more voluptuous, curvy types. Her boobs weren’t big, although they were certainly more than adequate. Don’t need more than a handful, he reminded himself. Except he’d always liked an overflowing handful.
Where’d she get those sexy nightclothes, he wondered. Did she sleep in those all the time? He’d sort of figured her for the cotton T-shirt and boxers type. Not satin and lace. Showed how much he knew. About her. Himself. Anything at all.
She wasn’t dumb. She had a way of concentrating all her energy on whatever she was doing. When she directed her focus at him, it was like being onstage under a spotlight he didn’t want to step out of.
Somehow those unflattering glasses made her even sexier. How was that possible? He’d seen her without them and he liked that look too. She had sort of amber-colored eyes, a light goldenish brown from which her intelligence shone and humor glinted. Sometimes he wondered if she was laughing at him. He wondered if she knew how much of his energy it took to resist coming after her. Surely she had no idea how awkward he felt without the blur of a couple of cocktails to help him ease into his comfort zone.
There was something in her eyes he thought he recognized. A sort of come-hither look that invited while behind it wariness lurked. Maybe it was her mixture of innocence and toughness that got to him. She could certainly hold her own with him. But he got the sense she wasn’t as self-assured as her persona projected. She could be easily wounded.
Not going to go there, he decided as he turned the shower dial to the right for one more chilling blast of cold water. He had to stop barreling blindly ahead, taking whatever he wanted with no thought to the consequences. More than anything he wanted to stop hurting other people with his carelessness. Which meant hands off where Baylee was concerned.
Trey dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist, realizing he’d forgotten to bring nightclothes or underwear into the bathroom with him. He was adequately covered by the towel. He started to brush his teeth before he opened the door with the toothbrush still in his mouth. Don’t look at her, he warned himself. Don’t get turned on, don’t make a move, don’t do anything. Get your stuff and get back in the bathroom.
Sex and the City was over. He could hear the closing notes of the piano theme. Otherwise the room was silent and still. He chanced a quick glance Baylee’s way. She looked like she was asleep.
“Baylee,” he whispered. A big dollop of toothpaste foam dribbled out of his mouth to his chest. He ducked back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth.
When he came back out, she still hadn�
��t moved. He approached her cautiously, like a panther sneaking up on its prey, not wanting to startle it or have it turn and attack him. “Baylee,” he whispered again when he got closer.
Her head was turned to the side toward the light, but her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and even. The top of the sheet had slid down a little, giving him a tiny peek at her cleavage. He removed the remote control from under her limp fingers and set it on the nightstand between the beds.
Carefully he removed her glasses as well. She didn’t move a muscle.
Her dark hair with its golden glints curled around the tops of her shoulders and teased the tender column of her throat. He moved a strand away from her cheek, savoring the silkiness of it between his fingers. Her lashes made tiny shadows under her eyes. Her mouth, always ready with a smart comeback, looked soft and kissable now.
What would it be like, he wondered, if he had the right to slide into bed next to her? To press up against her and kiss that tender mouth, bury his fingers in the silk of her hair? Bury himself inside her?
Stop it, he warned himself. It isn’t going to happen. You have no right. Step back. Turn around. Walk away. By some strength of will he didn’t know he possessed, he did. He grabbed stuff to sleep in out of his suitcase and went back into the bathroom, where he leaned over the counter with his hands braced on either side.
Breathe.
Inhale.
Hold it.
Count of ten.
Exhale.
Count of five.
Again.
Trey had no idea how long he spent breathing, searching for the elusive, Zen-like peace, but by the time he left the bathroom, he felt light-headed and drained. He kept his gaze averted, turned the light off and crawled between the cool sheets of his bed.
He woke up the next morning acutely aware he wasn’t exactly alone. Even in the dim light seeping in through the heavy drapes, he could make out the outline of Baylee’s shape in the bed next to his. She was turned away from him, but bits of her peeked out from the tangled bedclothes. The filmy robe had slipped off one shoulder. Her leg from the calf down had found its way out from under the covers.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look, Trey warned himself. He took the clothes he’d hung in the closet earlier and closed the door to the bathroom behind him. He’d be shaved and dressed and in full command of his libido by the time he opened the door.
He’d suffered through training camps and numerous injuries. He’d played in all kinds of weather against all kinds of odds. He had nerves of steel on the field, focused on the goal, quick on his feet. He’d given up painkillers and booze. He’d survived his various surgeries and physical therapy.
He’d trained himself to block out the discomfort, the pain, the cravings. Baylee Westring wasn’t going to get to him. She wasn’t going to undermine his hard-won peace of mind.
Dressed, he padded barefoot back to the bedroom. She was still asleep and there was more light now, even though the drapes were still closed. The sounds of traffic twenty stories below was like a soft but constant buzz. Trey went to the window and parted the drapes to look out. It promised to be a sunny day, which in New York City meant stifling. The buildings blocked breezes and trapped the automobile and truck fumes close to the ground.
He dropped the drape and turned back to the room in time to see Baylee yawn and stretch, unaware of his presence. At least he hoped she was unaware, because he couldn’t take his gaze off her in spite of all his admonitions to himself. She arched her back and flung her arms overhead. A soft little sound was emitted from her throat, as if she was satisfied with the results of the stretch.
She snuggled down in the bed, pulled the covers over her and hugged one of the pillows to her.
Trey turned away, disgusted with his voyeuristic behavior. He yanked the heavy drapes open with more force than necessary. When he turned back, Baylee was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled up against her. She stared at him, her eyes wide and blinking. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Where else would I be?” he responded irritably. He strode back to his suitcase and rummaged around for a pair of socks. When he turned back she was sitting in the same position, still staring at him. Her hair was messy and she had that sleep-rumpled look about her. Probably has morning breath too. But that didn’t lessen her appeal one bit.
He yanked his socks on and slid into his shoes. He picked up his wallet, watch and cell phone from the top of the television armoire. “You want to get breakfast?” he asked over his shoulder, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.
“Sure.”
He didn’t want to look at her again. “I’m going to get a paper. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He glanced at his watch. “A half hour enough time for you?”
“Sure.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Baylee swung her legs over the side of the bed and rolled her neck around a couple of times in one direction and then the other.
By the time the elevator deposited her in the lobby, she’d decided to ignore Trey’s earlier mood. The lobby was abuzz with guests checking out or meeting each other. She wanted to sit and people-watch. She wanted to eat. She wanted to be a tourist and wander the city and soak up the atmosphere. Two days wasn’t going to be long enough to do much of anything. But it was all she had, and she planned to enjoy every second of it. Trey Christopher’s attitude was not going to rain on her parade.
He either sensed or saw her coming toward him because he lowered the paper and watched her approach. Something about the way he did it made her think of a cat twitching its tail in anticipation of a particularly tasty canary that had somehow wandered into its path. Silly, she told herself. What he’s probably starving for is eggs and bacon.
He stood and she stopped a couple of feet away, glad she’d dug out some of her old wardrobe. Her slacks and tops and shoes still fit even if they were a couple years out of fashion. She’d gone for classics because she’d had a tight wardrobe budget even when she’d been working full time. Classics could be mixed and matched, and they were timeless.
She wore a silky, short-sleeved blouse in a rich rose shade. The sleeves hugged her biceps and a row of pearl buttons ran down the front. The cut left a vee at her neck, and her silver necklace with the tiny heart dangled there. Lightweight black slacks and black flats would be ideal for her self-guided sight-seeing tour.
Trey seemed about to say something, but whatever it was, he thought better of it. “The restaurant’s this way.” He gestured with the folded-up paper, and she turned to walk ahead of him.
What a fun trip this would have been if they were a couple, she mused. They could have awoken in bed together. Made love this morning. There wouldn’t be this weird, awkward tension between them. All of a sudden, it was like they were walking on eggshells around each other. Something had changed, although as far as Baylee knew, nothing had changed. They’d spent the night in a hotel room. In separate beds. Big deal. Nothing had happened. Nothing was going to happen. So why couldn’t they go back to the easy camaraderie they’d had before?
No reason as far as she could tell. She was going to do her best to get back there whether Trey wanted to cooperate or not.
“I’m starving,” she informed him as they approached the hostess stand.
His stomach growled in response. It made her grin.
He flashed her a smile.
Everything was going to be okay between them. She was certain of it.
The following evening, the dinner meeting broke up and everyone headed to the bar, which they had to pass through to get to the exit. Baylee excused herself for the restroom. Upon her return, she saw Trey deep in conversation with Charlie Langlois, the vice president in charge of ESPN’s football division, so she slid onto a corner barstool to wait. Charlie had coached Trey for two of his college seasons before he’d left the academic environment for television. Trey told her Charlie’d also gone through his own issues with rehab and recovery, and he’d personally tapped
Trey for one of the weekend commentary spots for the upcoming season.
The bartender approached with a smile and a cocktail napkin at the ready, but she waved him off. “I’m just waiting for a friend.”
He retreated, but a man slid up next to her. “Is that all he is? A friend?”
She turned to see Collin Cassidy grinning at her. He’d been looking her way off and on during the dinner, and he wasn’t shy about broadcasting his interest. Baylee had learned at dinner that Collin co-anchored ESPN’s hour-long sports roundup weeknights at eleven.
“A friend. And employer,” she informed him. Seriously, could a guy like him be interested in her? More likely he was merely making casual conversation until the group was ready to leave.
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
“Why? What possible difference could my relationship with Trey make to you?”
“Ooh. Spunky. I like that.” He grinned at her again. “Well, if you’re not with him, is there someone else?”
“Someone else?”
“A boyfriend back home?” He made a point of looking at her left hand. “No ring means you’re not engaged or married. You’re not involved with Trey. I hope you’re single. And available.”
“Available for what?”
Is this flirting? Baylee wondered. Was she flirting with this guy? Was he flirting with her?
“Oh, I don’t know. A drink somewhere. Listen to some music?”
“Now?”
Collin looked around the room. Baylee did the same. The goodbyes were beginning, the small knots of people breaking up, shaking hands, clapping backs, some of them already meandering toward the door. Two other ESPN guys had joined Trey and Charlie, but Trey’s gaze flickered her way. He seemed to also take in the fact that Collin had positioned himself quite close to her. Surely she imagined the flicker of displeasure she thought crossed his handsome features. Why would he care?
The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3 Page 11
