“I know,” he said, his hand lacing into her hair as he tugged her to him for a quick, but wonderful, kiss. And then he was gone; he’d turned away and walked out the door, leaving a trail of fine male-scented air in his wake. Leaving her to inhale that scent with bittersweet enjoyment, because he was gone, and all she had to look forward to was a bath in that big, wonderful tub—she wanted no part of sleep, no part of being in his bed without him in it with her.
THE PRIVATE CAR BAXTER had arranged dropped Caron at the back door of her apartment near eleven o’clock, and thankfully, she’d found no sign of reporters. She’d quickly changed clothes and rushed to the bookstore.
Caron parked her Volkswagen at the rear entrance of the store near lunchtime, and drew a deep breath, preparing to face the firing squad. Her bath had ended with a panicked call from Kasey; the store was swarming with more than customers. Apparently, several reporters were there, asking questions about Baxter. Seemed Caron’s escape from the limelight had been no escape at all. Someone other than the FBI had placed them together.Dressed in a conservative blue pin-striped pantsuit and high-heeled boots, she shoved open the door of the car and started for the store. Another car door opened and shut, and a man in slacks and casual jacket was by her side.
“Ms. Avery,” he said, shoving a picture at her which Caron refused to look at even though she wanted to—badly. “I’m Troy Wilkins with the Times. Can you tell me what your relationship with Baxter Remington is?”
Avoidance seemed as if it would invite more questions so she stopped. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He shoved another picture at her. “Is this you?”
Caron glanced at the photo of her and Baxter dancing Friday night. “Yeah. So.”
“And that’s Baxter Remington. So what is your relationship with him?”
“The same as it was with every other guy I danced with that night. There is none. And I have no idea why you are asking this and why I am even answering. Please. I have to get to work.”
“What do you say about this?” He flashed yet another picture at her. Of her the night before, leaving the dinner, but thankfully her face wasn’t showing. Just the blond wig Baxter had insisted she put back on, along with a scarf the restaurant had managed to produce.
“The man has a thing for blondes,” she said drily, a little punch in her gut at the truth behind those words…and the ones to follow. “As you can see,” she continued, self-consciously touching the brunette knot tied at the back of her neck, “I don’t fit that bill.” She sidestepped the reporter and tried to close the short distance between where she stood and the door.
“You were blonde Friday night,” he called after her. “Who says you weren’t last night.”
Caron’s hand froze on the door, her teeth grinding. She whirled around and faced him. “Sounds like you need to write a story about your own kinky obsessions. I’m sure you’ve checked me out. I’m nothing but a good girl, through and through.”
She gave him her back and yanked the door open but managed to hear his last snide remark, “The good girls are always the best at being bad.”
Her heart sank at the realization that she’d failed to shut this guy down. In fact, if anything, she seemed to have given him an angle on a story. The press was on to her and no doubt, the FBI would be calling again, as well. Rattled, her mind raced with turbulent thoughts. What if Agent Walker asked about Jett? She didn’t want to get in trouble, but she didn’t want to get Baxter in trouble, either.
“Oh, Caron!” Kasey exclaimed, charging down the hall toward her, blond bob bouncing with her rushed pace. “What is going on with you and Baxter Remington?”
Caron quickly entered her office and sat down behind her desk, wishing for a rock to climb under.
Relentless in her demand for answers, Kasey stood directly in front of her. “And don’t say nothing,” she warned. “I already figured out he’s that hot guy who was in here yesterday.”
Caron dropped her purse into her desk drawer. “Don’t you have customers to attend?”
Kasey shoved her hands onto her hips. “You aren’t talking, are you?”
“Nope,” Caron agreed. “So you might as well turn around and go back to work.”
“Will you reconsider later?” she asked hopefully.
Caron glared. “Not a chance.”
“Would it help erase that angry look on your face if I told you I called the police on the reporters?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go do that right now,” she said, and quickly turned away.
Relief washed through Caron at her departure and her intended actions. The store phone rang on the edge of her desk, and Caron could see one of the lights was lit, indicating Kasey had already dialed the police.
Accepting the inevitable, Caron feigned a cheerful greeting, and answered, “Book Nook, can I help you?”
Static crackled on the line. “You made it to work, I see,” came the deep, sexy voice. Baxter. “Is everything okay?”
No, everything wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. More static. She avoided the loaded question. “Where are you?”
“Airport, between flights. Lots of bad weather and delays. I’m not getting good reception.” More static. “Damn. It’s bad here. Listen, sweetheart. I talked to our PR person about your idea. She loved it.”
Sweetheart? “Really?” she asked, reasoning away the endearment as just casual guy talk and unable to be excited about his announcement. Any other time she would be. But the press, the FBI. She was trembling inside that she might say or do something wrong. “That’s great, Baxter.”
More static. “I can barely hear you, Caron. Give me your cell phone number, and I’ll call you tonight when I get to a room.”
She hesitated. Told herself not to. Found she had no willpower where he was concerned and rattled off her number. Twice, thanks to the static. Two times she had the chance to back down but she charged farther into the fire.
“It’ll be late,” he said. “Around ten.”
“Have a safe flight,” she said softly, emotions tightening her chest, but he was gone in a charge of static, the line disconnected.
Caron eased the phone back in the cradle and told herself she could not talk to him or see him again. What if the FBI came to her and asked about Jett? She knew he’d contacted Baxter. Caron could get Baxter in trouble. She could get herself in trouble. She had to stay away from him. But he was out of town, she reasoned. A call meant nothing.
So why was she worried. A man like Baxter can lead a girl to the wrong place. Agent Walker’s words played in her head. Was Baxter leading her to a bad place? Had he already? Had all her will been destroyed because she was clearly falling for the man and falling hard. And even he had said, run away. Even he knew he was trouble.
She dropped her face into her hands. Taking his call tonight would not be smart, and she was a smart girl. Or she used to be. She wasn’t sure anymore. Sadly, she realized she had no one to talk to. Her best friend had gotten married and moved to Europe the year before, and work had consumed Caron ever since. Her grandmother would go into protective mode. Kasey was too young, too naive. She’d tell Caron to jump back into bed and just enjoy. And why did she suddenly want to talk to Kasey?
“Caron,” Kasey said, frowning in the doorway. “Did you call another plumber?”
“No,” she replied, pushing to her feet. “I can’t afford another plumber.” She couldn’t afford the last one.
“Well, there’s a guy upstairs working on the toilet. Said he was instructed to fix it.”
Caron rushed to the stairs, but not before noting the reporter from the parking lot in the store. She motioned to Kasey. “He’s a reporter. Get him out of here.”
“Okay, boss,” she said. “And the police are on their way.”
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, Caron focused on the immediate issue of the plumber. “I didn’t call you. I can’t pay you,” she blurted.
H
e glanced up at her. Flashed a badge that said Remington. “I’m on salary,” he clarified. “I get paid no matter what. You need a new tank. I’ll have you fixed up within the hour.”
She couldn’t believe Baxter was doing this. “I…How much is a tank?”
“My instructions were—this one’s on the house.”
Caron was blown away by this. Baxter was rich. She was poor. She wasn’t overly sure how she felt about him taking care of this for her, although she couldn’t deny that with her tight budget she was thankful.
Maybe it was nothing for him to flex some financial muscle for a woman. For her, it was a big deal. A really big deal. She was raised to believe you made it on your own; you didn’t let someone do things for you. And all her life she and her grandmother had managed. It was scary thinking of leaning on someone else. Not that one toilet made for dependency, but Caron was confused. Her plumbing problems were fixed, though. It seemed everything else grew more complex by the minute. Including her feelings for Baxter.
BAXTER SETTLED ONTO the delayed flight and leaned back in his seat, a smile touching his lips as he thought of Caron’s reasoning for not sleeping on a plane. His lips twitched, a smile barely contained. Every bone in his body ached with tiredness, but Caron could still put a smile on his lips.
For the first time in his life, he couldn’t get a woman off his mind, and that suited him fine. That was the crazy part. He liked this crazy feeling she provoked in him. He liked the way she made him laugh, the way she asked nothing but gave so much. Her way of thinking, her honesty. Her brains. God, he loved she had the brains and gumption to do her own thing. Her bookstore was unique; her idea for his stores, smart.She didn’t deserve to get drawn into this scandal of his, but he couldn’t talk himself into walking away from her. It was stingy, selfish, and he knew it. Part of him hated himself for being so insensitive. But she was in his head. Hell, she was working her way to his heart if he was right about her. He couldn’t not be with her. He just couldn’t. Silently, he vowed to protect her, to take care of her and ensure none of this touched her life.
He frowned, thinking of Jett and his betrayal, thinking of how his father had always warned him to trust only family. He’d thought that was old-timer’s thinking. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Already his attorney was plotting how Monday would go down, certain Jett wouldn’t show. There would be negotiations, and most likely, Baxter would be used to lure Jett into custody. Baxter’s gut twisted and he clung to the hope that Jett would prove his innocence. He still couldn’t accept he had been this wrong about the man.
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the seat, thinking of something far more pleasurable—Caron. His mind replayed their lovemaking, her soft moans, and his cock hardened. There would definitely be no sleeping on this flight. Maybe none until he got back home to Caron.
12
CARON LEANED AGAINST her cushioned headboard, snuggling under the white down comforter of her cushy quilt-top, queen-size bed, a bit before ten. Her cell phone rested on the white glossy nightstand nearby. She studied her tiny room, comparing it to the size of Baxter’s master bathroom—thinking how different their worlds were. Sure, he came from nothing, but nothing for him was a long time ago. She lived in a world where her bed had been a rare splurge forced onto her when the springs of her old mattress had been popping out. The comforter was a gift from her grandmother. The books lining the shelves around her room, years of collecting. Her home wasn’t fancy like Baxter’s, but it was home—her home—and she didn’t need the glitz of his world. But she did envy him the sense of security he must have—she longed for that and for the sense of achievement the store’s long-term success would give her.
Beside her, the cell phone jangled and vibrated across the nightstand, and Caron knew without looking that it was Baxter. He was on time, dependable. Weren’t playboys supposed to keep a girl hanging, make apologies for being late and then win forgiveness with fancy dinners and amazing orgasms?That is what she expected from playboys, but then, Baxter had yet to be anything she’d expected and so much more than she’d hoped. Not that dinners and orgasms rested in their future, so perhaps Baxter saw no reason to play games with her. All the more reason to simply stop talking to him. To avoid trouble.
But the man had sent her a plumber. How could she not take his call? Not thank him? And it wasn’t as though the plumber or this call meant anything. It was simply his way of dealing with his guilt about fears that his media frenzy might touch her—and it had.
The phone stopped ringing. She inhaled and sank down beneath the covers. Okay. Done. Decision made for her. No conversation. She’d send him a thank-you note for the plumber with his sister’s present and his key. So why did disappointment settle hard in her stomach? She willed it away, but it dug deeper, bit harder.
The ringing began again. Caron jumped and sat back up. Nervously, she answered the phone, not about to ignore it a second time. “Hello,” and to her distress found her voice cracked.
“Hello, Caron,” he said, his voice low, smooth, intimate. “You didn’t answer. I was afraid with all the static earlier that I heard the number wrong.”
“No. You heard right.”
“But you didn’t answer.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I answered,” she argued.
“You weren’t going to talk to me,” he accused.
Oh, well, heck. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. Since you clearly aren’t going to let this go. You’re right. I considered not talking to you.”
“You didn’t want to talk to me?”
“I did. I do. You confuse me, Baxter. We met one night. It was over. Then it was two nights. I’m never prepared for what comes next with you.”
He laughed. “It’s really good to hear your voice, Caron.”
She had no idea what to say. Flirting had never been her thing, and she sort of thought they were flirting. Doing so over the phone was even less her thing. At least, seeing his face, she could read him better.
He seemed to read her hesitation and gave her a nudge, “This is where you are supposed to say—it is good to hear your voice, too, Baxter.”
She could feel him smiling into the phone. “Oh,” she said. “Of course. It is good to hear your voice, too, Baxter, and thank you for buying me a toilet.”
“I bought you a toilet?” he asked, chuckling.
She loved that low rumbling chuckle. He did it often, and it always gave her a funny feeling in her stomach. “Yes,” she said. “And it was quite the surprise. So was the plumber who showed up to install it.”
“I’ve never bought a woman a toilet before. One of many firsts with you.”
“That’s good to hear because I have to tell you,” she commented honestly, “if you went around buying women toilets, I’d be a little concerned. Though I do like mine.”
He chuckled again, sending a shiver up her spine. “Not exactly the way to romance a girl. Next time, I’ll make sure it’s something far more romantic.”
Next time? “You’re trying to romance me?”
“What if I am?”
“Isn’t it a little late for that?” she asked. “I mean—well, we kind of zoomed right past romance.”
“Since when is making love all night long anything but romantic?” he disputed. “I’m sitting here in a downtown Austin hotel room, wishing I was there or you were here. I’m crazy about you, Caron.”
She shook her head, rejected the heartache this was opening her up to. “You’re crazy about the fantasy girl in a wig and gel bra. I’m not that girl, Baxter. I’m just a plain-Jane, hardworking girl whose bedroom is about the size of your shoe.”
“Caron,” he said softly, warmth reaching through the line and sliding along her skin. “There is nothing plain about you. Nothing. In fact, you are the most unique, dynamic person I think I’ve ever met. As for the fantasy—I found you in a pink sweat suit with no makeup on. That was the woman I wanted and still do.”
Having a one- or two-night stand had been daring and out of character, but held limited risk. Falling for a guy like Baxter scared the heck out of her.
“I can’t do this, Baxter,” she said, thinking how easily he’d invaded her life, how easy it would be to get used to him being there. Then what happened when he was gone? “No. You’re looking for an escape, and for whatever reason, you think I’m that. I’m not. And you aren’t the one who’ll get hurt. I will. I’m not up for that. I’m just not.”
“I’m guilty as charged on at least one of your points, Caron, because you’re right. I don’t deny you’re a welcome escape. You’re genuine. What you see is what you get. I sat on that plane today and laughed as I thought about you talking about the possible mishaps of falling asleep while flying. You didn’t even have to be with me to make me smile. Look, Caron. If you tell me to hang up the phone and never call again, so be it. But I don’t want to. I want to stay on the line. I want to hear about your day. I want to hear about your life. Then, I want to come home to you and stay up all night long again, making love. Tell me you want that, too.”
The emotions spoke to her more than the words. She was scared. Terrified. But she’d never let fear control her. “I do.”
“Caron,” he said softly. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, and I swear to you,” he said, “I’ll do everything in my power to keep the press off your back.”
“I know that.” She spoke sincerely. “But we can kind of write that off as a done deal. They were waiting at my store today.” She explained everything that had happened, including the police involvement. “They only have the wig shots, but it’s just a matter of time before they are sure it’s me.”
“Come here with me,” he offered. “Let me fly you out tomorrow morning where you can be close to me.”
“I can’t do that,” she said. “I have a store to run. And I can’t leave Kasey to deal with all of this. Besides. That would certainly tell them who I am.”
“Sometimes coming out of hiding is best. After all, reporters love a good mystery to uncover. And I have to warn you. I have some tough choices to make between now and Monday that are most likely only going to make the press worse.”
Santa, Baby Page 11