Runaway Attraction

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 should 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.