Farrah Rochon - Runaway Attraction

The many styles of love

Model Bailey Hamilton made headlines when she was kidnapped and then rescued. Now, TV documentary producer Micah Jones has made her an offer she wants to refuse: a candid interview to stop wild rumors that threaten her career. Micah’s tempting Bailey to let down her barriers and give in to passion.

The last person to interview Bailey before she was taken, Micah blames himself for what happened. Determined to make amends, he’s blindsided by his desire for the exotic Manhattan model. Speculation about her disappearance thrusts Bailey into the eye of the storm again, and their affair could be over before it begins. Will Micah uncover the truth and avoid the media circus that could cost him his future with the woman he loves?

After several more moments of indulging in their intensely erotic kiss, Micah pulled back. His chest heaved with labored breaths. His eyes were wide with surprise, as if he couldn’t yet fully comprehend what had just passed between them.

“Uh, I should…” He pointed toward the elevator.

Bailey nodded. She couldn’t speak in coherent sentences either.

Micah gestured to the door of her apartment. “I won’t leave until you’re safely inside.”

Her heart pinched at his compassion. He was such a gentleman.

She took out her key and unlocked the door, then turned back and gave him a wave. It seemed woefully inappropriate after the explosive kiss they’d just shared.

“Good night,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Micah nodded. “Good night.”

Bailey looked over her shoulder one last time before she entered the apartment. She closed and locked the door behind her, shutting her eyes tight as she banged her head against the wood.

“Should I even ask?”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of her sister’s voice. Brianna sat on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, a sketch pad in her lap.

“I’m in so much trouble,” Bailey said.

And it had nothing to do with a crazed kidnapper. This time, she knew exactly what the danger looked like…and how it tasted.

FARRAH ROCHON

had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.

When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.

Runaway

Attraction

Farrah Rochon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Lauryn and Brandon,

Auntie Farrah loves you!

Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God.

—Philippians 1:3

Dear Reader,

If you take a look at my bio, you’ll see that as a teen I had my heart set on becoming a fashion designer. Well, things didn’t work out quite the way I planned. I was bitten by the writing bug in college and the rest, as they say, is history.

So you can imagine my elation when I was asked to participate in The Hamiltons: Fashioned with Love continuity series. Through my research for Bailey and Micah’s story, I was able to relive some of those long-ago dreams of working in the fashion industry. I discovered that while New York fashion is fun, fast-paced and exciting, I am much better suited to writing about the industry than actually working in it.

I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the thrilling world of New York fashion. Please let me know what you think. You can contact me on Facebook, Twitteror at my website: www.farrahrochon.com.

Happy Reading,

Farrah Rochon

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Bailey Hamilton sat in pensive silence in the backseat of the black Mercedes S600 as it rolled down Columbus Avenue. She practiced the deep-breathing techniques she’d seen a character in a movie use once as a means of calming her nerves. She had no idea if she was doing it correctly. If the butterflies fluttering in her stomach were any indication, that answer was a resounding no.

She clasped her hands together in her lap, trying her best to stop the anxious fidgeting that had plagued her all morning. That wasn’t working, either.

The car stopped at a traffic light and a sea of pedestrians flowed past it, all of them going about their day as if this was a normal Tuesday afternoon. For most of them, it probably was. She, on the other hand, had to think long and hard to remember what normal felt like. Her biggest fear over these past few months was that normal was destined to become nothing more than a memory.

I will not let that happen.

Bailey had made that promise to herself before leaving her family-mandated exile in the Virgin Islands last week. She’d existed in a bubble of uncertainty for the past two months. She would not allow another day of her life to be dictated by the actions of the lunatic who’d robbed her of so much already. Today was the first step on the road to normal, and she was more than ready to get there.

Yet with each inch of asphalt the tires traveled, her stomach knotted with growing nerves. She shut her eyes tight behind oversize sunglasses and rested her head against the seat back, apprehension rushing through her despite her efforts to curb it.

She was the one who had insisted on this press conference, which would bring her face-to-face with the media after nearly two months of seclusion. At this point, it was a necessity.

She was fed up with the wild speculations being tossed about by the press, rumors that were becoming more outlandish by the day. The more her family tried to shield her from the outside world, the more rabid the media became. It was time she faced them.

The car pulled into the parking garage on 65th Street underneath Lincoln Center. Bailey’s chest grew tight as her heart started the emphatic pounding that signaled a panic attack. She’d learned to recognize the signs over the past couple of months.

Bailey willed herself to calm down, focusing on filling her lungs with deep gulps of air.

“You can do this,” she quietly declared.

It had taken a full-fledged campaign to convince her family that she was emotionally strong enough to confront the media. She refused to show even an ounce of weakness. She’d even insisted that the press conference be held at the very site where she had been abducted two months ago, just hours before she was to take to the runway during Fashion Week as the lead model for her family’s fashion label, Roger Hamilton Designs.

But as she remained rooted in the backseat of her brother’s car, mere yards from that stark basement where she had been found unconscious, Bailey questioned her previous bravado. She should have taken her sister, Brianna’s, advice and held the press conference at RHD’s studio in SoHo. Maybe facing the press—and her demons at the scene of the crime—was taking on too much, too soon.

“No, you can do this,” Bailey reiterated.

“Yes, you can,” her brother Daniel said from the front seat.