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What had she done? And what was she going to do now?
Justin McMillian had kissed her again, unexpectedly and thoroughly, as if she were his to command with a touch of his lips. Worse, she had been willing, eager, hungry. She’d wanted to gobble him up. A part of her still did.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
For all Bailey knew, her reaction was exactly the response he wanted. Nothing good would come from spending time with Justin. Conflict of interest. Uh, yeah. Kissing was not exactly professional behavior. The inn’s staff and their families were counting on her to win.
She needed to keep her distance from him. He could be playing her. Why wouldn’t he? A charming hotelier and construction hottie who oozed sex appeal must be good at that kind of game.
Her gaze narrowed on Justin heading down the stairs. He looked like a fashion model, handsome in his worn jeans, Henley shirt and flannel jacket. His boots were durable enough to withstand the weeds and rocks below. Handsome, check. Capable, check. Under control, check.
The opposite of her.
* * *
The Coles Of Haley’s Bay:
For this family, love is a shore thing…
His Proposal, Their Forever
Melissa McClone
MELISSA McCLONE has published over thirty novels. She has also been nominated for a Romance Writers of America RI TA® Award. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, three school-age children, two spoiled Norwegian elkhounds and cats who think they rule the house. They do! Visit her at www.melissamcclone.com.
To Margie Lawson and the Wonderblue Wordsmiths: Allie Burton, Linda Dindzans, Amy Mckenna Rae, Megan Menard, Laura Navarre and Sarah Tipton
Special thanks to Amy Mckenna Rae, Lisa Hayden, Terri Reed and Kimberly Field
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The hourly chime of tower bells rang through the Piazza del Duomo. Bailey Cole raised her face to let the Florence sunshine kiss her cheeks.
Glong. Glong. D-ding-a-ting-glong.
Not bells from the famous tower, her cell phone ring tone.
Bailey opened her eyes. Not Italy. Home.
Her home. Haley’s Bay, Washington.
She rubbed her face, trying to wake up.
The phone kept ringing.
A glance at the digital clock made her blink: 5:45 a.m. Too early for a social call. Something must be...
Flynn. Bailey’s heart slammed against her chest. Air whooshed from her lungs. Her brother in the navy had mentioned going somewhere in his email last week.
Please let him be safe.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand, read “Grandma” and her phone number on the screen.
Bailey’s chest sank with the weight of a flag-draped coffin. She fumbled for the talk button. “Grandma? Is everything okay?”
“Your aunt Ida Mae called. Told me the craziest thing. Said there’s a construction crew set up in front of the Broughton Inn.”
Not Flynn. Bailey released a breath. “Did you say a construction crew?”
“They’ve been moving things out of the inn and loading them into a big truck since late last night.” The words flew out of Grandma’s mouth faster than her homemade molasses cookies disappeared from the jar. “Equipment is parked on the street. A bulldozer and a crane with a wrecking ball.”
Bailey sat straight, the covers falling to her waist.
“What’s Floyd Jeffries trying to pull? I just saw him two days ago. He didn’t mention any construction, and a wrecking ball sounds more like demolition. He knows owners can’t touch a historic building without approval.” She scrambled out of bed. “He practically wrote the preservation laws.”
“Maybe he forgot.”
“No way.” She turned on the lamp, waited for her eyes to adjust to the light. “I took over the historical committee from him. He knows every single rule and regulation.”
“He could be expanding the owner’s apartment now that he’s in a relationship.”
“Floyd didn’t mention his girlfriend moving here. She’s half his age and most of their relationship has been online. Something’s going on. I need to find out what. Fast.”
Bailey pulled her nightshirt over her head and took a step. Her foot twisted, then slid, jamming into the bedpost.
A sledgehammer pain sliced through her big toe. She sucked in a breath. Tears stung her eyes. The phone slipped from her hand. She swore.
“Bailey?” Her grandmother’s voice carried from wherever the phone had landed. Lilah Cole had been a widow for the past fifteen years, and her grandchildren had become her focus. “Are you okay?”
Hell, no. Bailey was naked, her mangled toe throbbing. She picked the phone off the bed. “I’m getting dressed. Trying not to panic over the twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of artwork inside the inn.”
She hit the speakerphone button and placed the cell phone on the dresser. She opened the top drawer. Panties and bras. Second drawer—pajamas. Third drawer, empty. She had been so into her new painting this week she hadn’t done laundry.
She wiggled into a pair of underwear, then put on a bra, trying not to cry