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. Sheâd 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 innâs staff and their families were counting on her to win.
She needed to keep her distance from him. He could be playing her. Why wouldnât 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 Haleyâs Bay:
For this family, love is a shore thingâ¦
Chapter One
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. Haleyâs 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. Baileyâs 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 âGrandmaâ and her phone number on the screen.
Baileyâs chest sank with the weight of a flag-draped coffin. She fumbled for the talk button. âGrandma? Is everything okay?â
âYour aunt Ida Mae called. Told me the craziest thing. Said thereâs a construction crew set up in front of the Broughton Inn.â
Not Flynn. Bailey released a breath. âDid you say a construction crew?â
âTheyâve been moving things out of the inn and loading them into a big truck since late last night.â The words flew out of Grandmaâs mouth faster than her homemade molasses cookies disappeared from the jar. âEquipment is parked on the street. A bulldozer and a crane with a wrecking ball.â
Bailey sat straight, the covers falling to her waist.
âWhatâs Floyd Jeffries trying to pull? I just saw him two days ago. He didnât mention any construction, and a wrecking ball sounds more like demolition. He knows owners canât touch a historic building without approval.â She scrambled out of bed. âHe practically wrote the preservation laws.â
âMaybe he forgot.â
âNo way.â She turned on the lamp, waited for her eyes to adjust to the light. âI took over the historical committee from him. He knows every single rule and regulation.â
âHe could be expanding the ownerâs apartment now that heâs in a relationship.â
âFloyd didnât mention his girlfriend moving here. Sheâs half his age and most of their relationship has been online. Somethingâs going on. I need to find out what. Fast.â
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.
âBailey?â Her grandmotherâs 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. âAre you okay?â
Hell, no. Bailey was naked, her mangled toe throbbing. She picked the phone off the bed. âIâm getting dressed. Trying not to panic over the twenty-five thousand dollarsâ worth of artwork inside the inn.â
She hit the speakerphone button and placed the cell phone on the dresser. She opened the top drawer. Panties and bras. Second drawerâpajamas. Third drawer,