Page 9 of A Sinful Trap

“As for the rest,” he continued, “while I want to avoid unnecessary arguments and power struggles, I always prefer passion and purpose to pandering.”

She wasn’t turned on. She wasn’t. “That’s a lot of Ps.”

He bit his lower lip. “I’m not the easiest man to deal with, but I don’t take on projects to fail. I don’t think you do either. You know the area and the locals, and I know my business. If we work together, I think you’ll be satisfied with the results. Maybe you can see me as a partner instead of a trespasser.”

“Partner,” she echoed softly in agreement.

His eyes flared in reaction. “I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

He’s talking about the inn, Bailey. Not sex. Different page.

Bailey’s head wobbled like a broken toy. “If it’s the page where I don’t have to live with my friends and go on a sexual apology tour, then I think we are.”

“A sexual what?”

“Nothing, Mr. Locke.”

“You’ll call me Cam, Bailey.”

Presumptuous. Another P word.

If he was always this intense, working under him on a regular basis wasn’t going to be easy.

Under him. And he wants to be hands-on.

Stop!

“Will do.” She really needed to pull herself together. “Do you need anything else, Cam?”

“You have no idea.” He sighed again and she felt it in her bones. “Take care of that scrape before you go to bed. And come and lock the door behind me.”

“Yes, sir.” She nearly saluted.

He turned away abruptly, his long strides carrying him toward the exit so swiftly she needed to jog to catch up with him.

He paused at the door when a loud, grating noise from above startled them both.

It sounded like a demon was banging a metal pipe on the roof for laughs. Or maybe the spider was still ticked. “Great.”

Cam’s expression was thoughtful. “That’s why you were up there?”

“Trying to get up there, but yes. Honestly, I think the wind from the last storm might have broken some of the roof tiles. I’m just thankful it hasn’t woken up any of my guests.”

Nothing had. Cameron Locke could be down here doing all sorts of kinky things to her and none of them would have a clue.

You wish.

So much.

“I’ll send a roofer in the morning. I’ll pay double to make this his priority.”

“Her priority,” she corrected. “Celeste is my roofer and she’ll be thrilled. She’s been dying to get her hands on my tiles for years.”

“Has she?” His scowl returned. “Is this a friend of yours an actual roofer?”

“She could bench press you for breakfast and moves across rooftops like a cat. But yes, she’s a friend. Good kisser, too.” Bailey wanted to slap a hand over her mouth. “That was not relevant information, obviously. It’s been a weird night. And it was one time years ago, when we were tipsy. She’s living with a drummer now.”

Stop. Rambling.

---