Page 39 of Final Proposal

And now we’re going to be living under the same roof. In close quarters. Day after deliciously torturous day.

There is definitely chemistry there. Hell, it was there that first night we met. But we’re partners. It’s never a good idea to sleep with your equal. Because you mix things like feelings and emotions and that makes things not so equal anymore.

But then again, it’s me we’re talking about. The woman who only does the physical. Who only likes lust and refuses anything remotely close to love.

Emotions are irrelevant. Always.

Concentrate, Elle. On the project. On making this work.

And so, I do. I leave the sand behind for the worn brick of the inn’s back patio. The terrace and balconies will offer incredible views when they’re modernized.

When I enter the hotel through the back door, the stillness hits me again, just as it did when I was handed the keys an hour ago and everyone left.

I found solace in the silence then and now. What I didn’t expect is the sudden eeriness I feel in being the only person in an otherwise empty hotel. Not creepy as in The Shining, but rather desolate with every creak of its structure compounding the next.

Maybe that’s why I turn on every light as I walk through the old building. Perhaps that’s why I put my earbuds in and crank up the music as I tread over worn floors with an extra bounce in my step to the beat. What I can’t hear, I can’t be freaked out by.

I run my fingers up the dated oak banister that will soon be replaced with a more modern cable railing, and wonder what laughter and secrets have been shared in these hallways. And what new ones will happen when we’re done?

I make notes on a pad of paper and add things to my checklist that I need to address with either Ford or the contractors. Things we possibly need to alter or things we didn’t know needed to be addressed since it’s hard to figure out a remodel when you haven’t been given complete access to the property. Headlights light up the road outside. Some pull into the parking lot and turn around to go back the way they came, and I wonder how we’ll make this the private haven for the elite when there’s a public access road outside.

Another question to add to my list.

And call me crazy, but each item added makes me happy. I relish the excitement of this new venture.

You’ve got this, Sinclair.

Ellery

When I look at my watch, I’m shocked to see that hours have passed. I guess my excitement to get started has trumped my rationality of having one last night of nothing before the real work starts. So much for settling in the room I’ve picked, eating the sandwich I grabbed on the way in, drinking a glass of wine, and finishing the last few chapters on my romance novel before falling asleep for the night.

The book may still be an option. Then again, I still have a slight bruise on my forehead from last week when I fell asleep and dropped my Kindle on it.

I’ll read on my stomach this time. At least that will help prevent any droppage injuries.

Deciding that I’ll take my shower first, before the eating, reading, and sleeping portion of what’s left of the night, I make my way back downstairs to the room I’ve picked as my short-term residence.

A room with a door that I’ve debated closing and locking behind me when I go to bed. Or is it better to leave it propped open so I know what’s going on in the rest of the hotel? Which should be nothing.

I double-check the entry doors on the bottom floor to make sure they’re locked as one of my favorite songs comes on. I have no shame as I dance down the hallway. With each shimmy and shake, I discard an item of clothing, before closing the door behind me and dumping clothes unceremoniously on the bed. The room is dim, save for a muted desk lamp and the bathroom light I left on earlier.

I give another little shimmy and a hard shake of my hips before twirling around and running smack dab into something.

Or rather into someone.

A whole lot of wet, naked someone.

The screech I emit is on a whole other level as I jolt back—earbuds falling out, phone clattering to the ground. I have a brief glimpse of the man in front of me. Chiseled and tanned and perfect and . . . cock. Oh my God. I’ve just seen Fordham Sharpe’s impressive cock.

The thought registers at the same time I step in a puddle of water and my feet slip out from under me.

I fall backward in all my own naked glory—boobs bouncing, arms flailing, and hips jiggling. Graceful isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe me. Instinct has me reaching out to Ford, and he tries to catch me.

But then he slips in the same water that I do.

His curse echoes off the tile walls, followed by the oomph as I hit the chaise lounge behind me, seconds before Ford lands smack dab on top of me.

I’d like to think my first thought is thank God these old, oversized bathrooms have a soft chaise lounge in them I could fall on instead of the hard edge of the bathtub. That should be what’s first and foremost on my mind. My safety.