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He backpedaled quickly. “Cleaning the floors, I mean.”
“I know what you meant.” My muttered response did nothing to ease the awkwardness. We stood on either side of a soft, cozy bed. He was a man. I was a woman. To be painfully honest, it had been far too long since I had met anyone as fascinating as Finley Craig.
Cinnamon lay on the floor with her head on her paws, her gaze darting back and forth between her master and me. Dogs were sensitive creatures. Did she understand that all was not well?
Finley stared at me for the longest time. At least it seemed that way. Had his thoughts wandered down the same dangerous path? He nodded curtly. “I should go. You need your sleep. There’s no rush in the morning. You’ll find toast and fruit in the kitchen whenever you wake up.”
“Thank you.” I picked at the edge of the coverlet, wondering how many tourists he rescued each month and how many propositioned him in return. Bad girl, bad McKenzie.
“Is there anything else you need?”
I could think of quite a few answers to that question, but I settled for the most socially acceptable one. “My pajamas are in a suitcase in the trunk of my car. Do you have something I could wear to sleep in?”
