Can't Buy Me Love (Sinclair Sisters 3)

Logan’s gaze never left hers as he shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed, indifferent to his nudity, only concern showing on his face.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he said in the same tone people used with scared animals. “Did I hurt you?”

Had he hurt her? Hell, yes, he’d hurt her. Agnes wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the wounds he’d inflicted.

“It was supposed to be terrible,” she wailed.

Logan was clearly confused. “You wanted bad sex? Agnes, love, you need to help me out here, I don’t understand what you mean.”

She paced the room, ranting while she did so and clutching the jacket in front of her, only belatedly realizing her backside was still bare. Oh, to hell with it. He’d seen it all anyway.

“I thought we’d have sex and get it out of our systems. I hoped it would be a letdown, and then I’d be able to shrug it off and move on. But no, you had to ruin everything. You had to make it good. Not just good. Phenomenal. I can’t believe you did this to me!”

“Uh, you aren’t making any sense.” He stood in front of her, getting in the way of her pacing and tempting her with his far-too-sexy body. “Why don’t you calm down for a minute, and we’ll talk this through?”

And just like that, he didn’t look quite so sexy. “Never tell a woman to calm down.” She pointed to the door. “It’s time for you to go. Get your stuff and leave.”

“You’re kicking me out because the sex was great?” He stared at her as though she’d lost her mind.

“Out.” Agnes dropped the useless jacket, gathered his clothes and shoes, and thrust them into his arms. She pushed him toward the door, threw it wide, and shoved him out.

Logan didn’t resist, so he ended up standing in the hallway, stark naked, holding his clothes and gaping at her. “Agnes, be reasonable. If it’s that important to you, we can do it again, and I’ll make sure it’s crap this time.”

“It’s too late now,” she said and slammed the door in his face before bursting into tears.

Nothing was going right. Nothing. First, all of her sisters had moved on with their lives without her. Then, after being blacklisted, she’d ended up working in a hotel where the owner didn’t really want her. Now, she’d had the most amazing sex of her life with a man who had permanent written all over him. Every single thing Logan did made it harder to walk away, even when staying meant giving up everything else. It was too much.

Sniffing and sobbing, she dragged herself into the shower.

She just couldn’t catch a break.

Logan stared at the door, listening to Agnes cry and feeling helpless to do anything about it. He should have been in there with her, holding her while she wept, and trying to understand what she meant. Because having great sex wasn’t a reason to end a relationship. It made no sense. She should have been happy. Hell, he’d been ecstatic until she’d lost the plot on him.

Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings and the fact he wasn’t alone in them. His heart sinking, he peered over his shoulder to find four of the guests staring at him open-mouthed.

Mrs. Edwards gave him a cheeky smile. “I have to say, Logan, you have very tasty buttocks.”

Logan started to turn but immediately stopped when he realized that would only make the situation worse. Instead, he put on his best cop voice and said, “Nothing to see here. Go back to your rooms. Everything’s under control.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Edwards said, her eyes still on his backside, “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

“Are you harassing the manager?” an elderly man demanded.

“I think he was definitely doing something with the manager,” a young Australian woman said with a grin. “But I don’t think you’d call it harassment.”

The older guy’s face turned a deep purple. “Well, you can’t hang around in the corridors naked. That isn’t right.”

Logan was getting a crick in his neck from watching them over his shoulder, so he dropped his shoes, covered his junk with his scrunched-up clothes, and turned.

Mrs. Edwards sighed. “I don’t think I’ve seen muscles like that in real life since I was a teen.”

Another young woman looked over at Mrs. Edwards. “Mr. Edwards didn’t have a six-pack?”

“You mean the muscles?” Mrs. Edwards pointed at him. “Heavens no. If that’s a six-pack, then my dear husband had a keg.”

“As much as I love being objectified,” Logan said, “it’s time for all of you to go back to your rooms so I can get dressed and get out of here.”

“I think I should call the police.” The old man glared at him while tugging his burgundy-colored dressing gown tight. By the look in his eye, any second now he was going to shove up his sleeves and challenge Logan to ‘fisticuffs.’