The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(14)

A bridge took us over a canal toward several sprawling waterfront estates. Cameron turned down the drive of the second one. She left her car in front of one of the four garage bays. I parked and met her at the steps of her enormous front porch.

Cameron’s office had been sleek and functional with only a few feminine details. More elegant than pretty. But her house was like a tropical resort. The circular driveway was lined with palm trees and an explosion of flowering plants. Solar lights lit a wooden path that led to the covered front porch. The design was reminiscent of a beach hut, only sturdier—and much, much larger.

I noted the locations of the security cameras, including potential blind spots.

She punched in a code and opened one of the wide double doors. I stepped inside, although the palm trees growing right through the floor made it look like a tropical oasis. The glass ceiling let in light and a fountain trickled in the center of the room. Lush plants were everywhere. It was decadent without being garish. Tropical without being cliché.

“Well, this is it,” she said.

“No butler to come take your coat?”

She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a wry grin. “It’s Miami. I don’t wear a coat often enough to need someone to help me take it off.”

I took a few steps, my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Do you need blueprints, or will an old-fashioned tour do the trick?” she asked.

“A tour is fine. I’ll get the blueprints later.”

She raised an eyebrow.

From the moment I’d realized her friends had conspired to hire me behind her back, I’d felt like she and I were locked in a chess match. She didn’t want to hire a bodyguard. And although I’d started my day thinking I didn’t want the job, my instincts were still tingling. Even here, there was a hint of danger lurking at the edges of Cameron Whitbury’s life. I could feel it. And it was going to drive me crazy until I figured out why.

Which meant I had to convince her to hire me.

She set her purse on a side table and gestured toward a wide staircase. “Shall we?”

I nodded and followed Cameron up the curved staircase.

“We can start up here,” she said as we walked. “There’s not much to show you in the way of security in here. Bluewater is gated, of course. And the house is outfitted with an alarm system and outdoor security cameras.”

The second floor had hardwoods and a subtle beach vibe. Blues and grays. Splashes of teal. Tasteful artwork, but no personal photos on display.

“Guest rooms,” she said, pointing out several doors. “They have private bathrooms. They don’t get used very much. Mostly by Daisy when she drinks too much.”

“Daisy Carter-Kincaid. One of your Bluewater development partners.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You did your homework.”

“It’s my job.”

“Naturally.” She pointed to a set of double doors leading to a home gym. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Biscayne Bay. “That’s where Inda, my personal trainer, tortures me. There’s another bathroom through that door.”

We moved on past more guest rooms. Then a set of closed double doors.

She opened one side. “My bedroom. There’s a master bath and a closet through that other door.”

Enormous windows offered an expansive view of sparkling blue water. A single chair with a throw blanket draped over the back sat next to a small table with a stack of books. A plush rug took up most of the center of the room. Her king-sized bed was slightly rumpled, one corner of her fluffy white comforter pulled back, like she’d gotten out of bed this morning and left it that way.

Something about that slightly unmade bed made my dick stir.

“Since no one but me is ever seeing the inside of my bedroom again, we can move on,” she said, closing the door.

“That brings up another question.” I cleared my throat. “Are you dating anyone?”

She tilted her head and the corner of her mouth lifted. “I don’t date employees.”

I held eye contact. “You haven’t hired me. And I don’t date clients.”

“Touché,” she said. “Although if this was all an elaborate ploy to get in my pants, I’d have to give you points for creativity.”

“If this was an elaborate ploy to get in your pants, I’d already be in them.”

“You’re very confident in your abilities.”

“When it’s warranted.”

Her lips twitched again, and she turned to walk back down the hallway. I followed.

“No, I’m not dating anyone,” she said. “Not for about six months. And probably never again.”

There was a hint of pain buried in her flippant tone. It made a coal of anger flare hot in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of someone hurting her.

“There’s another bathroom through there.” She gestured to a door, then to a large room on the other side of the hall. “There’s a TV and couches and that sort of thing in there. Nice for movie nights.”

At the far end of the hall, I could see another stairway leading down.

“This leads to the kitchen, which brings me to Nicholas. He’s my chef, and I’m warning you, whatever he’s doing in there, don’t interrupt. He makes magic in that kitchen and I don’t like to bother him when he’s working.”