Here Comes Trouble

“I don’t know why you’d say that about yourself. You’re running a place trying to make it a home away from home for other people.”

“Right,” she said softly, “because I haven’t figured out how to make one for myself. So this gives me one by proxy.”

It made his heart tight. “Kirby-”

“Don’t go feeling all sorry for me; that’s not what I meant. I just meant, we’ve both reached a certain age, we’ve both had our successes in life, but we’re both still trying to figure the rest out.”

“Maybe that’s what life is anyway. Trying to figure out what comes next. Life changes; goals change.”

“True. But I know some of the things I want. Or wanted, anyway. And I couldn’t get them.”

“So you make new goals.”

“I did.”

“But?”

She smiled, but there was a definite wistfulness in her eyes. “Life goes on, and you try and move along with it, but you realize that maybe the old goals are still the ones you wanted all along.” She slid up a bit farther until she could take his face in her hands. “Don’t look all worried on me. I’m not going to try and mold you to fit my dreams, okay? I know you’ve got your own things to work out.” She kissed him, and it was sweet and stirring and achingly poignant, all at the same time. “I’m not going to get in your way, okay?”

He pulled her the rest of the way up, then rolled so she was under him again. He kissed her, and there was nothing sweet or tender about it. She responded to him instantly. And his body, so recently sated, roared to life again. He didn’t know what he was doing, just that he was suddenly angry and scared and uncertain and he didn’t want to be any of those things. What he wanted was to be buried deep inside Kirby again, where everything felt intensely, perfectly right.

If she seemed surprised by his sudden ardor, by the ferocity in the way he took her, she didn’t show it. Instead she rose right to the occasion and matched him thrust for thrust. She was moaning and he was all but growling when he came. It was wrong, venting his fear like this, but she was there to take it, to accept it, to make it all seem so very, very right.

She clung to him, her heart thundering against his, their breath deep and raspy gasps.

“Brett,” she whispered, her lips hot against the slick side of his neck.

“Mmm” was all he could manage. Only when he felt her hands on his face did he finally find the strength to open his eyes again.

“That was…unbelievable. But…what was that?”

He could have bluffed. And he knew he should. At any other time in his life, with the stakes insanely high, he would have done exactly what he knew had to be done. And he’d have won.

So why, when it was the most important game of his entire life, he went with the truth, he had no idea. Because the minute the words were out, he knew he was going to lose. And that was going to cost him the only thing that might have ever really mattered.

“That was me,” he said, still panting for air, but locking his gaze absolutely intently on hers, “telling you, that I want you to get in my way. Because, right or wrong for each other, I plan to get in yours.”

Chapter 13

Kirby hung up the phone and looked at the clock on the wall behind the check-in counter. A little after nine p.m. Hunh. She sat down on the stool and slid the registration book a little closer. She was still reeling over the changes that had taken place in…what had it been? Not quite forty-eight hours. Most of those had been spent glued to the phone, taking room reservations for the next five weeks. It was crazy really.

Apparently, when Brett Hennessey decided he wanted to do something, it got done. People jumped. Plans were made. Things happened.

And phones started ringing.

She hadn’t seen much of him during that time. Which was probably just as well. Even with the frantic burst of business, his heated declaration was still uppermost in her thoughts. And every damn time she replayed those last few minutes they’d spent together through her mind, it gave her the exact same heady little rush.

Which she hadn’t yet decided was a good thing, or a really foolish thing.

While she’d been tied to the phone the last two days, taking reservations and frantically contacting vendors to make sure she could get in the supplies needed to support her suddenly full house, Brett had been over at the resort, hammering out all the actual event details with the folks there. Which was fine, really, as she’d been rather busy herself. So busy, in fact, that she was a little afraid of what she might have gotten herself into. “Careful what you wish for, Farrell,” she murmured as she flipped through the remainder of the January log and the first half of the February log.

Almost one hundred percent capacity, starting two and a half weeks from tomorrow and lasting for three full weeks after that. In some cases, folks were even staying after the event. She’d been very specific in making sure they knew that, as of that moment, it wasn’t exactly going to be a ski paradise if they were sticking around in hopes of getting time in on the slopes. More than a few had just laughed, making some comment about the Hennessey Fortune Factor and booked an extended stay anyway. So she’d smiled and taken their credit information. And hoped they didn’t check out early when confronted with the green slopes of the Green Mountains.

The phone rang again. She glanced at the clock. “Seriously?” But she already had pen poised as she answered the phone. “Pennydash Inn, this is Kirby, how can I help you?”

She listened, registration book at the ready. A few seconds later, the pen clattered to the book, her hand still frozen in place. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, “did you just say you wanted to book a room for Jackson Deverill? The Jackson Deverill?” Jackson had been the hottest thing in Hollywood for at least the past decade. He was George Clooney, Hugh Jackman, and Brad Pitt all rolled into one amazing package of charm and good looks.

She quickly grabbed her pen again when Jackson’s assistant made it clear that yes, she was calling for the Mr. Deverill. Kirby quickly regained her professional footing and finished taking the booking, which would be for two. She racked her brain trying to remember who it was he was dating these days, but with her self-imposed news blackout, she honestly couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. Holy crap was all she could keep thinking. During all those years spent working for her childhood resort- slash-home, then for Patrick, she’d crossed paths with both the very rich and the very famous. It just somehow seemed completely different when they wanted to stay in her very own quaint little Vermont inn. She hung up, let her mouth drop open again, then got up and danced a little jig around her stool.

Which was how Brett found her as he walked back in the front door. “Snow dance?”

She didn’t even care that he’d caught her acting the fool. “No, that’s the ‘my inn is booked up thanks to you’ dance.”

Grinning, he walked over to the desk. “Congratulations; that’s fantastic.”

“I just got off the phone with Jackson Deverill’s personal assistant. The Jackson Deverill.”

“Oh, good, Dev called. He bought in last night and I mentioned he might like your place. He prefers to keep a more ‘out of the way, under the radar’ profile when he’s playing.”

“You know Jackson Deverill?”

Brett nodded. “We’ve played at more than a few tables together over the years, sure. He’s one of the good guys. Hard to find a lot of those in his line of work, especially at his level of celebrity.” He caught her still staring at him, gaping was probably more like it, and chuckled. “What? I’m sure working at that resort out west you came across your fair share.”

“It was a little different. Okay, a lot different. I was just overseeing their stay. I wasn’t exactly on a first-name basis with them.”

“Well, you’ll love Dev. Everybody does.” He walked around behind the desk and scooped her easily into his arms.

She didn’t even question the easy familiarity, mostly because it felt just as easily and comfortably familiar to