Chapter 7

It was laughable, really, that Kirby had ever truly imagined herself seducing or being seduced by some randy ski instructor or ego-assured international racer. She had no problem being direct. That was one part of her New Life Plan that she’d stuck to pretty religiously since coming to Vermont. And the payoff had been pretty decent, if you measured that by her success in getting her inn ready and open for business in record time, and building good relationships with the locals-Clemson notwithstanding-while doing it. Sure, her social life was a bit lacking, but she’d planned on fixing that just as soon as she got up and running, found her rhythm, her routine.

She’d fit in. She’d make friends that went beyond business acquaintances. And there would be the occasional lover to fulfill her other needs. And she would be in control. Her life, on her terms. Yep…she’d had it all planned out all right.

And now the occasional lover part of the plan was literally standing right in front of her, primed and ready, if his body was telling her anything…and it wasn’t just telling her. It was literally prodding her with the information.

And here she stood. Talking. Negotiating, for God’s sake.

So what if he could have the same picture, same pose, on every calendar page of a hunk-of-the-month calendar, and still make it an instant best seller? He wasn’t really intimidating, once you got to know him. In fact, he seemed just as hung up on the casual and easy part of the equation as she did.

And now he was all, “get to know the real me.” Which begged the question, what-or who-was the fake Brett?

Was it the mysterious and surprising layers to him that were tripping her up? Or the fact that only one of them had gotten even partially naked so far? She was hardly a twenty-something any longer. Gravity was doing its thing. There were parts that she would no longer label pert or perky.

I want to have you on every bed in this place.

She shivered a little, replaying those words through her mind. That’s what she needed to remember, to focus on. She wanted her uncomplicated needs met. And just looking at Brett…boy, she had needs.

He traced a finger along the side of her face. It made her shudder with pleasure, with anticipation.

“So,” he said, letting the rest trail off, letting her set the pace.

Great. “One of us has to start the transition from talk to action.”

“One of us should, yes,” he agreed, that twinkle sparking in his eyes. “Any ideas?”

“Well, you’re the one with the bold moves.”

He smiled. It was sexy and sweet at the same time. She looked at him and still saw the unbelievably hot Brett Hennessey, but there was more there now. He was also the somewhat vulnerable Brett Hennessey. Possibly a guy who also had his professional game a lot more together than his personal one. At least that’s how she’d taken his comments about how others saw him versus what he knew to be the real him. Although how a guy with his genetic gifts could be anything less than cocksure of himself mystified her.

“Climbing up that tree was a pretty bold move,” he countered.

“One that almost got me killed.”

“Good point.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be the one setting the bold move standard.”

“Well, I could make the obvious guy statement here that if your bold moves in bed led to my imminent demise, then…what a way to go! But that would be cliché.”

“True. And you’re not a cliché.”

“I try not to be.”

“You’ve definitely busted a fair share of them so far.”

His broadening smile sparked that twinkle to an even brighter level. “Then my work here is almost done.”

“Almost?”

“Almost.” He framed her face with his hands, tilted it up so he could look directly into her eyes…and she directly into his. There was amusement, desire, want…and a very definite sense of purpose.

And, just like that, she was right back on that edge of the unknown that had made her leap into the safety net of prolonged conversation in the first place. Only this time, whatever potential danger there might be in spending her immediate future with him seemed far more titillating than scary. “Maybe the extended verbal foreplay part helped after all,” she murmured as she stared into his eyes.

“Kirby.”

“Yes?”

“No more talking.” He lowered his mouth.

“No more talking,” she agreed.

He finally, blessedly, kissed her. It hadn’t been a fluke, or her imagination. He kissed her perfectly. His mouth was a perfect fit for hers…and he knew what to do with it. If anything, it was even more perfect than their first try. Whether it was because of their little getting-to-know-you byplay, or because, well…he was perfect, she wasn’t sure. Didn’t much care. As long as he didn’t stop doing what he was doing. Ever, actually, would be nice.

He pushed his fingers into her hair, slanting her mouth beneath his, kissing her so slowly, so thoroughly, and with such deliberation, her knees, quite literally, went weak.

He crowded her against the cupboards, sliding his hands down to her shoulders, then over her arms, to her torso, trailing his thumbs so they brushed along the outer swell of her breasts, pausing a little when she moaned, then shifting them so his thumbs could lightly brush over her nipples. She jerked a little against such direct stimulation, and he stilled his hands. So she moved, pushing against him, just slightly, but enough that he knew her reaction had been one of pleasure.

She supposed, or would later when she thought back over things, that it was his very directness, coupled with his sensitivity to her every little reaction to what he was doing, that ultimately made her comfortable enough to…well, to let someone she hardly knew have such intimate access to her body.

She hadn’t really thought about that part when deciding that casual lovers were going to be it for her from now on. That by its very nature, casual would also imply someone she didn’t know well. Because, if she knew him well, it could hardly be all that casual, now could it? Had she really thought that this casual person was going to sweep her up in his arms, where the two of them would become suddenly naked and assuage their needs, then over and done, sorry gotta run now? She hadn’t calculated in that part where there would be all this touching, and acquainting of selves, and exploration of, well, everything. And, eventually, everywhere. It was how sex actually worked. It was necessarily and quite specifically intimate. Which was the exact of opposite of casual.

How had she managed to overlook that crucial part?

How did anybody actually manage to have casual sex? She wasn’t feeling remotely casual now that he was playing with her nipples. And…and stuff.

Then he was moving his mouth off hers and along her jaw. And using more than just his thumbs on her nipples to make her thighs quiver. And it felt so damn good. He felt so damn good. She wanted this. Wanted him. This was perfect. Brett was perfect. Possibly the most perfect of her illusory phantom lover ideals.

And if Kirby was going to do this, she damn well wasn’t going to be a passive participant. So, she slid her fingers into his hair, both disconcerted by the fact that they were trembling as strongly as they were, and proud of herself when she continued anyway. Because it wasn’t like she’d never done this before. She’d done this plenty. Just…with only one person. Ever. Well, if you didn’t count her initial loss of virginity, at the startlingly advanced age of twenty-four, with her college roommate’s brother, Mike, at their graduation party. She certainly didn’t want to count anything about that horribly awkward, fumbling night. Getting her master’s degree had been easier than achieving orgasm. Or even faking one. Maybe if he’d taken his horn-rimmed glasses off…and his socks.