“Kirby,” he said in a drowsy, perfectly sexy, gravelly kind of way.

She rolled her head to the side, looked at Brett, just as he did the same. Their gazes collided. Then he smiled. And it wasn’t knowing, or a come-on, or even post-coitally dazed. Nope. It was sincere and honest. And…well, sweet.

Yeah. She was totally screwed.

Chapter 8

Brett had promised Kirby a shower. And, in theory, it sounded like one of his better ideas. If only he could will himself to move off the bed. He could honestly say that he’d never met anyone like her. And he’d definitely never had sex like that.

How it had seemed perfectly natural to carry on a lengthy conversation while standing that deep in each other’s personal space, all that sexual tension leaping off them both, without just ripping each other’s clothes off and having at it…he had no idea. But he was pretty damn sure it wouldn’t have been nearly as spectacular, or just plain damn fun, if they’d gone about it any other way.

She was singular, Kirby was. Nothing like the women who normally crossed his path. There was no fear in talking about what was going through her mind…and yet beneath all that, or actually right there on the surface along with it, there were some pretty hefty vulnerabilities as well. He wasn’t sure whether or not she thought she’d done a good job of hiding the fact that her past still colored her present. But he’d pulled too many marathons at too many poker tables, staring at hundreds if not thousands of faces, to not be good-damn good-at reading people.

He’d been curious about her before. After the tree. And dinner. And psycho kitty stuff. But now, after having her, tasting her, taking her like that…He closed his eyes. Yeah. Like that. Damn, that had been fucking amazing. She’d been fucking amazing. And he wanted her again.

Which he’d do something about. Just as soon as his body recovered. It had been a while since he’d played like that, and he was still dog tired from the past couple of weeks. Months. Hell, longer, to be honest, if he factored in mental fatigue. But she’d stirred up more than his long-neglected libido. She’d stirred his mind up, too.

Since she didn’t seem to be in any hurry, either, he laid there, lazily stroking the back of her hand, liking the contact with her warm skin as he listened to her breathing even out. And, despite the fatigue, the worry, the concern, that had been dogging him for what felt like ages now…at that moment, he felt almost peaceful. Certainly more relaxed than he’d been in a long time. He smiled. He could hear Dan now. Well, of course you’re feeling mellow. You finally got laid.

He was still smiling as his eyes drifted shut. He sure as hell had.

He thought about what he’d tell Dan about Kirby. The two of them went back so far, there was very little if anything one didn’t know about the other. So it was kind of foreign, this feeling he had, of wanting to keep this, keep Kirby, to himself. At least for now. Maybe it was part of the whole thing about her getting to know him outside of his professional persona. It felt pretty damn good, he had to say. And in ways that had nothing to do with sex. Though he knew that played a role, too.

He’d tell Dan about her eventually. After he’d taken off. Right now, he didn’t want any outside influence at all. He just wanted this.

To that end, he covered Kirby’s hand and tugged her gently until she rolled toward him. He tucked her easily, and almost too naturally, against his side. He’d never necessarily thought of himself as the post-coital cuddler type, if he even was a type, but there was a lot to be said for having the warm body of a naked woman tucked up against him. Didn’t happen all that often. No point in sleeping alone if a guy didn’t have to.

Yeah, right. He tucked her head beneath his chin and she mumbled something in her sleep. He pressed a kiss against her hair. She drew her leg up over his thigh. He let sleep claim him, well aware of the big smile on his face.

The ringing phone jerked them both awake some indeterminate amount of time later. She groaned when her head connected with his chin, and they both sucked in a quick wince of pain as their cat-scratched skin stretched when they moved apart and sat up too quickly.

His eyes went to the jagged, flame-red marks that streaked across her stomach. His back probably looked much the same. He didn’t mind his so much, but he hated seeing all that creamy skin of hers, skin he’d tasted now, all raw and ravaged. He was happy the little heathen’s attack skills would come in handy in her new life…and equally grateful the cat would never get a chance to mark up Kirby’s champagne-sweet skin again.

Skin he was thinking of sipping, much like the finest Perrier-Jouet, and was dipping his head to put thought to deed, when the phone rang again. It occurred to him as the muzziness of sleep cleared with the continued ringing that she was running a business here, so he reluctantly aborted his mission. “You need to get that?”

All he got in response was a grunt, which made him smile. There wasn’t much about her that didn’t make him smile, he realized. She rolled to a sitting position, her lovely naked back to him, her hair all sexy in a mussed-up, bed-head kind of way. The kind of way that made him want to pull her back down and roll her underneath him. He felt his body come to life at the thought, and his smile widened. So, maybe he wasn’t all that road weary after all. Or she was the elixir of life. Either way, things were looking up for him. Literally.

The phone continued to ring. “Yes,” she said at length, fighting a yawn. “I should. But the machine will pick up. I’ll screen it.”

“Do you have more than one line? I mean, a private one for you?”

“My cell is my private line, and I have the line here forwarded to that one if I am out or away. But that line, the ringing one, that’s for the inn.”

He could have pointed out that, given the dearth of guests at the moment, possibly she didn’t want to avoid taking the call. But if ignoring the phone meant he had her all to himself a little while longer? Well, he was all for that. Who was he to tell her how to run her business?

The phone cut off, mid-ring, and he thought the caller had hung up until he heard the echo of a voice-a man’s voice-coming from the room beyond. There was a door between this room and that one, partially opened now. He vaguely remembered seeing the other space that looked like an office before he’d kicked the door shut and dropped them to the bed. He hadn’t really been paying attention, as he’d had a naked woman wrapped around him at the time.

“-know who that is staying at your place?”

Brett’s attention was immediately yanked from Kirby and all the wonderful things he wanted to do to and with her, and directed to the disembodied voice coming from the next room. He felt his spirit sink, like his entire body kind of just caved in a little. He could have spoken up, said anything, and drowned the voice out. But it would only have delayed the inevitable. He’d hoped, thought, that being the only guest here and not having left the inn since checking in, that he’d keep his anonymity a while longer. Like, until he decided to leave. He’d been in Vegas for so long, where everyone knew who he was. The thrill of being unknown hadn’t worn off yet.

But he remained silent and watched as Kirby slowly turned enough so she could look at him.

“-Brett Hennessey. The Brett Hennessey. He’s like the Tiger Woods of poker. Guy’s won millions.” The man on the phone chuckled like he’d personally hit some kind of jackpot. “Hey, maybe you should get him to do some kind of commercial for you. Or at least autograph something to hang on your wall. Guests would love that kind of stuff. When you get guests, that is. Anyway, just letting you know you have nothing to worry about.” There was a pause, then, sounding highly amused with himself, the caller added, “As long as you don’t play five card stud with the guy.” On a final, self-satisfied chuckle, the call finally, mercifully, ended.