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 her. She looped her arms around his neck and he hiked her up his body so she could plant a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

“You might want to hold off until you have to manage this hoard for a few weeks,” he said, laughing, but he didn’t let her slide back down his body. Instead he pinned her back against the wall under the stairs. “Dev will probably be the easiest guy you have. Depending on who he brings with him, anyway.”

“I thought you said he was a good guy; doesn’t he have good taste in women?”

“He’s like the perennial pushover, that guy. Sort of Charlie Brown and Lucy, always believing they have his best interest at heart. Usually it’s just his bank account they have their eye on.”

“Come on, he’s got a lot more going for him than his money.”

“I agree, one hundred percent. I’m just telling you like it is.”

He lowered his head, but before he could kiss her, she said, “Is it like that for you? Is that why you were so adamant about me getting to know you for you?”

“Money always tends to complicate things,” was all he said. Then his mouth was on hers and she really didn’t care to continue the conversation as it turned out.

When he moved from her mouth to her jawline, he murmured, “I need to head up and shower. Wanna come help me wash my back?”

“I’m not sure that’s part of the room services we offer here at Pennydash Inn,” she said, tipping her head back against the wall to allow him greater access.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He nudged her higher up the wall and kissed down the side of her neck, to the tender spot between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling the collar of her shirt aside as he continued his exploration. “I’d like to think it’s just a personal favor. Between the two of us.” He kept dropping little kisses, then undid the top button of her shirt. With his teeth. “I’m really good at returning favors, by the way. In fact, I insist upon it.”