Here Comes Trouble Page 10

  He grinned and reached up to touch her face. It was so smoothly defined, so elegantly shaped. He touched her bottom lip, felt her sigh more than heard it. “Overcoming our fears?”

  “Bold plan.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first one I’ve made.”

  “Success rate?”

  “Enough to be wary, but relatively confident.”

  “Are you always wary?”

  “Depends on the stakes.”

  “And these?”

  “Higher than I thought they’d be.”

  Kirby’s eyebrows lifted. “Now who’s being direct?”

  “Bold plans sometimes require bold moves.”

  “Somehow, despite the quiet demeanor, I’m not getting much of a shy or retiring vibe from you.”

  “I’m more of both than you might think. Certainly than most people think.”

  “And why is that?”

  Brett didn’t answer right away. Wasn’t sure how to answer. He had no problem telling her who he was, what he did, what he’d come from, why he was confused about whether to go back. In fact, he’d bet against the house that her responses would be open, honest, insightful, and without an ulterior agenda. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to get her into bed so much as fixing her a cup of coffee and inviting her to sit a spell. He wondered if sleeping with her would change that ulterior agenda thing.

  On the one hand, it was a good bet to take. What he’d learned of Kirby Farrell so far didn’t lead him to believe she was ever anything but open and honest. Maybe to a fault, but it was refreshing enough that he found it more flattering than flaw.

  On the other hand, once she knew more, that would influence her. It always did. She was direct, but some things were hard not to judge or be influenced by.

  “I’m going to ask you something,” he said. “Something I really don’t have a right to ask, but I’m asking anyway.”

  “Go on.”

  “At some point, I’ll answer any questions you have. If you still want to ask them. But…for now, I’m more interested in what you think than what anybody else thinks.”

  “About?”

  “Me.”

  “Okay. So…what about you?”

  “Nothing nefarious, I assure you. Just…get to know me. Form your own opinions based on what you come to know.”

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

  He nodded. “I’d just…like to keep it that way. A little longer.”

  “Okay,” she responded easily. “Can I ask why?”

  “Because it matters to me.”

  “Because you think it will help with those decisions you have to make? I’m just one person. And I don’t even know you. How could my opinion, whatever it might be, carry any real weight?”

  “Because it would be an honest, unbiased opinion.”

  “Ah.” Kirby was nodding, but he could see that she didn’t really understand. “So, what, exactly, is off limits?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  She smiled. “For now.”

  “How long is for now?”

  Her smile grew. “I’ll let you know.”

  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 di
dn’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.

  Still, it was like riding a bike, pretty much, right? Even if this bike was flashier, shinier, faster, and built for a far more experienced rider. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t coaxing, either. He was simply taking, enjoying.

  So, she would, too.

  She took a breath that was supposed to be steadying, but instead was remarkable only because she could suck in a breath at all, and shifted his head down…and then down some more.

  He caught on quickly, her shiny new bicycle did, and he worked open the buttons on the front of her camp shirt, kissing her along her collarbone as he did, then pushed up the thin, long tee she wore underneath till his warm palms bracketed her waist. She held her breath for the moment when he inadvertently hit her scratched skin, not wanting to ruin the building moment with a moan of pain versus pleasure, but that moment never came. He slid his hands—and her tee—slowly up her sides, as his mouth moved lower along the scalloped edge of the deep neckline.

  She’d never felt so intensely female, or desirable, as when her fingers slid from his hair to his nape and became aware of the insistent throb of the pulse along the side of his neck under the pad of her thumb. His hands were so gentle, but that rapid beat against her sensitive fingertips told another story. It shouldn’t have been so thrilling. Given what she’d felt pressed against her earlier, she knew she wasn’t the only affected party here. Still…

  Kirby arched her back as Brett slid her tee higher, finally pushing it over her barely there bra that she barely needed. Her lacking there didn’t seem to slow him down in the least. For which she was profoundly grateful. Size didn’t alter sensitivity or need…which he seemed quite in tune with.

  She closed her eyes as his mouth enveloped one tightened nipple while his fingers played with the other. Honestly, it was like she’d dreamed him up. Maybe she was dreaming. Hell, maybe she’d really fallen out of that tree and was dead and this was all happening in her afterlife.

  Well, if that were true, at least it was good news. She’d gone to heaven.

  He unclasped the front of her bra and slowly peeled the now damp, flimsy fabric from her skin. She gasped as he closed his warm lips back over the taut bud. And then, when she wasn’t sure how much longer her trembling legs would hold up, he moved lower, placing the softest of kisses in between the scratches on her stomach. There was something both tender and erotic about the way he moved down along her torso. His wide palms were bracketed low on her hips as he pinned her back to the wall and continued downward.

  Kirby purposely kept her thoughts focused on the moment, in the moment. If she allowed herself to think about what she was doing, in her own kitchen, with a guest, no less…

  Brett plucked open the button at the waistband of her khakis, and any concern she had about the choices she was making were drowned out by the strident demands of her body. It had been too long…and this was simply too good. So…so good. She released a long, shaky breath as he dropped heated kisses along the tender skin of her lower belly being slowly exposed as he pulled down her zipper. His lips were warm, firm, and in command…and he was taking so damn long to get to where she needed him to be, she had to curl her fingers inward against her palms to keep from sinking them back into those thick curls and urging him to get on with it already.

  His own low groan of appreciation as he tugged her pants down to her hips, hooking his fingers around the thin band of her panties and taking those down, too, had her splaying her palms flat against the wall, digging her fingertips, seeking for purchase, anything to help keep her upright on shaking thighs and—Oh! “Yes,” she gasped as he found her.

  Her hands moved instinctively then, fingers sliding through his silky curls, not urging—no need, he was doing everything right—but simply for balance, to keep from sliding down the wall and into a—“Oh!” Her hips bucked against his hands, her whole body trembling now as he slid his tongue against her…then into her. She moved against him, with him, establishing a rhythm that drove her easily, swiftly, straight up to the edge. Right there, she thought. Right. There.

  And, keeping the dream lover scenario alive and screamingly well, he moved right there…and her gasps quickly turned to loud moans as the climax roared through her. She bent over as he continued driving her well past the point she thought she was capable of going. Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her blunt nails digging into the firm muscle there as he wrenched ridiculous amounts of pleasure from her body. “You…wow,” was as coherent as she could be. When the rippling waves finally peaked and began to subside, he surprised her by pushing her pants and panties the rest of the way down her legs, urging her silently to step clear of them.

  No fool she, she did anything he asked.

  As he stood, he pushed off his own jeans, and even in her post-climactic, pleasure-drenched state, she paused to marvel—okay, possibly it was more like goggle—over his unbelievable physique. Hanging from a tree, a twenty-foot drop from death, she really hadn’t had time to appreciate him the first time she’d seen him naked.

  She most certainly was appreciating him now. Wow. Santa hadn
’t come through with the snow, but he was damn well making up for lost time right now. In fact, she owed Santa a present. Big-time. Big, being the key word there.

  His hands came back to her hips, and her gaze finally lifted to his. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see there. Probably not arrogance or cockiness; he hadn’t struck her as the type. A knowing smile perhaps, a sexually charged twinkle in his eyes…something like that. A silent, perhaps even humble acknowledgment that if she’d experienced pleasure so far, she could definitely look forward to more of the same.

  What she found was his focus entirely and directly pinned on her. As if his godlike body wasn’t really a factor here, other than how it was about to be directly involved with hers. There was nothing nonchalant or offhand about it, either.

  No, there was…a whole lot of other things going on there. Personal things, deeper thoughts, thoughts about her.

  As if reading her mind, and perhaps he could—nothing would surprise her at this point—his hands tightened on her hips. “Upstairs? Or your room?”

  She’d been thinking that right here up against the wall would work just fine. Possibly the counter. Or the floor. His eyes flared and she really started to wonder if he could read her mind. He might be focused quite intently on her, but there was no lack of sexual desire. Which was easily proved by his ready—very ready—body, but somehow, seeing it there, in the way he looked at her, pushed it beyond the merely physical. Made it personal. Which made her nervous.

  And, perversely, that turned her on even more.

  “I—uh—” was pretty much the extent of her verbal ability.

  He moved in closer then, the extremely hard length of him pushing up against her belly, reminding her just how much taller and bigger he was than her. He pushed his hips in, pinning her to the wall, then slid his hands up the sides of her waist, brushing his thumbs over her still tightly budded nipples, making her twitch, gasp, then framed her face. Her gaze was riveted to his, her body his to do with whatever he pleased.

  “I want you right here…right now. But while spontaneity is great…I didn’t come down here prepared for this.”