the word “powerful” came to mind. Maybe it was all the black leather, but he was a big man, easily over six feet, with or without the heavy road boots, broad shouldered, and just very…imposing. He slid off his gloves and laid them across the seat; then he turned as he unbuckled his helmet. Affording her a lovely view of a mighty fine backside. She decided right then and there she was a big fan of whatever those chap things were he was wearing. Damn.
Then he turned back, helmet off, and she forgot all about his amazing ass. She was too busy noticing the way his thick, dark curls, unshaven, hard-looking jaw, and lethal black sunglasses jacked up the intensity of his overall outlaw appearance. Her steps faltered, partly because he looked dangerous, and partly because, well…any woman with a pulse would probably have stumbled at least a step or two. Half of her wished there was a county sheriff close by, just in case…and the other half wished she could afford to pay this guy to tackle the list of odd jobs that were slowly piling up. Starting, of course, with the tasks that would require him to work with his shirt off. As often as possible. Warm weather might as well come in handy for something, after all.
She noted the bike had a Nevada license plate. Interesting. A bit longer than a day trip from Vermont. But given the amount of dust and dirt that had accumulated on the sleek machine, and on him she noted, it wouldn’t have surprised her if that’s how long he’d been on the road. So…not a local looking for work.
“Can I help you?”
He slung his helmet on the back bar of the bike. “You have any rooms available?”
His voice was deep, a little rough. He sounded more than a little road-weary. Or maybe he always had that kind of laconic drawl. Whatever the case, it only enhanced the whole road warrior vibe he had going on. He did things to her body just standing there that she hadn’t felt in…clearly far longer than she wanted to think about. “You want a room?”
In retrospect, she realized how comical her honest surprise must have seemed. His smile was slow, but brief, more a quirk of the lips. Which were also kind of chiseled and perfect. She really needed to stop staring. Anytime now.
“You do rent them out, right?” For all his pulse-pounding, over-the-top sex appeal, he was actually fairly soft-spoken. If gravel could be soft. In fact, now that she was close up, she thought her early suspicions might be right. He didn’t just sound road-weary, he looked downright exhausted. She couldn’t see his eyes, but the lines bracketing his mouth, the flexing and tensing of his jaw, and just the way he stood there, shoulders hunched a little, all but shouted extreme fatigue.
He nodded at the carved wood sign, painted periwinkle blue and leaf green, and planted in front of the house. Under the name, PENNYDASH INN, it read: PROPRIETOR: KIRBY FARRELL. “Is that you?”
“I am. I mean, yes, that’s me. I’m sorry, you just caught me by surprise.”
His lips curved again, a bit wryly. “You not in the habit of folks wanting to stay here?”
She forced herself to snap out of the hormone fog that was clearly only affecting her—no shock there, as she had at least a dozen years on the guy—and smiled as she swept her arm to encompass the view of the very green looking Green Mountains. “Not exactly the vacation destination for the discerning skiing enthusiast this winter.”
“Ah. My lucky day, then.” That last part was said with a particularly dry note as he pulled out his wallet. “I don’t ski.”
Kirby smiled at that and quickly shifted gears the rest of the way into innkeeper mode. “Why don’t we go inside, get you registered?”
“My bike okay here?”
Her smile widened as she continued to find her footing. He wasn’t exactly the sort of guest she’d visualized hosting as she’d been slaving away all last summer and fall. In fact every single one of her instincts, both as a woman and as a business owner, were screaming that this guy was not what he appeared to be—or maybe too much of exactly what he appeared to be. But, given the current state of her bank account, she was in no position to get all picky-choosy about what kind of boarders she’d prefer to have under her roof.
“It would appear you