A Brand New Ending (Page 48)

“Thank you, but we’d also like to request . . . Oh my. Hello. I’m sorry to interrupt.” Devon froze, staring at Kyle like Bernie Madoff looking at a pardon.

With pure, undisguised hunger.

The girl dropped the attitude, and her face lit up with a smile. Practically purring, she held out her hand and tossed her head. Glossy dark hair swished past her shoulders. Her gaze roved over his figure like a she-cat appraising her dinner.

“I’m Devon. Are you a guest here?”

Kyle smiled back and shook her hand. “Yes. Welcome to Robin’s Nest. Are you enjoying your stay?”

“I just checked in with my girlfriend. We’re heading up to the Winter Festival tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s a blast. They have great snow tubing, and Angry Orchard usually has a booth.”

“How about you?” Devon ran her tongue over her teeth and leaned in.

Ophelia almost groaned at the obvious move. God, she was practically drooling over him.

“Why don’t you join us tomorrow?”

“Sorry, I have to work. But thanks for the invite.”

“Working on vacation? That’s a shame. What do you do?”

Kyle shifted on his feet. Ophelia recognized it as a sign that he wanted to leave but was trying to be polite. “I’m a screenwriter, and I better get back to it. It was nice meeting you.”

“A writer for movies? How cool. Name one of your movies.”

He looked torn between being polite versus escape. “Umm, The Bounty is one.”

Devon gasped. Her hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm.

Ophelia felt a possessive howl trapped in her throat, ready to emerge.

Why was she touching him?

“I cannot believe this—you’re Kyle Kimpton! I’m completely freaking out. Your movies are amazing. I’ve seen The Bounty three times!”

Aw, crap.

Kyle smiled and didn’t shake off her touch.

Was he staring at her bare midriff, tanned and tight and on display?

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Always nice to meet a fan.”

“Oh, you must join us for dinner tonight. There’s nothing to eat here anyway, since Ophelia doesn’t cook. It would be an honor.” She thrust out her sizable breasts, squeezed his arm, and waited.

Ophelia waited, too.

Slowly, Kyle removed Devon’s hand and stepped back, his grin firmly in place. “That’s really sweet. Normally I’d love to, but I’m on a tight deadline and I’ll be eating in my room tonight. Maybe I’ll see you for breakfast?”

Disappointment flickered over Devon’s features, but she brightened at the mention of breakfast. “Definitely. Would love to spend some time with you before the festival.”

“I thought you required room service?” Ophelia cut in. “Because you don’t like eating with other guests?”

Devon shot her a glare, then forced a tinkly laugh. “Oh, I was just kidding. I’m not the diva sort, I’m looking forward to chatting with everyone tomorrow.” She tilted her chin and stared at Kyle, dropping her voice to a sexy growl. “I’m in the Garden Room if you need anything at all. A break, a chat, another cup of coffee . . .”

Ophelia highly doubted coffee was on her mind.

God, did she have to be so obvious about it? And the man didn’t seem to be in such a hurry any longer.

He just smiled back at her, as if he was used to women throwing themselves at him on a daily basis.

Because he probably was.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

What? He’d let her know? Know what?

“Good,” Devon whispered.

Ophelia slammed down the teacup, practically shattering the delicate china. “Tea and snacks are ready,” she announced loudly.

With another look at the girl, Kyle left the kitchen.

Devon’s smile slipped away, and she regarded Ophelia with pure annoyance. “What time does Kyle show up for breakfast?” she demanded. “I’ll have whatever he orders.”

“Oh, he likes a woman with a huge appetite,” she said, nodding seriously. “I heard him say women who are always worried about their weight and diet annoy him. He likes to eat an omelet, bacon, toast, and pancakes. He adores carbs. Hates fruit and yogurt.”

Devon paled, but she was clearly committed. “Fine, make sure I have the same. What room is he in?”

Annoyance surged. “I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information about guests. Sorry.”

“Never mind. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.” With a sharklike smile, she motioned toward the tray. “Bring that up to Margo’s room, please, and I’ll join her. Also, I prefer a down pillow, not that memory foam stuff. Can you get me a replacement pillow?”

Bitch.

“Sure, that won’t be a problem,” she said cheerfully.

“Thanks.” Devon left the kitchen, hips swinging, glossy hair swishing.

Ophelia prayed for the patience not to throw her the hell out of her inn.

There was no way Kyle could be attracted to such a woman. It was just odd seeing up close how his celebrity affected people. He may have craved fame and fortune, but ego had never been his problem. In fact, he’d always wanted approval from the higher-ups, the people, the crowd. It was as if his own success didn’t count unless everyone agreed. The more they adored him, the better he felt about proving his father wrong.

Was that another thing that had torn them apart? She’d realized with her singing that it didn’t matter if the world termed her successful or a star—she sang for her own pleasure. But growing up with a father who consistently told him he was nothing made Kyle seek approval from the outside world.

If Patrick finally admitted his wrongs, would some of Kyle’s demons be soothed?

Her gut drove her to one answer over and over: Kyle needed to talk to his father before he left Gardiner.

She just had to convince him.

“More toast?” Ophelia asked sweetly.

Devon stared at her plate with a touch of panic. Kyle still hadn’t seemed to notice the girl’s unease with carbs, and he had happily devoured everything Ophelia put in front of him. Margo was perched on the opposite chair, engrossed with her phone. She’d tried talking to Kyle once, but the sharp glance Devon threw her shut Margo right up.

Seemed like Devon had already staked her claim.

The other guests—young marrieds, a thirty-something couple who loved to ski but hated staying at the large resident lodges—had just finished up and were headed back to Windham’s slopes for the day. Devon dragged her chair as close as possible next to Kyle and engaged him in lively conversation, stopping intermittently to touch his arm or rest a palm on his knee as she pretended to laugh. Seemed she was a makeup expert who was well known on YouTube and had written some pieces for Glamour. She had the nerve to ask if she could interview him for a feature on how to rock the scruffy look with style.

Ophelia couldn’t tell if she was more pained or amused by the whole exchange.

“How about I bring home dinner after the festival tonight?” Devon suggested, as if it were a brilliant idea that had just occurred to her. “That way you can work all day and give yourself a break later on.”

A frown furrowed his brow. “Aren’t you going out with your friend?” He forked up another piece of bacon, seemingly in a happy fugue state from the giant breakfast Ophelia had served.

Devon nibbled on a piece of toast and tried not to look miserable at the thought of carbs entering her pure body.