What The Heart Knows Read Free

quickly.
    “Devon,”
James repeated. Like only business people do. To commit the name to
memory. “And you are?” he asked, knowing. Of course he
knew.
    She
was a lot better looking than his brother had let on. But, then
again, Elliott only had eyes for Hannah. This woman was all edges.
She had a sharp, cat-like face with a thin, straight nose and
slightly pointed chin. Her lips were small and her light eyes were
almost a see-through shade of blue. Her deep auburn hair was pulled
into an impossibly neat ponytail and it matched her eyebrows and
eyelashes exactly. A natural redhead. Was there anything hotter than
that?
    And
he hadn't missed the freckles. The freckles might have been the best
part.
    From
what he heard, she had a tongue as sharp as her features. He was
looking forward to hearing more out of that pretty mouth of hers.
    Emily
smiled, the same forced kind of smile Devon had on. Professionally
friendly. She slid behind Devon and moved out from behind the desk,
extending her hand. Cursing herself for beginning on such an awful
first impression. “Emily. Emily Brennan. I'm the manager.”
    She
was tall, he realized with a growing sense of attraction. She had the
kind of bodies you saw on glossy print ads. Thin, waifish, almost
boyish with just the tiniest hint of breast or hip.
    “Nice
to meet you, Emily,” he said, oozing entirely too much charm
for a business interaction. “I see you've heard all about me.”
    She
wasn't going to apologize. No way in hell. “Well,” Emily
said, offering him a half smile. “your reputation proceeds you,
Mr. Michaels.”
    “James,”
he corrected.
    “James,”
she said, “Would you like Devon to show you up to your room?”
    “No,”
James said, looking over at Devon. He could practically see his sigh
of relief. He didn't want to be the one to screw up. “No,”
he said, looking back at Emily. “I would like you to
show me to my room, Miss. Brennan.”
    Of
course he did. And he could just take that good-boy smile and shove
it because it wasn't going to work on her. “Of course,”
she said, scurrying behind the desk to get a room key off the wall.
Happy for any excuse to get away from him for a second. “Do you
need any help with your luggage?”
    She
was angry at him, James realized with a smile. Was it because she
felt that bringing him to his room was beneath her position? Or was
she just resentful for his presence in general? “No, I'll get
my bags later.”
    “Okay,”
she said, sending him another of her hospitality smiles. “Room
number three,” she said, moving to the staircase. “right
this way, Mr. Michaels.”
    “James,”
he repeated, following behind her. Trying not to gawk at her ass as
she climbed. “So Miss. Brennan,” he said as they got to
the top stair. “how long have you been working here?”
There were four rooms he could see from where they stood and
god-awful cherry blossom wallpapers covering the walls in between.
    “Twelve
years,” Emily said automatically, walking to the door with a
three on it and putting the key in.
    “And
how long have you been the acting manager?”
    “Four
years,” she said, going into the room and switching the light
on, despite having sunlight streaming in through the windows. “So
here is your room,” she said, slipping into the speech she had
given a thousand times before. “You have a view of the town
from your front window and the wrap around desk is accessible through
the door in the hall. Here is your closet,” she said, opening
the door and pulling a string inside to light the small space and
reveal wooden hangers, a small ironing board and iron. “And
through here is the bathroom,” she walked into the room,
switching that light on as well. She just wanted to get it over with
as soon as possible. “Cleaning services are at ten every
morning unless you cancel them. Breakfast hours are from six to ten
every morning. That and all the other dining hours are listed on that
pamphlet on the