The Mighty Quinns: Tristan
Kate Hoffmann
Exposing the EnemyLawyer Tristan Quinn has never met a woman he couldn't charm, so he's confident he can convince three elderly women to sell their artists' colony to a developer. He poses as a writer to gain their trust. But then he meets Lily Harrison—the ladies' sexy, quirky niece—and Tris realizes he's in for way more than he bargained for…Lily can smell a lawyer a mile away. Expose him—that's what she needs to do. One piece of clothing at a time—until he's naked and they're at each other's hungry mercy. She can't trust him. She definitely can't fall for him. She just needs to keep her friends close…and her enemy much, much closer!
Exposing the Enemy
Lawyer Tristan Quinn has never met a woman he couldn’t charm, so he’s confident he can convince three elderly women to sell their artists’ colony to a developer. He poses as a writer to gain their trust. But then he meets Lily Harrison—the ladies’ sexy, quirky niece—and Tris realizes he’s in for way more than he bargained for...
Lily can smell a lawyer a mile away. Expose him—that’s what she needs to do. One piece of clothing at a time—until he’s naked and they’re at each other’s hungry mercy. She can’t trust him. She definitely can’t fall for him. She just needs to keep her friends close...and her enemy much, much closer!
Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s The Mighty Quinns
“[Kate] Hoffmann always brings a strong story to the table with The Mighty Quinns, and this is one of her best.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Eli
“The [Aileen Quinn storyline] ends as it began: with strong storytelling and compelling, tender characters who make for a deeply satisfying read.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Mac
“[Hoffmann’s] characters are well written and real. The Mighty Quinns: Eli is a recommended read for lovers of the Quinn family, lovers of the outdoors and lovers of a sensitive man.”
—Harlequin Junkie
“A winning combination of exciting adventure and romance... This is a sweet and sexy read that kept me entertained from start to finish.”
—Harlequin Junkie on The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm
“Ms. Hoffmann’s voice is smooth, calming and soulful.... If you are looking for a steamy romance with an engaging storyline, give this book a try.”
—Harlequin Junkie on The Mighty Quinns: Roarke
“The Mighty Quinns: Jack is one of those stories that will capture your mind and heat your emotions. It was impossible for me to put this steamy, sexy book down until the last page was turned.”
—Fresh Fiction
Dear Reader (#ulink_ec91c2ce-2605-5ec5-9440-d8eb95465deb),
One of the best things about being a writer is creating interesting characters. Sometimes those characters live entirely on the pages of my books, but other times they seem to come to life in my mind. They almost seem real. And I enjoy their company so much that when I finish the book, I actually feel a bit lonely for these temporary “guests.”
The Mighty Quinns: Tristan was one of those books that brought together an odd community of characters that really stayed with me long after the book was finished. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!
Happy reading,
The Mighty Quinns: Tristan
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HOFFMANN lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her books, her computer and her cats, Princess Winifred and Princess Grace. In her spare time she enjoys sewing, baking, movies, theater and talking on the phone with her sister. She has written nearly ninety books for Harlequin.
To Judge Andy S. for helping with legal matters.
Contents
Cover (#ue7b86c67-1924-5be5-aa6d-b12e63730fcd)
Back Cover Text (#u31b67640-1ef5-5d00-be60-14c4c8158d81)
Introduction (#u3a1f061c-9443-5d6e-ab76-e2da5f6f1f9d)
Dear Reader (#ulink_9012865f-54b3-582d-bcff-d2c5568c5be9)
Title Page (#u9a62c3a4-8fd9-57d3-ad25-e4ffc10ca8d0)
About the Author (#u837a50e5-7700-57dd-a9d7-eb31195d3dd0)
Dedication (#u89887441-5e8d-5eba-9add-b3ad9735340f)
Prologue (#ulink_23f24fc9-fe89-5b03-9161-5d8158245726)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_ea88e8c0-471f-557f-a189-c90fb55b36be)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_8a96c06f-83db-5285-a70d-61dbb17d8c90)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_440338c2-9869-5a65-add0-cd59c0b0fcce)
THEY’D LIVED IN the blue house on Downey Street for just five months. Tristan had been so excited to move in. A real house after the family of five had spent their summer living in the car or sleeping in a tent. But when his father had died and the cold weather set in, things became desperate again.
They scraped together just enough money to survive from panhandling, petty theft and their mother’s disability payments. The Quinns couldn’t pay their rent, but no one wanted to evict tenants in the middle of winter. That was what their mother depended upon—the guilt of strangers.
Tristan stood at the window, scraping his finger over the frost that coated the inside. The heat and the electricity had been turned off two months ago. They’d been forced to depend upon a smoky fireplace for warmth and a gas-station restroom for water and plumbing facilities.
“Where is she?” Tristan’s little brother, Jamie, asked.
Their mother had taken their other brother, Thom, out to pinch some food from the local market. They’d been caught last month stealing a box of cereal, but the store owner had refused to press charges during the holiday season. He’d sent them home with a huge box of food that had lasted nearly a week.
Up and down. That was the way life seemed to work for the Quinns. Just when things started looking a little better, something would knock them down.
Tristan rubbed his arms through his jacket, his breath clouding in front of his face. His mother and Thom had been gone far too long. Something had happened, and Tristan was afraid of the consequences.
They were always just a few steps ahead of CPS—Child Protective Services—the dragon that loomed over their small world, waiting to snatch one or all of them away. Tristan couldn’t go to the police to find his mother because they’d discover that he and his brothers were alone, living in an unheated house in the middle of a Minnesota winter. And then CPS would separate them, possibly forever. So he and his brothers were forced to wait and wonder where their mother was—sometimes for a day or two, sometimes, if she managed to score some booze or drugs, for weeks.
The sound of footsteps on the porch caught Tristan’s attention and he held his breath, wondering who it might be. Burglars regularly broke into the house, looking for anything worth selling. The landlord made threatening appearances occasionally.
“Hey!”
Jamie smiled. “Thom,” he said.
A few seconds later, the second of the three Quinn brothers strolled in, his jacket unzipped, his face red from the cold. He carried a crumpled grocery bag, which he dropped on the floor next to the fireplace.
“What happened?”
“I told her she shouldn’t take the booze. She was already drunk, you’d think she could do without it for once. She was walking out and she dropped a bottle. It shattered around her feet. I grabbed what I could and ran, but they got her. She’s probably in jail now.”
“We have to rescue her,” Jamie said.
“No,” Tristan replied. “No. She’s safe there. She’ll have food, and a bed and heat. They won’t let her drink. If we go get her there’ll be too many questions. You know I’m right, don’t you, Jamie?”
The younger boy nodded.
“We’ll survive just fine on our own,” Tristan explained. “We have a fire and something to eat. We’ve got our sleeping bags to keep us extra warm. It will be like camping. And in the morning, we’ll go to school and we’ll be warm for the whole day and have a hot meal. We’ll make it through. We always do.”
Tristan reached out and pulled Jamie into his arms, giving him a hug. Then he looked over at Thom. “Why don’t you eat? I’m going to see if I can find some more wood for the fire. I passed a house on my way to school that had stacks of firewood. If I can take some, we’ll be warm for a few days.”
“It’s really cold out,” Thom warned. “Wear the red coat. That has a good hood.”
Tristan left his brothers in front of the fire, picking through the bag of snacks that Thom had managed to steal. Tris bundled up against the cold, then headed out, turning toward the alley that ran between the blocks of houses in their run-down neighborhood.
As he walked, he sniffed the air for the scent of a fire, squinting into the sky for a curl of smoke that might come from a nearby chimney.
Everything looked so different in the dark, especially when covered with a layer of white. But he found a house with a fire burning inside. He peered through the windows into the darkened interior, noticing the bars that blocked his entrance. But to his surprise, a side door to the garage had been left open, probably so the owner could retrieve more wood.
“This is good,” he murmured with a smile. Now he just had to find a way to carry it home. He could balance three, maybe four pieces in his hands. Not enough even for the night. He needed a way to move more wood.
The light from the alley allowed him to see the interior of the garage. He spotted a tarp and a wheelbarrow. Tristan grabbed the tarp. The wheelbarrow would be missed and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to push it, but he could easily drag the tarp through the snow.
Tristan made quick work of the task, knowing the longer he took, the greater the odds of being caught. He managed to load up sixteen logs before he carefully closed the door and headed down the alley.
The guy would never miss the wood and Tristan’s family would be warm for the next day or two. He didn’t feel bad about stealing. Guilt was no longer an emotion he could afford. But every time he’d been forced to break the law or take advantage of someone to survive, Tristan made a promise to himself.
One day, when he was older, when he no longer had to take care of his brothers and they were on their own, he’d find a way to help people who were in trouble or struggling to survive.
He’d find them food or a nice place to live or maybe a job that would help to buy clothes and an ice cream cone every now and then. He wasn’t sure what kind of job it would be, but if there was something like that in the world, he’d find it...
1 (#ulink_ea1a02a3-ece8-524c-bed9-d76be8ae3a34)
TRISTAN QUINN DOWNSHIFTED the sleek silver convertible as he navigated the narrow curve of the road. Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees lining each side of the pavement, the thick green forest broken only by occasional homemade signs indicating cottages and resorts located deep within the woods.
He drew a deep breath, enjoying the brisk wind and warm sun on his face. There were moments when he had to wonder why he’d decided to seek a career in law, except for the rather sizable salary. He could have easily enjoyed being a construction worker or a ditch digger. At least he’d be free of the confines of his office, free to enjoy the weather, the warm summer days and even the bitter cold that came with the winters in Minneapolis.
So when this case had come up, Tristan had jumped at the opportunity. Though the matter had plagued most of the lawyers in his office, it meant an entire day outside of the office. He’d left that morning, headed northwest, a tidy stack of documents tucked in his briefcase. Today, he’d take his shot at negotiating a settlement to a contentious real estate case that had been going on for three long years.
Though most of the lawyers in the firm had worked on the case, this was his first crack at it. It was his chance to show the partners what he could do.
The case involved a dispute over an incredibly beautiful piece of land located an hour from the city on a pristine and very private lake. It was one of the only undeveloped lakes that close to Minneapolis–St. Paul, and as such was considered gold for any real estate developer.
The land had been held by the Pigglestone Family Trust since the late 1950s, and since then had been the site of an artists’ colony. But the latest generation wanted to sell the land, and in order to do that, they needed to evict their three elderly aunts, who had lived on the property from the beginning. Papers had been drawn up, notices sent, but the women had largely ignored the court orders.
Tristan didn’t relish evicting a trio of old ladies, but the partners had authorized him to offer an extraordinary financial settlement—one that would set the women up in relative luxury almost anywhere in the world. Though the job had proved impossible for others, Tristan was confident he’d be able to complete this task in a day or two and return to the firm a winner. After all, he’d been charming women for as long as he as he could remember.
“Turn right, two hundred yards.”
He glanced over at the navigation screen and frowned. He hadn’t seen any road signs for the past mile and assumed that he was off the grid. But a few moments later the voice warned him again. “Turn right, one hundred yards.”
He slowed the car and watched for a sign. But all that was visible was thick brush and tall trees. “Turn right, twenty yards.”
The narrow side road suddenly appeared and Tristan slammed on the brakes in order to make the turn. There was no sign or any indication of what lay ahead. But the coordinates had come directly from his boss so he knew he could trust them.
As he drove deeper into the woods, the road narrowed until it was only wide enough for one car to pass. Tristan slowly rounded a curve but skidded to a stop when he saw a figure standing in the middle of the road.
Her arms were stretched above her head, her fingers spread wide. She stood perfectly still, only the breeze moving her hair. She wore a loose cotton blouse that barely covered her backside—and nothing else. Tristan watched her for a long moment, his gaze drifting lower to take in the sweet curve of her naked backside. He couldn’t see her face, but somehow he sensed that she would be beautiful.
She continued to watch the trees above her head and then suddenly her hands drifted down to her sides. Tristan switched off the car and waited, remaining still and silent, afraid he might spook her. She tilted her head slightly as if she’d caught some sound deep in the woods. Finally, her shoulders dropped and she slowly shook her head.
When she turned to face him, his suspicions were proven true. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. Like some wild wood nymph, her dark tousled hair fell in curls around perfect features.
“This is private property,” she called, bracing her hands on her waist. The cotton shirt lifted again, revealing the tops of her shapely legs. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet, which were covered with mud.
Tristan got out of the car, closing the door behind him before he approached. “What were you looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking,” she said. “I was listening.”
“Then what were you listening for?”
“An owl. A great gray owl. Every now and then when I walk along this stretch of road, I hear him. I just can’t tell where the sound is coming from. Maybe it’s just the wind playing tricks on my ears. Or maybe it’s a ghost.”
“What does he sound like?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not very good at bird calls,” she said.
“Give it a try. I’m curious.”
“Actually, it sounds just like sex.”
“Sex?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a soft, grunting sound. Uh, uh, uh.”
“I thought owls said ‘who,’” Tristan joked.
“That’s only in cartoons,” she murmured. “I once saw a red-necked grebe. That’s very rare for this area. Indigo buntings are my favorite, but hard to spot. They’re the most beautiful shade of blue, but not really indigo at all.” She met his gaze. “Closer to lapis. Or azure. Are you lost?” she asked. “Can I help you?”
A little dazed by her quick change in subject matter, Tristan tried to refocus on the task at hand. “I’m looking for this old artists’ colony. I read about it and wanted to check it out.”
“An artists’ colony? I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she said. “Are you sure you’re in the right place? There’s nothing but cottages at the end of this road.”
“I’m certain,” he said. “Fence Lake Artists’ Colony. It was founded in the fifties. By three sisters?” He met her gaze. “None of this sounds familiar?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
Tristan knew she was lying. He’d never met a beautiful woman who was a decent liar. Hell, he could read any woman, gorgeous or Plain Jane, in half the time he could read a man. It was one of the talents that made him a great litigator.
Well, if she was going to lie, then he’d be forced to counter her deception with one of his own. “Hmm. That’s too bad. I was really hoping I could spend a week or so there.”
“You’re an artist?”
He nodded. “Writer. I’m not published, but I have a publisher interested in my book. I need to rewrite part of it and I’m blocked. I was hoping a new environment would help.” He glanced over his shoulder at his car. “I should probably get going. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Yes, she definitely knew much more than she was willing to reveal. But how much? “I suppose I could help you out,” she murmured.
“You have a map?”
“I can take you to the colony,” she said. “I’m staying there myself.”
“Are you a writer?”
“Artist,” she said. “Painter. Sculptor. Whatever medium and subject catches my attention. Lately, it’s been owls.”
“I don’t want to take you away from your bird-watching,” he said.
She shrugged. ‘“In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”’ She smiled. “John Muir. Do you mind if I drive? The road is a bit tricky.”
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t even know your name. Why would I let you drive my car?”
“Because the road is very curvy and narrow. I wouldn’t want you to wreck your car.” She held out her hand. “Lily Harrison.”
Tristan held his breath as he tried to hide his surprise. He’d been warned about this woman. But he’d never expected her to be so young—or beautiful.
Lily Alicia Hopkins Harrison. Her mother was heir to the Pigglestone fortune and her father heir to the Harrison fortune. But instead of following in her parents’ footsteps, Lily had become an artist, activist and protector of the three Pigglestone sisters. Meanwhile her family had hired his law firm to convince the elderly sisters to vacate the land.
Last summer, Lily and the aunts had chained themselves to the porches of their cottages when the bulldozers had arrived to demolish the colony. She’d appeared in the news media and marshalled her forces on social media to make the rest of the family look like greedy Scrooges trying to toss three old women out of their homes.
“Have you ever had an accident?” he asked. “Any speeding tickets?”
“No to both,” she said.
“May I see your license?”
“I don’t have one,” she said. “Never got one. But I drive really well.”
“How do you get around?”
“I make do,” she said with a shrug.
Right. Her first car had probably been a limousine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m—I’m Quinn. Quinn James.” His brother’s name was the first that came to mind. It would have been too easy for her to Google his name and find out he worked for the very law firm that had been causing her trouble. With an alias, he could hopefully maintain his anonymity long enough to get to the three aunts and make his proposal. After that, it wouldn’t matter.
“That’s a good name for a writer,” she said. “What kind of book are you writing?”
Since that was another lie, he decided to change the subject. “I’d love to see some of your work. You said you painted owls?”
“No,” she said. “Owls have just been on my mind lately. They visit me in my dreams. I think it’s a sign but I’m not sure what it means. Do you know what it might mean?”
He slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.” Tristan walked to the car and opened the driver’s-side door, waiting for her to slip behind the wheel.
So far, things had gone much easier than he’d imagined they might. However, his problems were mounting. Now, if he managed to wrangle an invitation to stay at the colony, he’d have to produce a novel—or at least a few pages. But his biggest test was still the three sisters.
He circled the car and jumped into the passenger seat. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he was determined to get to know this strange yet beautiful woman. He sensed that Lily might be the key to everything he wanted—both professionally and personally.
* * *
“HE’S A LAWYER. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
Lily paced the length of her aunt Violet’s front parlor. Violet, dressed in her usual dance attire of black unitard and chiffon skirt, casually sipped at her tea. Her gray curls were covered by an elaborately tied scarf and her eyes were ringed with dark makeup. “Do sit down, Lily. I think your imagination has run away with you again.”
“I’m right, I’m sure of it. He says he’s a writer, but no writer I’ve met would drive a car like that. A Mercedes convertible? In Minnesota? Do you know what that car says?”
“I wasn’t aware automobiles had acquired the power of speech.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “You understand what I meant.”
“Please, Lily, be more precise in your speech. If you don’t stop this tendency of yours to wander off topic, you’re going to start sounding like Daisy. Trying to follow her train of thought is like chasing a hummingbird through the woods.”
“I’m not going off topic. That expensive convertible says that he’s a lawyer. It tells anyone who bothers to notice that he’s wealthy enough to have a summer and a winter car. And then there are his shoes. And his watch.”
“Perhaps he’s a lawyer who is attempting to be a writer,” her aunt suggested. “Must you always be so suspicious? Not everyone is out to get us.”
“I’m just trying to protect us all,” Lily said.
The door to Violet’s cabin opened and her two sisters hurried inside. Rose, the youngest of the trio, wore her long gray hair in an untidy knot on the top of her head. A composer, she was currently working on a new series of songs inspired by art. Over the course of the day, she’d stuck pencils in her hair until she looked like some deranged geisha.
The middle sister, Daisy, was an artist like Lily and could normally be found wearing a paint-stained smock and a scarf covering her hair, which had been dyed a shocking shade of pink for the last few months. Before that, it had been lavender, a much more appropriate tone for someone of her age.
“What is the problem?” Daisy asked. “I really need to get back to work. Did you see the sunrise this morning?” She sighed. “Paris, 1963.”
Violet motioned for them to sit down. “Lily thinks she’s seen a lawyer. Here. At the colony.”
“What? Just wandering through?” Rose asked.
“No,” Lily said. “He’s pretending to be a writer. He’s asked to stay.”
“What do you call those clouds that look like horse’s tails?” Daisy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Lily said. “I suspect he’s going to try to get closer to you three.”
“He’s welcome to try, but you know we can’t be persuaded,” Violet said. “Nothing he says will change our mind. We’re not going to leave the colony and that’s that.”
“Then what do you want me to do about him?” Lily asked.
“Well, perhaps we should take him in,” Violet said. “We might find him useful for other reasons. And don’t they say that it’s better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“Who said that?” Rose asked. “I do recall arguing about that very quote one night at the bar in the Savoy Hotel in London. I’d had far too many gin fizzes.”
“Wilbur Fontaine,” Daisy said.
“Who?”
“The butcher in town,” Daisy explained. “I heard him say that very thing just last month. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Or maybe it was ‘keep your musket cocked and your tinder dry.’ But I’m not really sure what that means.”
Violet sighed softly. “Back to the matter at hand... We could be like cats with a mouse with this lawyer. When we grow tired of him, we’ll send him home. We haven’t had real amusement here in such a very long time. Let’s do ask him to stay.”
“I asked Finch to take him on a tour of the colony while we talked,” Lily said. “He’s supposed to bring Quinn back here for tea when they’re finished. But we should have our plans in place before he gets here.”
“How old is he?” Rose asked.
“I suppose he’s about my age,” Lily replied.
The aunts looked at each other and smiled. “And is he handsome?” Violet asked Lily.
“No, he looks like a lawyer,” Lily said, “one of those shrewd, ruthless types who eat people like us for breakfast.”
“Oh, he can’t be that bad. Even a lawyer has to have some redeeming qualities.”
“They can get you out of jail when you’ve started a brawl at the Opera Ball and slapped a policeman’s horse,” Daisy said.
“I’m sure, given time, the three of us can noodle the truth out of him,” Violet said.
A knock sounded on the screen door and Violet stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and beneath her scarf. “Well, shall we have a look at Lily’s lawyer?”
Lily held her breath as her aunt walked to the door. A few moments later, Mr. Quinn James stepped inside. He had an easy way of moving that made all eyes in the room follow him. Lily could see immediately that even her aunts found him attractive. What was it about him?
Was it the nearly black hair that looked as though he had just gotten out of bed? His face was a perfect balance of features, so composed that a search for any flaw was impossible. Or was it his voice? Deep and warm and so sexy that it made her heart beat just a tiny bit faster with every word that he spoke.
Violet held out her hand, arching her wrist and waiting for the customary kiss rather than a polite shake. Lily was surprised that he took the cue and touched his lips to a spot just above her fingers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Violet.”
Violet introduced her sisters and Quinn kissed their outstretched hands, as well.
“Quinn James, at your service,” he said. He sat down next to Lily, his thigh brushing against hers. Warmth seeped into her bare leg and she found her attention fixed on the spot, her pulse pounding in her head.
“Where are you from, Mr. James?” Violet asked.
“Call me Quinn,” he said. “The Twin Cities. I was born in St. Paul. I’ve lived there all my life.”
“And how long have you been writing?” Rose asked.
“Five years, on and off. I’ve only just decided that it’s something I really want to pursue.”
“Lily tells us you’d like to stay with us for a while,” Rose said.
“I’m not sure that we have an opening,” Lily interrupted. “You may have to share a cabin. And we rarely take unpublished writers. Unless, of course, we have a chance to read their work first.”
“Now, darling, I’m sure we can find him a suitable place to stay. After all, he has important work to do.” Violet fixed her gaze on him.
“There is the other side of Finch’s cabin,” Rose suggested. “And I’m sure Finch would enjoy the company.” Rose turned to smile at Quinn. “What say you, Mr. James? We’d be happy to have you stay.”
“I don’t mind sharing,” he said.
* * *
“WELL DONE,” VIOLET SAID. “Now that everything is settled, would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. James?”
Tristan was trying not to fist-pump. “Actually, I’d rather head back to the city right away,” Tristan said. “I need to pack a few things.”
“You didn’t bring your things along?” Violet asked.
“I suppose I wasn’t sure that you’d let me stay.” He stood and gave them a smart bow. “But now that I am, I’m anxious to move in and get started. Ladies, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Do be sure to arrive by seven tomorrow night,” Rose said. “Billy Farnsworth-Chadwick will be doing some scenes from Othello in our little theater, and he’s asked Violet to dust off her Desdemona. She hasn’t done that role since she was a stand-in opposite Olivier in London.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Quinn said.
Lily walked out the front door and held it open for him before they both went down the front steps. “I probably should’ve warned you about the aunts,” she said.
“No,” he said. “They’re wonderful. Did she actually play opposite Laurence Olivier on the stage?”
“You can never be sure with the aunts,” Lily said. “Sometimes their stories are true. And sometimes they’re just wishful memories. I usually don’t try to differentiate between the two. As long as they’re happy, so am I.”
When they reached the car, Tristan took her hand and pressed his lips against her wrist. A shiver skittered down her spine as the aftereffects of the simple kiss seeped through her bloodstream.
It had been a long time since a man had placed his lips on her body. And he hadn’t been able to hide the fact that he was attracted to her. Surely there was some way she could make that work to her advantage.
For now she’d simply keep her eye on him. She’d find out the real reason for his appearance here and if he was working for the family, she’d send him packing.
“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” said Lily.
“Is there anything you’d like me to bring you from the city?” Quinn asked.
“Not that I can think of,” Lily said. “Just bring me something interesting to read. Your novel would be nice.”
He chuckled softly before slipping behind the wheel and starting the car.
“Goodbye, Lily,” he said.
“Goodbye, Quinn.” Lily stepped back from the car and watched as he drove off, a small cloud of dust trailing after him.
She would have to keep a clear head if she was going to figure out his motives. He was quite a charmer, and she’d have to keep her wits about her. If he wasn’t who he claimed to be, she’d find a way to expose him.
Expose him... Lily smiled to herself. It wasn’t often that someone young and attractive wandered into camp, but Lily usually took advantage when it happened. A summer romance was always good for the creative juices. In the past, she’d done her best work while indulging in a little affair.
She shook her head. She had to remember that Quinn wasn’t all he appeared to be. For now and the near future, she would keep Quinn at a safe distance.
She shivered, then rubbed her arms against the goose bumps that prickled her skin. It was at that moment she realized she wasn’t wearing underwear beneath the loose cotton shift she wore.
Lily groaned, then turned and headed back to her cabin. She was used to running around in anything that she tossed on. With a dangerously attractive man nearby, she might actually have to put some thought into being more conservative with her wardrobe.
* * *
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, our firm has been working on this case for over three years and we have very little to show for it. The three sisters are still living happily on the property with no plans to vacate. I propose to get close to them, to live with them at the colony and find out what they really want. The big question I will answer is, what settlement would make them happy?”
Tristan scanned the conference room, searching for support for his unconventional idea. The law firm of Forster and Dunlap was not the kind of establishment that encouraged unconventional ideas. In fact, from the start, Tristan had felt like the odd man out among so many straightlaced and buttoned-up lawyers. But the firm had offered a start to a guy who was high on charisma and a little low on his law school GPA.
Getting through law school had been much tougher than Tristan had ever imagined. But then life had never been easy for him—or his two brothers. From a young age, they’d been forced to fend for themselves, first because their parents hadn’t cared, then because their parents had abandoned them and then because they’d been in the foster care system.
He and Thom and Jamie had survived, but just how, he’d never been able to explain. Maybe it was the strength they’d found in each other, or the stubborn resolve they all had to survive and succeed.
He’d worked his way through college with the help of grants and odd jobs, but law school had been a different story. The expense and the expectations had almost killed him. He’d held down both a job and a full schedule of night school classes. That usually left no more than four or five hours to sleep at night.
But Tristan had been determined. At first, he had wanted to prove to the world that the eldest of Denny Quinn’s boys was more than just a criminal’s son. And then he’d needed to prove to himself that he was safe. That there would always be food in the refrigerator and a warm place to sleep.
He cleared his throat, waiting for some reaction from the partners in front of him. Sure, his idea was a little “out there.” But they’d tried everything else and it had failed. Now was the time for creative solutions. And he’d already been invited to stay at the colony. Why not use that stroke of luck to their advantage?
Bob Forster, one of the two senior partners in the firm, finally decided to comment. “Just how are you going to carry off this charade? You’re not a writer.”
“That’s a minor detail,” Tristan said. “I’m sure I’ll have to provide some type of work at some point, but I’ll do my best to delay that. My sole focus will be to spend time with the Pigglestone sisters and try to get to know them better. If I can get them to trust me, they may consider an offer from us.”
Reggie Dunlap, the other half of Forster and Dunlap, chuckled softly. “I’ll say this. It’s a damn creative approach to our problem. You’re nothing if not charming, Quinn. I’ll give you that. So, how long do you think it will take before we have an answer?”
“That depends,” Tristan said.
“On what?” Forster asked.
“On how long I can pretend to be Quinn James. And how long it takes for the sisters to trust me.”
“What about Lily Harrison?” Forster asked. “She’s the one who has the most influence on the old ladies. How are you going to deal with her?”
“I suspect she’ll be the easiest,” Tristan said. After all, he could already sense she was attracted to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been the one to convince the sisters to offer him a spot at the colony.
“Still, she’ll be the most suspicious. And I’m not satisfied that you’ve covered yourself on the writing angle. You need a manuscript.”
Tristan’s assistant, Melanie Parker, timidly raised her hand. Legal assistants usually didn’t speak at partners’ meetings, but this wasn’t just any meeting. “Melanie?”
“I—I’d like to offer a suggestion,” she said. “I do a little writing myself and I’ve been working on a novel for about a year now. It’s a legal thriller with some romance thrown in. It’s almost done. I could give it to Tristan to use as his own writing.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Tristan said.
“Who knows,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be able to make a connection with a famous writer who’ll help me get it published. At the worst, I could get some criticism or helpful notes.”
Tristan didn’t have the heart to tell her that the colony was made up of retirees and has-beens. He doubted there was anyone there who had any connections at all to publishing. But Melanie was a good person who was helping him out. If this plan worked, he’d find a way to make those connections for her. Tristan almost hoped that the book was bad, though. It would make Lily less suspicious.
“It’s a good plan,” Reggie said. He stood up, effectively calling an end to the meeting. “You’ve got a month, Quinn. You get the job done properly, you’ll be up for junior partner.”
Tristan stood as the partners left the conference room. When they were gone, he let out a tightly held breath. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at Melanie as he flopped back down in his chair. “I think your suggestion sealed the deal.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she said. “Now everyone will wonder if I have plans to be an author, instead of the best darn paralegal at Forster and Dunlap. Maybe it would be better if you told them all that my book is really, really bad.”
Tristan gathered his papers and tossed them into his briefcase. “I doubt it’s bad,” he said. “I think you’d make a great author.” He paused and snapped his briefcase shut. “Don’t you ever wonder what you’re really supposed to be doing in this world? I mean, maybe you were meant to be a writer and not a paralegal.”
“I’d like to think so,” Melanie said. “When you read my book, will you promise to give me your honest opinion?”
Tristan met her gaze and saw a vulnerability there that he’d only seen on a few prior occasions. He’d come to depend on Melanie over the three years they’d worked together. In truth, he felt somewhat protective of her, almost as if she were his little sister. Her dark hair was always pulled back in a haphazard bun and her horn-rimmed glasses sat on her nose at a perpetually crooked angle. She also seemed to prefer frumpy business suits that could only be described as unflattering.
There were times when he’d caught her looking at him with an odd expression on her face, and he wondered if she might harbor some unrequited feelings for him. But then she’d return to business as usual and he’d realize that there was at least one woman in the world who was immune to his charm.
“So, why don’t we get a copy of your manuscript and let’s talk about it.”
“Really? I haven’t told anyone that I’ve been writing. You’ll be the first to read it.”
“What’s the title?”
“Legal Tender,” she said.
“Nice title.”
2 (#ulink_f0af6dae-4cc7-5e4d-bb46-5baca447b1e2)
LILY SAT ON the front steps of her cottage, her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed on the drive leading out to the main road. It was 3 p.m. and she had been waiting for Quinn’s arrival since nine that morning.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Why not just go about her business as if this were just any other day? Today, she’d already walked down to the bathhouse and taken a shower. Then she’d sat on the end of the dock and combed through her hair before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. Lunch was followed by a short trip to her studio before she decided to give up entirely and focus her attention on the road.
What if he decided not to return? If her suspicions were correct and he was a lawyer pretending to be a writer, then he’d have every reason not to come back. His lies could easily be exposed, especially if he couldn’t produce a manuscript.
“Hey, Lily. That’s a pretty dress. Are you going into town?”
She forced a smile as Bernie Wilson shuffled up. Bernie was the only working author that lived at the colony, and at forty-five, he was also the only man even remotely close to her own age. He’d somehow taken this simple fact and twisted it into a belief that they were destined to be together.
Bernie wrote science fiction and made a decent living with his craft. He certainly didn’t need to live at the colony, but he’d been spending his summers on Fence Lake for the past eight years and in that time, had become their most successful resident.
“I heard someone new is moving in,” he mumbled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Lily nodded. “Yes. He’ll be arriving later today, I think.”
“Where’s he going to stay?”
“There’s an extra bedroom in Finch’s cabin. He’ll stay there until we can get one of the cabins on the peninsula cleaned up for him.”
“I spotted a yellow-bellied sapsucker today,” Bernie said. “Right over there, on the point.”
“Yeah, they’ve been around,” Lily said. She stood up and brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “I’ll see you later, Bernie.”
“Are you coming to critique group tonight?”
“No, I don’t have anything to read. And Violet is doing some scenes from Othello with Billy tonight. She’s probably going to want my help setting up the stage.”
“Sure. No problem. Maybe next week.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “You write really nice poetry,” Bernie said.
Lily smiled. “Thanks, Bernie. I should probably get to work on my painting. Bye.”
She hurried off in the direction of the tree house studios, the sound of harp music drifting on the humid morning air. Evaleen Deschanter, a folksinger, sat on the porch of her cabin, plucking on the harp strings as she sang a tragic ballad of ill-fated lovers.
“Hi, Lily,” Evaleen said, smiling slyly as she came closer. “I hear we’re getting a new member of the colony today. Violet says he’s quite a handsome young man. I can hardly wait to meet him.”
Gossip raced around the colony like wildfire in a dry field. Lily usually barely paid attention to it, but now some of the attention seemed to have turned toward her. This man could possibly be the enemy and everyone was delighted to let him in the gate.
Lily shook her head. “He’s very charming. I expect he’ll be very popular with the ladies.”
There were twenty-one artists who spent part or all of the summer at the colony. Fourteen of them were women and Lily was the only one who hadn’t yet celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday. The seven men were all over seventy, with the exception of Bernie, who was in his mid-forties. Lily had accepted the fact that she was spending her days and nights in a veritable retirement community. But now that was all about to change.
She passed three more artists and they offered her the same pleasant greeting and hopeful wishes. By the time she climbed the narrow steps up to her studio and dropped the trapdoor on the tree house, she could barely hold her temper in check.
The studios had all been built on stilts overlooking the lake. Of all the spots in the colony, her studio was where she felt most herself. Screened on four sides, it caught the summer breeze and it was just cozy enough to hold everything she needed for her painting. The trees blocked views of the other studios, so privacy was never an issue. She could cry, she could sing, she could tear off all her clothes and dance around and no one could see.
Lily raised the shutters to let in the light. Afternoon sun filtered in through the leaves on the trees, and she found a spot of light perfect for her work. She grabbed an abstract painting she’d recently begun and set it on an easel. Then she pulled up a stool and sat down, studying the painting for a long moment.
She’d never been a very good judge of her own work, but this painting seemed to be something special, a step ahead for her.
There had been moments in the past few years when she’d felt this way, as if she’d opened a door or discovered a new window and found something wonderful inside. But it hadn’t been often, and she usually found herself in front of a blank or disappointing canvas wondering what she was doing with her life.
Lily was lucky that she had money from her family to support her. Still, she wanted to believe that her work was headed somewhere. Maybe when this piece was done she’d finally feel she was a true artist.
It was easy to lose herself in her work, and before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her hands were covered with paint and there were rags that she’d used to wipe her brushes tossed about the floor. The painting now looked more focused, a new layer of color adding a deeper meaning. But she couldn’t help noticing that the color was very similar to that of Quinn James’s hair...
The sound of a bell ringing caught her attention and she stood up. Without telephones or a public address system, the camp relied on a single brass bell, mounted next to the door of the dining hall, to call the residents for a meal or to assemble for a meeting. There was only one reason to ring it at this time of the day. Their new guest had arrived!
Her heart skipped a beat and Lily felt a wild sense of anticipation. She hadn’t been able to put Quinn out of her head since the moment he had left the day before. Now that he was here, she had a better chance of figuring him out. Was he a wolf dressed in writer’s clothing? Or was he just a charming guy who enjoyed flirting with a single woman?
Until she knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, she reminded herself to maintain her distance. But she would at least greet him along with the others. She climbed down the stairs and ran along the soft dirt path that led back to the main lodge.
When she reached the clearing, she noticed a large crowd had already gathered. Lily made a quick count and smiled to herself when the number matched the total number at camp. “I guess we’re all excited,” she murmured.
Lily slowly approached the group, her gaze on the man removing his bags from the trunk of his sports car. He was dressed differently today. His dress shirt and tie had been discarded in favor of relaxed shorts and a faded T-shirt. Sunglasses still hid his eyes and his thick, dark hair was covered by a baseball cap.
She moved to stand beside Aunt Violet, knowing that the eldest sister would be the one to make the official welcome. And as she had so many times over the years, Violet made a lovely little speech celebrating the event and introducing Quinn James to the entire group. After a quick round of applause and individual introductions, the group wandered off and Quinn was left with just three others—Violet, Lily and Finch.
Lily held out her hand. “It’s good to have you here, Quinn. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks, Lily.”
A long silence descended between them and Lily continued to smile, waiting for Violet to chime in.
When she didn’t, Lily said, “I need to get back to my work.” She held up her paint-stained fingers. “I’m having a—a breakthrough. Very exciting. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening?”
“I was hoping that you would show Mr. James around the colony,” Violet said.
“I thought Finch did that yesterday,” Lily said.
“I only gave him a very brief tour,” Finch explained.
“And I’ve asked Mr. Finch to drive me into town to pick up a few things for tonight’s performance, haven’t I, Mr. Finch?”
The elderly man looked back and forth between the two women, then finally nodded. “Yes, you have, Miss Violet, you certainly have. And yesterday I just gave Mr. James a quick tour. My cabin, the dining hall. There’s much more for you to show him, Lily. I’ll just carry Mr. Quinn’s bags up to the cabin and then fetch the car.”
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I can take care of that.”
Lily’s heart was beating so hard she was certain everyone around her could hear it. She swallowed hard. “Fine, let’s go, then.” Lily turned to Quinn. “Ready?”
“Lead on,” he said.
She picked up a pair of his smaller bags, then pointed in the direction of Finch’s cabin. “This way.”
As they walked, Lily tried to come up with something to say to him, but her mind was racing with thoughts of their first encounter and the attraction that had pulsed between them. “I hope you’re ready to live in rather primitive conditions,” she said. “There’s a sink in each cabin, but no en suite plumbing. For that, you have to go to the shower house just down the hill. Or pee in the woods, which most of the men do.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“There are screens on all the windows, but you’ll need to lower the shutters to keep the rain out. Some of the evenings can be chilly, so I hope you brought some heavy blankets.”
“I thought I’d go into town and buy whatever I needed,” he said. “Heavy blankets. I’ll put that on my list.”
When they reached the cabin, Lily pulled the door open, and stepped back to let him inside. The interior was cozy, the walls lined with windows and shabby furniture scattered about. Finch worked at a small desk by the window that he’d covered with papers and books. “You can take the empty bedroom. And we’ll find you another spot to work. One of the tree house studios is empty.”
“Tree house? That sounds like fun,” he said, setting the bags down on the floor.
“They’re not really tree houses, but...well, you’ll see.” She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. “Is there somewhere else you’d like me to take you? I’m not sure how much Finch showed you yesterday.”
“You combed your hair,” he murmured. Quinn took a step toward her.
Lily quickly stepped back, her hand fluttering to her neck before she ran her fingers through the thick waves. “No. I—I mean, yes. I don’t always look like a—a wreck.”
He took another step, but this time, Lily held her ground. “I like your hair all messed up,” he said. Quinn took another step. He was close enough to reach out and touch a strand of hair that had curled on her temple. With gentle fingers, he tucked the curl behind her ear.
“It gets a little wild with the humidity,” she murmured.
Lily held her breath as he closed the last bit of distance between them. His gaze was fixed on hers and she knew he was about to kiss her. Every instinct told her to run away, to escape before he lured her into his trap. But she couldn’t contain her curiosity. It was just a kiss. And though she wasn’t sure who he was, Lily certainly knew who she was—and who she wasn’t.
She wasn’t the kind of girl who could be swept away by a stranger who might or might not be her enemy. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would let a simple kiss alter her judgement. She wasn’t—
His hands snaked around her waist and he pulled her against him. A few seconds later, his mouth came down on hers and she was drawn into a deep abyss of sensation. Her body felt weightless, her knees like they were ready to collapse. And when they did, she sank against the hard muscle and bone of his chest.
He drew back, his eyes scanning her face, trying to gauge her reaction. But Lily was still reeling from the aftereffects of the experience.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that since we met yesterday.”
“You have?” Her voice was breathless and she felt her cheeks warm. Fantasies of being seduced by him had been teasing her for the past twenty-four hours. But now that the reality was looking down at her with a tempting smile, Lily realized that she was in danger of getting in over her head.
“I should go,” she murmured. “And let you get settled.”
“Would you like to come into town with me?”
Lily shook her head. “No, I need to paint. You know how it is. When things are going well you don’t want to stop.”
He bent closer and dropped another kiss on her lips. “Seemed things were going very well there just a few minutes ago.”
Lily nodded. “Don’t forget to buy food in town. We all make our own meals except for Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons. Then we have a potluck and everyone is assigned a dish. And please don’t ever kiss me again.”
With that, Lily turned and hurried to the door. Such strange sensations were running through her body, she thought as she pulled the screen door open. The temptation to stay and see what else might happen was nearly overwhelming her common sense!
She ran down the path toward her studio, but instead of climbing the steps to the loft, she turned toward the beach. Lily reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, discarding it on the small strip of sand at the water’s edge.
As she waded into the lake, the cool water hit her naked body and immediately calmed her nerves and erased all those unfamiliar sensations that his kiss had caused. She kicked her feet, diving down until she stroked the sandy bottom, then she popped up to the surface and raked her hair back as she stood.
This was what she’d have to do if she expected to cool her libido and survive the summer. She’d have to take up residence in the middle of Fence Lake.
* * *
TRISTAN STOOD AT the edge of the path, his gaze fixed on the naked woman splashing in the lake. Apparently, Lily wasn’t aware of his presence and he felt a bit guilty for watching her. But she seemed to live her life by a different set of rules—rules that didn’t include underwear...or inhibitions...or the ability to keep from saying whatever popped into her mind.
He’d never been quite so intrigued by a woman, and his lawyerly instincts wanted to delve deeper, to find out what she was all about. He’d always been adept at reading women, at navigating past what they wanted him to think in order to get to the truth. Most of the women he’d known were just illusions, a pretty web of carefully crafted lies and wishful fabrications sprinkled with an undercurrent of cool and calculating greed. Once he’d stripped away the pretty wrappings, he lost interest.
But with Lily, there were no wrappings. What she presented to the world was pure and true and he found that endlessly intriguing. She hadn’t tried to turn herself into every male’s fantasy. She wore no makeup, her hair wasn’t straightened or teased or sprayed, and from what he could tell, she hadn’t had a single surgical enhancement.
Instead, her skin was kissed a golden brown by the sun and her nose sprinkled with freckles. Her hairdresser was whatever breeze blew by that day and she chose her fashion not to flatter, but to provide the greatest amount of comfort.
His mind wandered back to the kiss they’d shared. When he kissed a woman, it was usually a prelude to seduction. But with Lily it had been more about curiosity than anything else. She had tried to create distance between them, but he sensed that there was more to her feelings than she revealed. It wasn’t just a simple flirtation that could be fed by a kiss or a caress. She was holding something back.
A glint of light flashed in the woods, drawing Tristan’s attention away from Lily. Through the brush, he saw the figure of a man, hunched down, binoculars trained on her as she swam.
Cursing softly, Tristan emerged from the bushes and started toward the voyeur. But the guy caught sight of him and disappeared into the woods. Tristan didn’t pursue him. It was obviously someone from the colony, and it wouldn’t take Tristan long to figure out who.
As he walked to the shore, he snatched up her discarded dress, then whistled through his teeth. Lily immediately stood to face him, her naked breasts exposed and gleaming in the morning light. Tristan expected her to sink back down into the water, but she didn’t. Instead, she tipped her chin up and stared at him with defiance in her eyes.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to come out of the water and put your clothes on,” he said.
She dipped down and then rose again, tipping her chin up as she stood and smoothing her hair back. “I want to swim,” she said. “I need the exercise.”
“You need to put your clothes on before anyone else comes looking. I just chased off one Peeping Tom, I don’t want to have to chase off any more.”
“Who appointed you my protector?”
“You apparently require one,” Tristan said. “So I guess I’m your guy.”
With a curse, she started toward him. As her naked body began to emerge from the water, Tristan held out her dress and angled his gaze away.
“What’s wrong with you?” she muttered. “Are you going to melt if you catch a glimpse of a naked woman?”
“No,” he said. “I just thought you’d enjoy your privacy.”
“It’s just a naked body,” she said. “The same as any other naked body. I have all the proper parts, so there’s nothing of interest to see.” Lily snatched the dress from his hand, but when he finally turned, she hadn’t bothered to put it on.
With a curse more vivid than hers, Tristan grabbed the dress, shook it out and then held it over her head. He tried to keep from looking as she raised her arms, but the sight was impossible to ignore. A surge of desire washed over him and he fought the temptation to toss the dress aside and strip off his own clothes.
He could almost feel her naked body against his, skin to skin, the soft flesh of her breasts pressed to his chest. His fingers twitched as he imagined running his hands along her torso, smoothing his palms over her hips and backside.
“Are you sure you’re a writer?” she muttered, the dress falling over her until her damp body was once again covered.
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. Had he given himself away already? “Why?”
“Most of the writers I’ve known haven’t been prudes.”
“Like I said, there was a guy watching you from the shore. He had binoculars. Who can say what his intentions were?”
“That was Bernie.”
“Bernie, the science fiction guy? The one I met this morning.”
Lily leaned over and twisted the water from her dripping hair. “Yes, Bernie. He’s harmless.”
“You don’t mind that he watches you?”
“He hasn’t seen many naked women in his life. He’s kind of shy and I suppose he’s curious.”
Tristan laughed. “So you’re doing him a public service by letting him gawk?”
She shrugged, droplets of water glinting off her dark lashes. “I can’t search the woods every time I want to go for a swim.” Lily started toward the path, her bare feet kicking up sand and dirt until they were covered in both.
Tristan strode after her. “Why did you run away after I kissed you?”
“Because unlike Bernie, you’re not harmless. In fact, I think you’re a very dangerous man, Mr. Quinn James...if that is your real name.”
Tristan bit back a curse. It was clear she was suspicious of him. But how deep did that go? Was it just his romantic interest that made her wary? Or did she suspect the level of his deception? “Lots of writers use pen names,” he said.
“Published writers,” she countered. “Is Quinn your real name?”
“It is,” Tristan lied. He knew what she meant and he also knew he was twisting the truth to suit his own purposes. But in the end, he could freely admit that Quinn was his real name.
“And why did you kiss me? Would you like to try the truth on that question?”
Tristan grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop, spinning her around to face him. He wasn’t sure he could put an answer into words. Right now, standing here with her just inches away in a dress that clung to her wet body, he had an undeniable need to draw her into his arms and put his mouth to hers once again. But that would hardly put her suspicions to rest.
“It seemed like the only thing to do,” Tristan said in a soft voice. “I couldn’t help myself.” He shook his head. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Do you understand what that kind of beauty does to a man?”
Lily stared at him for a long moment, then laughed. It wasn’t a nervous laugh or even a sarcastic laugh. She clearly considered his statement ridiculous.
‘“Beauty is not found in the face. It’s a light in the heart.”’
“Who told you that?”
“My aunts. It’s from the poet Kahlil Gibran. My aunts raised me to believe that true beauty was found inside me and had nothing to do with my outside appearance.”
“Well, this might shock you, but they were wrong. You’re beautiful on the outside, too, Lily, and it’s about time someone told you that.”
“I’ll alert the media,” she muttered. “News flash—another beautiful woman in the world. I’m sure they’ll want to rush right over and get the story.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Your mother or father?”
“I didn’t spend a lot of time with my parents. During the school year, they sent me to a very strict Catholic boarding school where mirrors and all beauty products were banned and conformity was enforced. And in the summer, I lived here with my aunts, where I was encouraged to let my spirit run free.”
“Wow,” Tristan replied. “That must have been some childhood.”
“Not all of us were blessed with perfect parents. Mine didn’t have children, they produced heirs.”
“My parents weren’t Ward and June Cleaver, either.”
Lily frowned. “Who are Ward and June Cleaver?”
“From Leave It To Beaver. Nick at Nite? It’s an old television show.”
“I think I saw that once.”
“Once?”
“Or twice. We didn’t have American television at boarding school. And the aunts never allowed a television here in the colony. I don’t remember beavers in the show.”
“No, that was the name of their son,” Tristan explained.
“They named their son Beaver? That’s just cruel. I hope he changed it when he got older. Although I suppose some might not mind it. Beavers are very intelligent and industrious animals. Finch’s spirit animal is a beaver. Mine is a wren. I suspect yours is probably a wolf.”
She started along the path again, but this time, Tristan didn’t let go of her hand. “I’m beginning to think you and I must have been born on different planets.”
“Are your parents aliens?”
This made Tristan laugh. “My father was.”
“Tell me about them,” she said. “They couldn’t have been worse than mine.”
“That’s a story for a different day,” Tristan said.
They had reached a small building, set on stilts, and Lily stopped. “This is my studio,” she said.
“Are you going to show it to me? I’d like to see your work.”
Lily hesitated, and for an instant, Tristan thought he might have won her over. But she stymied him again. “That will also have to be for a different day,” she said.
It was very clear from the look on her face that this was meant to be “goodbye,” but Tristan wasn’t ready to let her go. He needed some excuse to see her again. It unsettled him that he hadn’t quite gained her trust. “Do you have any plans for dinner tonight? We could drive into town and find a place.”
“I usually eat here,” she said.
“But you’re a nonconformist. Take a risk and have dinner with me.”
“I know we’re the only two people of our age here at the colony. And it’s only natural that we should hang around together. But I think it would be best if we just tried to be friends. We can sit together at the performance tonight, though, and I’ll treat you to a lemonade.”
Shakespeare and lemonade? Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a chaste date. His usual dating itinerary consisted of drinks followed by no-strings sex. Or dinner followed by no-strings sex. Occasionally, lunch followed by— Tristan stopped himself. He suspected that he wouldn’t be adding Othello and sex to the list later that night.
“Othello would be interesting,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”
“I assure you, it will be much better entertainment than that Beaver show you watch.”
“It’s a date,” he said, leaning in to steal one last kiss.
But Lily caught him before his lips met hers, pressing her finger against his mouth. “It’s Shakespearean drama. And that’s all.” She started up the stairs. “Oh, and if nudity is a problem for you, then you should probably stay locked in your cabin on Saturday nights after sunset. That’s when everyone goes for a skinny-dip. It’s a tradition when the weather is still warm.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, the older folks. I usually leave them to their fun. It can turn into a bit of an orgy. Of course, I’m sure the ladies would be thrilled if you joined in.”
Tristan gasped. “You don’t mean that literally, do you?”
“There’s a lot of sex that goes on here,” she said. “And none of it has to do with me.” With that, she spun and crawled up the steep stairs. “I know you’re looking up my skirt,” she said. “Stop it.”
Tristan turned away and started down the path toward his cabin, confused. He’d had a lot of experience with women, enjoyed a lot of different relationships. But what was going on with Lily was beyond his experience. One moment they seemed like intimate friends and the next, they were snapping and sniping at each other and she was pushing him away. It was the damnedest thing, Tristan mused. And he was determined to figure it all out before it drove them both over the edge.
* * *
THE LATE AUGUST sun had disappeared below the horizon by the time everyone started to gather for what Violet was calling a “petit divertissement.” Over the course of the summer and the early fall, the inhabitants of the Fence Lake artists’ colony produced all sorts of entertainments, from musical revues to modern dance spectacles to productions of classic plays.
For tonight’s performance, Lily played her part by standing at the door and passing out programs she had designed at Violet’s behest.
Tonight, Billy Chadwick-Farnsworth, an elderly British playwright and sometime actor, had planned to stage scenes and soliloquies from Shakespeare’s Othello. Billy had been coming to Fence Lake for as long as Lily could remember. During the winter months, he returned to England to live with his daughter in Bath. But this year, there was gossip around the camp that he might decide to stay and pursue a newfound romance with Violet.
Little romances seemed to crop up every summer. Usually they were short-lived, and Lily didn’t expect this one would last long. Violet, though passionate about love, was far too independent to handle living with a man for more than a few weeks. A month had been the longest Lily could remember her staying with a man, and that had been with a sculptor who did all the cooking and cleaning.
Lily smiled to herself as she remembered her first romance at the camp. A handsome young photographer had wandered in one day, looking for a place to stay as he traveled across the country. She’d been nineteen. The passion between them had been instant. He’d stayed for a month before walking out of her life forever.
The thought of him brought a flood of bittersweet memories, but she had never regretted the affair. When she had passion in her life, her artistic talents came alive. Her emotions were the fuel that produced stunning work that she never seemed to be able to replicate on her own.
Could she allow herself the same indulgence with Quinn? She was older and wiser now. As she approached her twenty-eighth birthday, she knew that the time for passionate affairs was beginning to end. Her aunts had always told her that passions waned as wisdom grew. The older one became, the more difficult it was to forget the past and trust in love.
What if Quinn James was her last chance to produce truly great art? Each of her aunts had experienced that kind of love and spoke fondly of the men who had served as their muses.
Her last lover had been a Frenchman, two years ago. The affair had fueled an intense period of work. It had been a memorable summer, but she’d never completely surrendered her heart to him. Even as he’d walked out of camp, she’d known that another man would appear someday.
What if Quinn was that man? The one who would finally allow her to call herself a true artist? Then again, she’d never had to worry that any of her previous lovers were actually snakes in the grass. Could she be Quinn’s lover without trusting him?
“What are you frowning about?”
He stood behind her and Lily felt his hands slip around her waist.
“Nothing,” she lied, turning to face him. “What are you smiling about?”
“I’m happy to see you again. I’ve spent all evening looking forward to this.”
Lily pressed a program into his chest, pushing him away. “I thought you came here to work. If you spend your time thinking about me, how are you going to get anything done?”
“Maybe you inspire me,” he said. “Maybe you’re my muse?”
“That line has been used around this place far too often. More like I’m your amusement.”
“You are amusing, Lily. I have to admit that. So if you’re my amusement, what am I to you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you’re my Kryptonite.”
Quinn frowned. “You’re familiar with Kryptonite, but you don’t recognize the Cleavers?”
“I read a lot of comic books when I was younger. And we’ve had several graphic novelists here in camp.” She saw Bernie approach and Lily held out a program to him.
“I saved a seat for you in the front row,” Bernie said. “When you’re finished with the programs you can sit there.”
“Thank you, Bernie,” she began.
“Thank you, Bernie,” Quinn interrupted, “but she’s going to sit with me. I’m surprised you’d choose the first row. Aren’t you the kind of guy who likes to observe from a distance?”
Bernie’s face turned red and he hurried back to his seat.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Lily said. “He’s not a bad guy. And I’m sure there’s a woman out there for him. It’s just not me.”
“Exactly. So there’s no reason for him to watch you swimming in the lake, especially when you choose to do it naked.”
“Oh, you’ve gone from Kryptonite to White Knight. How wonderful.”
Violet appeared on the small stage and the house lights slowly dimmed. She wore a flowing dress made of iridescent ivory silk and chiffon with a beaded bodice. Her gray hair was loose and fell in waves down her back. A jeweled headband covered her forehead. She looked like something out of a Rudolph Valentino silent movie with her dark eyes and deep red lips.
“Come on,” he whispered, taking Lily’s hand and pulling her toward the door.
“I want to stay and watch,” Lily protested.
“We’ll be back before it’s over,” he assured her.
Lily refused to move until Billy launched into one of Othello’s soliloquies. She glanced over at Quinn, knowing exactly what would happen when they were alone. He’d kiss her again...and again...and maybe again. And suddenly, it wouldn’t be enough. She’d need more.
Lily groaned inwardly. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t surrender to him until she was sure he wasn’t a secret enemy infiltrator. To do that, she had to get a look at his novel. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
They snuck out the back, running away from the light that spilled off the wide verandah on the low log building. When they reached the beach, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Lily’s blood warmed and her heart began to race as her fingers tangled in his soft hair.
He wore a scent so tantalizing, she wanted to bury her face in the curve of his neck and inhale deeply. His mouth tasted of cinnamon. She experienced him with every sense she possessed.
He seemed to be enjoying the same experience. His fingertips skimmed over her body, splaying wide against the small of her back before circling her waist. His tongue delved deep and when he cupped her breast in his palm, Lily moaned softly.
“There’s something I want,” she murmured.
“Anything,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against her throat.
“I want to read your novel.”
Her request caught him by surprise and he frowned. “My novel? Now?”
“Yes. Do you have a copy?”
“Back in my cabin,” he said.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the path.
“It’s five hundred pages long. You won’t be able to read it in one night.”
“Then I’ll take it with me.”
“I only brought one copy.”
“We have a photocopier in the rec hall. I can make a bunch of copies.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go back and watch Othello?”
Lily stopped and faced him. What was that? Four excuses? Or was it five? “Is there some reason you don’t want me to read your work?” He gave her an uneasy smile. He was hiding something and Lily intended to get to the bottom of it. “Is there even a novel?”
“Of course there is,” Quinn said. “Why would you think there wasn’t?”
“I’m not sure. But I have to wonder if you made it up. Just to get an invitation to the colony.”
“So I could get to know you better?” Quinn nodded.
“Perhaps,” she said. “What other possible reason could you have?”
“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” This time, he grabbed her hand. Lily had trouble keeping up with his long stride and when they reached his cabin, she was out of breath.
Quinn opened the door and ushered her inside. The room was lit by an old stand lamp next to Finch’s desk and another smaller lamp on a table at the end of the sofa. Neither one of the lamps provided enough light to read by. “There’s better light in my bedroom,” he said as if he could read her mind. “I bought a new lamp this afternoon. And my manuscript is in there.”
Lily drew a deep breath and gathered her resolve. Just entering his bedroom would be fraught with peril, but she had to find out if he was a writer. If there was no book, it was proof that he had ulterior motives for being at the colony. If he was, then perhaps she could indulge in the kind of wild affair that she needed.
She slowly walked into the dark room. He came in behind her and she closed her eyes, waiting for him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. She’d come to crave that first rush of desire, that moment when she lost touch with reality and surrendered to his taste and his touch.
How easy it had been to accept this addiction. And like all addictions, she knew her need would only grow with time. Already, a simple kiss was no longer enough to satisfy her. Now she wanted his hands on her body or his body pressed against hers, or—
Lily sucked in a sharp breath as the light flipped on. He stood next to the bed, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. Slowly, he pulled back the mosquito netting that was strung around the bed. “Why don’t you take this and get started. I’m going to walk back down and watch the show.”
“You can stay,” she said.
“That would be far too much temptation for me. I imagined quite a different scene when I invited you into my bed for the first time. I’ll come and get you before the grand finale.”
Lily took the manuscript from his outstretched hand. “All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I hope you like it,” he said.
Lily looked at him for a long moment. “What?”
He nodded toward the papers she held. “The novel. I hope you like it.” With that, Quinn turned and left the bedroom.
Lily drew a deep breath as she stared down at the cover page. “Legal Tender.” There was no author name. She crawled onto the bed and pulled the mosquito net around her, then adjusted the two pillows. “Let’s see what kind of writer you are, Mr. Quinn James.”
From the very first line, the story captured her imagination. It began with a crime so cunning and complex that Lily immediately found herself invested in the victims. Strangely, it was a crime without a hint of violence. Instead, it tore apart the fabric of a dozen peoples’ lives, putting them through a hell that they never could have anticipated.
The scenes were gripping and emotional, each one leading to the next so it was impossible to stop reading. Every chapter ended in an emotional or a physical cliffhanger, and each one built the conflicts to a crescendo.
Lily was stunned at how tight the writing was. His style was simple, yet vivid, tiny details adding to the narrative. Flowery prose was almost nonexistent. As a romance developed between the main characters—a female law student and a private detective—Lily was impressed by his handling of both characters’ inner voices.
Often, it was easy to tell if a book was written by a male or a female, simply by the way they wrote about the opposite sex. But Quinn had a real knack for getting inside a woman’s head and knowing how and what she thought.
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