The Mighty Quinns: Dex
Kate Hoffmann
With her career on the line, Marlie Jenner is determined to make a top-notch documentary about beloved Irish author Aileen Quinn.Which means she needs a top-notch filmmaker; she needs Dex Kennedy.Dex is talented, well-respected and Irish. He's also hotter than hell. And when they meet, he looks like he wants to eat Marlie right up.Marlie does look delicious, but after a fatal accident during the shooting of his last documentary, Dex refuses to work on another film.Marlie has some very persuasive techniques, however, and after one seductive, drugging kiss, Dex is hooked–on the film, on Marlie, on the prospect of living again.But every documentary takes on a life of its own. And this one promises an ending that none of them could ever have anticipated…
Praise for Kate Hoffmann’s Mighty Quinns
“Keep your fan handy! It was impossible for me to put this steamy, sexy book down until the last page was turned.”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Jack
“This truly delightful tale packs in the heat and a lot of heart at the same time.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot
“This is a fast read that is hard to tear the eyes from. Once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down.”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Dermot
“A story that not only pulled me in, but left me weak in the knees.”
—Seriously Reviewed on The Mighty Quinns: Riley
“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic, this is a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then reread.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Teague
“Sexy Irish folklore and intrigue weave throughout this steamy tale.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Kellan
“The only drawback to this story is that it’s far too short!”
—Fresh Fiction on The Mighty Quinns: Kellan
“Strong, imperfect but lovable characters, an interesting setting and great sensuality.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Mighty Quinns: Brody
The Mighty Quinns: Dex
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HOFFMANN began writing for Mills & Boon in 1993. Since then, she’s published nearly eighty books, primarily in the Blaze
line. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys music, theater and musical theater. She is active working with high school students in the performing arts. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.
Contents
Prologue (#uf797e490-d448-5e89-9181-9419748cd3ff)
Chapter 1 (#u0b52d132-e0af-5679-8278-540d41a4224a)
Chapter 2 (#ucfdbb043-3919-5ef5-9231-a6e8ea7b3482)
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)
Prologue
“THE HOUSE LOOKS lovely, Sally. Just lovely.”
Aileen Quinn stood in the foyer of her Irish country house and gazed around at the festive holiday decorations. Though the first week in November was a bit early to put everything up for Christmas, she didn’t care.
Most people waited for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception on December 8 before bringing out the decorations. But this year, optimism filled her with the holiday spirit. This year, for the first time in her memory, she’d spend the holidays with almost her entire family, and she wanted to savor that joy for as long as possible.
“It does look grand,” Sally said. “I’ve missed all the holiday cheer.” The housekeeper slipped her arm through Aileen’s and smiled at her. “I believe this will be our best Christmas ever.”
“I was thinking we ought to put another tree upstairs,” Aileen said. “Just at the top of the stairs. We still have my collection of German glass ornaments, and they would fill a small tree.”
In years past, she’d made up for her lack of family by overdecorating the house, hoping that it might fill her with more Christmas spirit. But it had never worked. No matter how beautiful the decor, she had still been alone. So for the past twenty years, she’d just stopped, not bothering to acknowledge the holidays at all. It had been too painful, bringing up so many regrets.
The doorbell chimed and Sally left her side. “I suppose that will be Mr. Stephens.” She peeked out the door, then turned back to Aileen. “And he’s brought a guest. A young lady.”
Aileen’s eyebrow arched up and a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Well, now, isn’t that a surprise? The last time I spoke with Ian, we discussed his rather dismal social life. I can’t believe he acted so quickly.”
Sally pulled the door open. Grasping her cane, Aileen moved to greet her guests. Her gaze fell on a pretty young woman with bright green eyes and dark hair that fell in soft waves around her face. “Hello there,” Aileen said, holding out her hand. “I’m Aileen Quinn.”
Two spots of color rose in the woman’s cheeks and she smiled. “Miss Quinn, it is such a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for welcoming me into your home.” She glanced around. “It’s just beautiful.”
By the accent, Aileen could tell the young lady was American. Aileen looked over at Ian. “Would you care to make the introductions, Mr. Stephens?”
“Ah, yes, yes. My apologies. Miss Quinn, this is Marlena Jenner from Back Bay Productions in Boston. She’s the producer I told you about. The one who wants to make a documentary about your life.”
Aileen chuckled softly. “I see. Well, Mr. Stephens, I admire your persistence. But as I said before, I’m not certain my life would be so interesting on film.”
“Oh, but I disagree,” Marlena said. “Yours is a rags-to-riches story. And your books are so popular worldwide that I’m sure all your fans would want to get to know you better. You’ve done so few interviews over the years, Miss Quinn.” She drew a quick breath, then quickly continued on. “And Ian has told me about your search for your brothers. Perhaps this documentary could help to find Conal.” She turned to Ian. “It is Conal, right?”
He nodded and forced a smile as she started to continue with her plea. But Aileen jumped in. “Miss Jenner, I—”
“Please, call me Marlie. We’re going to be working closely over the next few months, after all. At least I hope we are. I’m your biggest fan. I’ve read all your books. Some of them three or four times. They got me through a very difficult point in my life.”
Aileen glanced back and forth between Ian and Marlie. “Well, I suppose if you’re that determined, then we ought to sit down and talk. Sally, would you get us tea? We’ll have it in the library.”
Aileen started off in the direction of the library, then looked over her shoulder to find Marlie standing mute in the hallway, an expression of shock on her face. Starstruck—because she’d invited her to tea? “Come along, then.”
Maybe the pretty young woman was right. This might be the only way to find Conal and his heirs. A film about her life and her search for Conal and her other lost siblings would go much further than her autobiography ever would.
She didn’t have much time left to finish her search. At ninety-seven, she was grateful for every sunrise she saw. And she was busy planning a huge family reunion over the Christmas holidays, renting a castle and making arrangements for a wonderful time for all.
But it wouldn’t be complete without knowing what had happened to Conal. The clues to his existence, and any possible heirs, were out there somewhere, waiting for her to find them. And if she wasn’t willing to do absolutely everything to make that happen, then why bother with her search at all?
She waited for Marlena to catch up to her, then slipped her hand around the younger woman’s arm. “So tell me, Miss Jenner. How will this all work? When will we begin?”
“Next week,” Marlie said. “We’ll begin filming interviews with you, and we’ll finish by filming your new family at your holiday celebration, if they agree.”
The young lady seemed quite invested in this project. And she was a fan, so Aileen could count on the film being complimentary. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Conal. He was the only one still missing.
“Lovely,” Aileen said. “And how quickly will your documentary be finished?”
1
HE WOKE in a cold sweat, the darkness in the room swallowing him like a giant black vortex. Dex Kennedy gasped for breath, sitting up and throwing aside the covers on the bed.
His bare chest was damp with perspiration, yet the room had a chill. Where was he? What time was it? He drew a deep breath, searching for a scent that might give him a clue. He wasn’t in the desert; he wasn’t in the jungle. The smell of lavender clung to the sheets, and he realized he was in Ireland, in his sister’s flat in Killarney. There was no danger. He was safe.
Dex turned on the bedside lamp, then rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. When would the nightmares end? he wondered. It had been nearly a year now, and though his body had healed from the two gunshot wounds, his mind was still back on that landing strip cut out of the jungle in Colombia.
He and his filmmaking partner, writer and director, Matt Crenshaw, had gone there to get footage for a documentary about the drug wars that had plagued the country. With help from some locals, they had managed to film damning footage of one of the most powerful cartels. They were almost to the plane and to safety when the cartel’s thugs had pinned them down with automatic weapons fire from the surrounding bush.
Matt had been hit in the leg before they were able to get on the plane and make their escape. Hit in the femoral artery, Matt had bled out in front of Dex, a couple thousand feet above the jungles of southern Colombia.
It had all happened so fast. Matt had been alive and cracking jokes one moment and gone the next.
Dex drew another ragged breath and ran his fingers through his hair. A bottle of sleeping pills sat unopened on the bedside table. Maybe he ought to give in and take a few. The prospect of sleeping an entire night was almost too much to resist. He wanted to lose himself in that feeling of utter exhaustion again, to finally let his mind rest.
Dex reached for the bottle. Twisting open the cap, he dumped the pills into his hand and stared down at them. He could understand why someone might just toss back the whole lot of them. Sleep deprivation could do queer things to the mind, make you take desperate measures for just a few moments of peace.
Cursing beneath his breath, he hurled the pills at the wall and they scattered around the room.
“Dex?” The muffled sound of his sister’s voice came through the door. “Are you still awake?”
“Yeah,” he called.
“Are...are you all right, then?”
“Fine,” Dex said. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, searching for the battered trousers he’d discarded earlier. The bloodstains were still there, but they had faded over the past months. Dex pulled them on, leaving the top button undone.
He ought to have thrown the trousers out. They were a constant reminder of what had happened. But Dex wanted to be reminded. Matt had been his best friend and the only partner he ever wanted to work with. Running his palm over the stain, Dex felt emotion tighten his chest. He wasn’t going to forget.
His twin sister, Claire, was standing outside the bedroom door, a worried expression on her face. Her cropped dark hair was standing up in unruly spikes and her face, usually made up with red lips and dark eyeliner, was freshly scrubbed.
“You look feckin’ awful,” she murmured as he walked past her. “Really, Dex. How long are you going to carry on like this before you get some help?”
“I went round to the chemist and picked up some sleeping pills,” Dex muttered, heading for the kitchen.
“Didn’t they work?” Claire asked.
“I didn’t take them.”
She threw up her hands. “Well, that’s probably why they didn’t work, then. You just have to get back into a routine and a few good nights’ sleep.”
Dex grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and returned to the living room, snatching up the remote for the telly and switching on the twenty-four-hour sports station.
Claire plopped down beside him on the sofa, her hands folded on her lap. She stared at him silently, and when he glanced over at her, he saw tears of frustration in her eyes and a tremble in her bottom lip. “Don’t,” he murmured. “I’ll be all right. It’s just going to take some time.”
“Maybe you should find something to do with yourself,” Claire suggested. “Hanging around my flat like some out-of-work bowsie isn’t doing you any good.”
“What do you propose I do? I’ve been a filmmaker since I was fourteen. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. I’m not sure I’m suited to sell cars or work the bar in a pub.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’ve peeked at your mobile. Your agent has all sorts of projects he’s been texting you about. I’ve been taking calls, too. Why don’t you just talk to these people? See what they have for you? It couldn’t hurt.”
Dex took another swig of his beer. He shouldn’t be surprised by her snooping. There had never been any secrets between them. “It wouldn’t be the same. I was a decent cameraman, but Matt was the one who made the stories work. I can tell a story with pictures, but I can’t do it with words. He had all the talent in the partnership.”
Claire grabbed a scrap of paper from a nearby table and held it out to him. “Ian Stephens. I’ve taken three messages from him. A lovely man, by the way, with a very sexy English accent. He sounds like James frickin’ Bond. His number is right there, along with the number of the woman he’s working with, Marlena Jenner. She’s the producer on the project.”
He stared at the two numbers. “What is the project? Did you ask?”
“It’s a film about Aileen Quinn.”
“The writer?”
Clare nodded. “My favorite writer. Ireland’s favorite writer.”
“That’s not the kind of work I do.”
“That might be a good thing. At least no one would be shooting at you.”
“I’m not ready to go back to work,” he said.
“But you just said it, Dex. It’s who you are.”
“Hell, I’m not sure who I am anymore,” Dex whispered, his voice filling with emotion. “I—I just don’t know what I want.” He shook his head. “Wait, I do know. I know exactly what I want—to sleep through the night. That’s my fondest wish.”
Claire put her arm around his shoulders and they sat next to each other for a long while. This was the way it had always been between them. They had weathered tough times in the past, but they’d always had each other to lean on.
Their parents had lived a gypsy life, both of them actors who’d garnered a fair bit of success in Ireland’s small film industry. As a family, they’d lived in London, New York City, Toronto and then Dublin again. But when his father had been cast in an American television series, they’d all moved to California, an Irish family living amongst the movie stars and palm trees and the constant sunny weather.
It had been a difficult transition for Dex and Claire, at that point already in junior high, and they hadn’t made friends easily, preferring to spend time with each other. So when the series had been picked up for its fourth season and Claire and Dex were ready to enter high school, they decided to return to County Kerry and live with their father’s mother, a woman they affectionately called Nana Dee.
Dierdre O’Meara Kennedy had seen them through their teenage years, then sent them off to university—Dex to film school at UCLA and Claire to read history at Trinity in Dublin. Nana Dee had provided the only stable home they’d ever really had, and her little cottage on the Iveragh Peninsula was the place they’d always called home. Nana had passed away three years ago, and had left them her cottage filled with memories of her life.
“There is something you could do for me,” Claire said.
“I’m not going to help you mark your history exams,” he said. “Or untangle the mess you’ve made of your laptop. Or fix that banger of a car you drive.”
“We still have to clean out Nana’s house,” she said. “I know you considered staying there while you were home, but you’ve spent every night here. So I thought we could lease the cottage out. But to do that we have to go through everything and decide what we want to keep and what we’d like to donate to the parish for their tag sale.”
“She lived in that house for over fifty years,” Dex said.
“I know. But I trust you to go through it. It will occupy your mind,” she said. “And we could really use the extra money. My pittance as a history teacher won’t support your taste for beer and whiskey much longer.” Claire grabbed the bottle and took a long swig before handing it back to him. “Don’t misunderstand, I’m glad you’re here. But you’re starting to look a little pale and paunchy. You need to go outside. Get some sun and exercise.”
Dex chuckled. “All right. I suppose I can do that. What do we want to keep?”
“We’ll leave the furniture so we can let it out as a furnished cottage. And the clothes, I’ll go through. There’s probably some vintage stuff that I could wear. Sort out the mementos, the old photos and things, and we’ll go through those together.”
The idea appealed to Dex. He needed to focus his mind on something other than his lack of a plan for the future. Maybe if he exhausted himself with cleaning out his nana’s house, he’d finally get some sleep—and some perspective.
“Actually, I have someone who wants to look at the place tomorrow,” Claire said. “She’s going to be an exchange teacher at our school next term. Just show her around the cottage and tell her it will be all tidied up before she moves in in January.”
“I suppose I can do that, too,” he said.
Claire rested her head on his shoulder. “Good. Would you like me to make some popcorn? I’ve got the next series of Dr. Who ready to go. We could stay up and watch it.”
“It’s half past two,” Dex said.
“And it’s a Friday night. I don’t have to work tomorrow. We can stay up all night if you want to.”
“All right,” Dex said. “But I’ll make the popcorn. You never put enough butter on it.”
Claire laughed, then wrapped her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “Things will get better, baby brother. I promise they will.”
He smiled. He’d been born only six minutes after her, but she’d always called him her baby brother. “Yeah. I know they will,” Dex said.
Yet even as the words passed his lips, he didn’t believe there was any truth to them. His life, as he once knew it, was over. And now he was adrift in a dark sea of indecision. Things would never be the same. How could they be?
* * *
MARLENA JENNER STARED down at the road map and then looked at the signpost in front of her. Maybe she ought to just give up and ask for directions. It was nearly dark and she’d never find her way once she couldn’t see the road signs. There was no shame in admitting that she couldn’t navigate her way out of a paper bag. And it seemed as if she’d been driving around in circles for hours.
Crumpling the map up and tossing it aside, Marlie shook her head. “Just let it go,” she said. “Ireland is an island. And I’m on a peninsula. Sooner or later, I’ll find the place or I’ll run into water.
“Knockaunnaglashy,” she muttered, reading the road sign. “Where do they find the names for these towns?” She put the Fiat into gear and started down the narrow road. After leaving numerous messages with Dex Kennedy’s agent and receiving an equal number of promises that he’d get back to her, she’d almost given up and moved to the next guy on her list. But then, to her surprise, she’d received a call from Dex Kennedy’s sister, Claire, who had told her exactly where to find Dex.
When it came to Irish documentary filmmakers, Dex Kennedy was the best. Word was that he was between jobs, recovering from the loss of his friend and partner, Matt Crenshaw, and looking for just the right project. And Marlie had the perfect project for him.
Sure, it wasn’t the kind of high-stakes, action-packed story that he usually did, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important. And she’d found a wonderful angle to the story that she hoped might intrigue him.
“What’s the worst he can say?” she murmured to herself. “No?” She’d heard that word plenty of times. And she’d learned that when someone said no, you simply had to find a good enough reason for them to say yes. This reason was definitely good enough.
Thanks to her grandmother, she’d finally put together the funding to do a documentary on her all-time favorite author, Aileen Quinn. And Aileen had agreed to participate. They were scheduled to start filming in five days. A filmmaker of Dex Kennedy’s caliber and reputation would legitimize the project to the industry.
With the help of Quinn’s researcher, Ian Stephens, and with Dex Kennedy as her coproducer, they’d create something that celebrated Miss Quinn’s long and colorful career and make a film that would be shown all over the world—maybe even at Cannes or Sundance. She would have proved herself as a producer. No one would be able to doubt her then.
But first she had to find Dex Kennedy. The road wound down a long hill and suddenly the directions made sense. “Turn right at the blue cottage with the thatched roof,” she repeated, “and drive until the bushes come over the car.” She bumped along on a rutted road for what seemed like forever, and just as she was ready to turn back, she saw a long line of bushes arched over the lane. “Make another right at the stone wall next to the old abbey.” And again, the wall and a ruined abbey appeared.
Marlie smiled. Maybe she’d been a little harsh on herself. Claire Kennedy’s directions had been spot-on, once she’d actually figured out where she was.
The landscape offered a beautiful view of rolling hills crisscrossed by dry stone walls and the sea beyond. Like every spot in Ireland, the green of the hills here was so vivid that it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it. Perhaps it was the sun, which seemed to hang lower in the sky, always shining from behind fluffy white clouds. Marlie wondered if the landscape would look as beautiful onscreen as it did to her eyes.
She saw the sign for the village before she saw the small gathering of cottages and outbuildings. Though she was only a half hour outside Killarney, this seemed like a place out of another time.
There were no numbers on the cottages, but Claire’s description of the place was enough to locate it. She pulled up in front of an overgrown privet hedge and got out of the Fiat. The front garden was unkempt, the summer perennials now faded in the early-November chill.
Marlie drew a deep breath and started up the stone walk, running over her sales pitch in her head. She hoped to appeal to his sense of national pride. Who better to film this documentary about a great Irish writer than a great Irish filmmaker? He was the best person to tell this story. And it would be a nice change of pace for him, give him a chance to sleep in his own bed.
Marlie bit back a groan. Was that even a factor for a guy like Dex Kennedy? He’d been to Sierra Leone and Chechnya, Libya and Afghanistan, living in primitive conditions to get the best stories. He probably didn’t worry about creature comforts....
Marlie rapped sharply on the front door. A few seconds later, it swung open. Her breath caught in her throat as a tall man stared at her in curiosity. His shirt was unbuttoned down the front, revealing a smooth expanse of skin and muscle. And his raven hair, shaggy and thick, was tousled around his face, as if he’d just crawled out of bed.
All she could manage for a greeting was a pathetic squeak. “Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied. His gaze fixed on hers and his brow furrowed. Marlie urged herself to state her case as quickly as she could before he tossed her out. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think about anything but how incredibly handsome Dex Kennedy was in real life.
She’d seen photos, but they just hadn’t done him justice, as he’d usually been wearing sunglasses and a cap pulled low over his eyes—the silent partner in the pair. He’d always managed to make himself seem very mysterious...and a little dangerous, too. But now, without cap or sunglasses, she realized he had striking features, high cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose, a strong chin and lips that were...very kissable. She swallowed hard. He was, most definitely, the kind of man who made a girl’s knees weak and her heart pound.
Marlie searched for a flaw in his face and had almost given up when she noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He looked as if he’d been out late the night before. Marlie wondered if lack of sleep might make him more irritable and less likely to listen to her proposal. She decided to proceed carefully.
“My sister mentioned you’d be calling,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in, then. I’m Dex. Dex Kennedy.”
Oh, that accent. If his looks hadn’t unnerved her, then his voice would finish the job. Deep and rich, each word lilted with the sound of Ireland. She thought she’d grown used to it over the past few weeks, but obviously she hadn’t.
“And you might be?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten if my sister told me your name.”
“Marlie. Marlie Jenner,” she said.
Well, this was off to a good start, she thought. He hadn’t slammed the door in her face. Maybe Claire had decided to pave the way for her.
“Come on,” he said.
Marlie realized she’d been frozen on the front step. She picked up her foot to move, concentrating on projecting a confident air. “Thank you,” she said.
“It’s a bit chilly in here,” he said. “We’ve been keeping the temperature down to save on heating costs. Let me show you the kitchen. It’s this way. Tea?”
Marlie followed him, not sure what there was to see in the kitchen or why it seemed so important to him to show her. Though her job really didn’t include fixing tea, she was willing to make quite a few concessions to get Dex to agree to her project. Besides, making tea might give her a little more time to collect her composure.
“I could make you some tea,” she offered.
“Only if you’d like some,” he said.
“Actually, I prefer coffee.”
“Would you like coffee?”
“No,” Marlie said.
An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Maybe she was a little starstruck. After all, this was Dex Kennedy, award-winning filmmaker. And he was hot.
“What do you think?” Dex finally said.
“About?”
“I know, it’s not a very posh setup. But everything works, it’s just a little old. You have your cooker and your oven. There’s no microwave and not many modern conveniences. I guess some people might find it charming.”
“Yes. It is that.”
“I suppose you’ll want to see the bedrooms?” Once again, his gaze met hers, but this time it lingered just a little longer than necessary. Was he feeling the same strange attraction as she was? Or was this all in her overactive imagination?
“They’re this way,” he finally said, leading her back out into the living room. She walked behind him, taking the chance to admire the muscular shoulders beneath the faded cotton shirt. Her attention dropped lower and focused on his backside...just as he suddenly stopped and turned around.
His brow rose and she thought she saw a tiny twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Go right in,” he murmured. “Do you want to test out the mattress?”
Marlie’s heart slammed in her chest. Was this some kind of game he was playing, trying to shake her confidence? Or was it a test to see just how far she’d go to get what she wanted? Though it wouldn’t be difficult to fall into bed with this man.
“Mr. Kennedy, I think—”
“It’s not a big bed,” he said, pointing to it inside the bedroom door. “But I think there would be plenty of room for...whatever.” He nodded. “Go on, then.”
With a trembling hand, she opened the bedroom door and walked inside. What the hell was going on? “Mr. Kennedy, I’m not sure that—”
“You don’t have to call me Mr. Kennedy,” he said, his voice soft as he stood behind her. “Dex will do.”
Marlie pressed her hand to her chest, her heart pounding beneath her fingers. This was crazy! She didn’t even know this man, and yet, if he’d just give her a tiny little push, she’d fall onto the bed, ready to let him...ravish her.
“Ah...”
“Dex,” he said, as if she needed a reminder.
In truth, for a moment there, she had forgotten his name—and the reason she’d come. “Dex,” she repeated. Slowly, she turned, determined to face her fears.
“Oh, and Claire says the rent is very reasonable,” he said. “For a place like this.”
“Rent?”
“You didn’t think you’d be paying rent?”
“Did your sister tell you I was coming?”
“Yes. She said you’d be needing a place to stay next term. While you’re here teaching.”
Ah, obviously, he thought she was someone else. But maybe she could use that to her advantage. Considering the rather uncanny skill he had of avoiding her until now, she wasn’t about to give him a chance to toss her out on her ear. If they could just get to know each other, maybe he’d be more inclined to accept her proposal.
“What is the rent?” she asked.
“Didn’t Claire tell you?”
Marlie shook her head. “I think she wanted to make sure I liked what I saw first.” She glanced up and met his eyes.
“And do you?” he asked, his gaze fixed on hers.
His attention drifted to her lips and Marlie held her breath, wondering if he was contemplating something more than just conversation. A man didn’t just stare at a woman’s mouth for no reason. Unless, of course, she had something in her teeth. Oh, God.
“I do,” Marlie said. “Where’s the bathroom?”
He pointed to a door near the entrance to the kitchen and she hurried over and stepped inside. Staring into the mirror, she smiled, examining her teeth. No, nothing. Marlie groaned inwardly. That meant he was staring at her mouth because he—
“Is there anything else I can show you?” he asked, appearing in the doorway.
She quickly spun around, leaning back against the sink. All right, he was toying with her. Maybe it was time to put a stop to this and tell him why she was really here. Marlie drew a steadying breath.
“Would you like to get something to drink?” he asked. “Or maybe something to eat? Dinner, perhaps?”
“I—I had a late—a late lunch,” she stammered, unable to fashion a quick answer. Was he asking her out? Or was he just hungry? “But I could eat,” she added quickly.
“Good. There’s a pub just down the road. The food is good.” He smiled. “Great. Let’s go, then.”
He buttoned up his shirt and grabbed his jacket, then held the door open for her. When she got outside, Marlie offered to drive, but Dex insisted they take his SUV, a dusty BMW. He opened the door for her and helped her inside. Marlie watched him through the front window as he strode around to the driver’s side. It still felt odd sitting on the wrong side of the car, driving on the wrong side of the road. But everything about this day seemed a little upside-down and backward.
For now, she’d just roll with it. What harm could it do? She needed him. And when the time was right to tell him exactly who she was, she’d tell him.
“Ready?” he asked as he slid in behind the wheel.
Marlie nodded. “I think so.”
* * *
THE PUB WAS quiet when they walked in. Dex held the door open and Marlie stepped in front of him. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, fighting the urge to place his hand in the small of her back.
For the first time in a very long while, he wasn’t dwelling on the past. No, he was firmly in the present, his mind racing and his body reacting. She was so pretty, though not really the kind of girl he was usually attracted to. He normally went for the more exotic beauties, French and Italian women, certainly not some American girl-next-door type. But then, he wasn’t the same guy anymore. Maybe his preferences had changed.
They found a table near the bar, and Dex held out her chair as she sat down. He took a place across the table, offering himself a better vantage point to study her. The barkeep appeared a few moments later with menus. He ordered a Guinness and Marlie did the same.
“When in Ireland,” she said before taking a sip.
He stared at her mouth as she licked the foam off her lips. There’d been quite a few moments in the past hour when he’d lost himself just looking at her. She was like a breath of fresh air, blowing all the cobwebs out of his head and making his body feel alive again. But was he really interested in seducing this woman? She was a teacher. And Claire’s coworker. But, hell, if she was willing, then who was he to refuse pursuing the matter? There was an obvious attraction between them, and he was used to acting quickly when it came to sex. He was never in one place more than a night or two, which didn’t leave a lot of time for foreplay.
“My sister says you’re going to teach at her school next term. What do you teach?”
“Uh...that’s boring. Tell me about yourself,” she countered. “You’re a filmmaker.”
He frowned. “How did you know that?”
“I’ve seen your films,” she said.
Dex sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. Though he knew he had fans, he rarely met them, except when he was accepting some kind of award.
“I was sorry to hear about your partner,” Marlie added. “That must have been such a dark time for you.”
Until that moment, he’d put the nightmare out of his head. But now he realized that would never be completely possible. “It was,” he said. “But I’m trying to focus on other things now.”
“That’s a good philosophy,” she said with an encouraging smile. “What’s your next project?”
If only she knew, he thought to himself. Screw filmmaking; his mind was occupied with plans for a full-on seduction. “I’m considering my options,” he said.
“I have an option for you,” Marlie said.
Unless it had to do with tearing her clothes off and having at it right here in the pub, Dex really wasn’t interested. But he had the luxury to take things slow. “I don’t want to talk about work,” he countered. “Let’s talk about what you’re doing tomorrow. The term doesn’t start until after the New Year. Are you going back to the States for Christmas? What about your family? Don’t they celebrate together?”
“They do. But I’m usually working and can’t get away and I—”
“You work over Christmas in the States?” he asked. “You don’t have a school holiday?”
She looked at him, her eyes wide, then cleared her throat. “I’m not a teacher,” she said. “And I’m not interested in renting your cottage, although is a very nice place.”
Dex stared at her for a long moment, taking in the look of confusion—no, desperation—on her pretty face. “I don’t get it,” he said.
“My name is Marlena Jenner and I’m working on a documentary film about Aileen Quinn. I’ve been trying to track you down through your agent, and when he wasn’t getting any response, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Your sister, Claire, said—”
“Marlena. Right. You’re the not the teacher.” Dex quickly stood. She’d been playing him. He bit back a curse. He’d told both his agent and his sister that he wasn’t even going to think about work for at least another year. He needed a damn break, and he didn’t appreciate that his sister had sent this woman to try to change his mind.
“You know, I’m really not interested,” he said.
“But you haven’t heard about the project yet,” Marlie said, following him to the door. “I’m sure once you—”
He spun around to face her, his anger bubbling over. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’m not interested.” He shook his head, then walked back to the bar and tossed enough money on the polished surface to cover their drinks.
What the hell was happening to him? He could usually read people better than this. He should have seen that she had some ulterior motive. But the moment he set eyes on her, all he could think about was getting her into bed. Not that that feeling wasn’t still with him. But no-strings sex didn’t work unless they were both interested in the same outcome—pure lust and mutual sexual satisfaction. She was just playing along until she could pitch him her idea.
He strode outside, Marlie hard on his heels. “Wait,” she said. “Just give me a chance to explain.”
He yanked the passenger door open. “Get in. I’ll take you back.”
“No,” Marlie said.
Dex gasped. Was she really going to draw a line? He couldn’t exactly leave her standing in the middle of the road. It was at least a fifteen-minute walk in the cold, windy night to get back to her car. And he wasn’t the type of guy who’d leave a woman stranded.
Dex slammed the door. “All right. If you want to pitch your project, go ahead. Right now.”
Jaysus, she was beautiful. Her color was high and her green eyes bright. And her hair whipped around her face in windblown strands. He wanted to reach out and grab her, twist his fingers through the thick mass of waves and pull her into a very long kiss.
She shifted nervously, then stared down at her toes. “I left my laptop in my car. The pitch is better with visuals. I have a whole presentation made up.”
With a low chuckle, he pulled the door open again. “Let’s go, then.”
Reluctantly, she got inside. When he joined her, she turned in her seat and faced him. “I didn’t mean to mislead you. I just thought if you got to know me, you might trust me a little more.”
“Oh, sure. Lying is always the best way to get a bloke to trust you.”
“Can we just start over?” Marlie asked. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Marlena Jenner. I’m a producer at Back Bay Productions in Boston. I’d like to talk to you about making a documentary about the Irish author Aileen Quinn.” When he didn’t reciprocate, she wiggled her fingers. “Come on. It goes both ways.”
Dex laughed and took her hand. “Really? And what did I do to mislead you?” She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, yanking her fingers away. Dex gave her a dubious look. “What?”
“You wanted to kiss me,” she said, tipping her chin up defiantly.
“I did not.” God, was he that transparent? Usually he was much more discreet about his desires. “Where did you get that idea?”
“I can just tell,” she said.
“Oh, really. How? From your vast knowledge about men? Irish men, in particular?”
She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said.
“And you know next to nothing about me,” he countered.
“I know what you want.”
“Prove it.”
What happened next happened so quickly that Dex wasn’t able to stop it. In one quick movement, she leaned over, grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him. At first, he wasn’t sure what to do, but then he took advantage of the invitation and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer.
Her lips parted slightly and he slipped his tongue into the sweet warmth of her mouth. When a tiny sigh slipped from her throat, Dex took it as another invitation and dragged her body on top of his until he could run his hands over her backside. His pulse pounded, the warmth of desire pumping through his body.
The kiss ended as quickly as it began when Marlie drew back and looked at him with a wide-eyed gaze. “I—I think I’ve made my point.” She scrambled over to her side of the SUV and quickly fastened her seat belt. “We can go now,” she murmured.
“Bloody hell, you must really want me to do this project.”
“I do,” she said. “It’s imperative.”
“Imperative?”
“Yes, no one else could do it like you could.” She drew a sharp breath. “I mean the documentary,” she quickly added. “Not the kiss.” Marlie cleared her throat. “But the kiss was good, too.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you meant.” He started the truck, his heart slamming in his chest. He’d never reacted so strongly to a simple kiss.
“Just so you know, that’s not usually part of my pitch. Nothing is going quite the way I intended.”
“Will there be more kissing involved, or is it all business from here on out?”
“Would kissing you make you more inclined to take the job?” she asked.
“Probably not,” he replied.
“Then I suppose that’s the last time I’m going to kiss you.”
“Good,” he said, throwing the truck into gear and pulling out onto the road.
Though Marlie Jenner would provide the perfect distraction from all the pain he’d experienced in the past eight months, he wasn’t about to use her just to satisfy his own lust. He wasn’t ready to work again, and nothing she offered him, even a few enjoyable kisses, was going to change his mind. Once he got her back to the cottage, he’d send her on her way.
2
MARLIE USED THE ride back from the pub to silently go over her pitch in her head. She’d have just one chance to convince him, and she had to make sure she got it right.
Dex pulled the SUV onto the small parking pad next to the cottage and turned off the lights, then the ignition.
“I’ll just go get my computer,” she murmured, reaching for the door.
But he placed a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Wait,” he said.
Her gaze drifted down to the spot where his fingers rested. A warm flush crept up her cheeks and she had to tell herself to breathe. “What is it?”
“I have to be honest with you. As much as I enjoyed that kiss we shared, nothing you say is going to convince me to do your project. So I don’t need to see your presentation. But if you’d like to come inside and get to know each other a little better over a drink, I’d be interested in that.”
Marlie stared at him, her mouth agape. “I— How dare—? No! No, I’m not interested in coming inside and having a drink.” She opened the car door and stepped out, then slammed the door.
Dex jumped out after her. “I just thought since you did kiss me and you seemed to enjoy it that...”
Marlie shook her head, then turned to walk away. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to go inside with him and see exactly where a few drinks might lead. But that would be supremely unprofessional. Plus, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
She spun back around. “You’re missing out on a really great project. You have a chance to do something important for a wonderful Irish writer. And don’t think I don’t know you could do this project blindfolded with one hand tied behind your back.”
Dex smiled. “That would be a bit dodgy,” he said.
Marlie cursed beneath her breath, then strode toward her car, fighting back the tears that threatened. She’d blown it. And yet, as she got inside her car, she couldn’t put her finger on where she’d gone wrong. Somewhere between the pub and the cottage, he’d changed his mind. Before that, everything had been going so well.
Or had it? Maybe he’d never had any intention of listening to her pitch. Maybe all he really wanted was a quick roll in the hay. She grabbed the keys from her jacket pocket and started the car. “I never should have kissed him,” Marlie muttered.
She’d never been an impulsive person, especially when it came to men. There was just something about Dex that rendered her completely irrational.
Throwing the car into gear, she steered the Fiat back onto the road, roaring past Dex as she headed toward the lights of the village.
As she drove through the dark, she refocused, scrambling to come up with an alternate plan. But Marlie was faced with the realization that she’d put all her eggs in the Dex basket. Though she had a list of other options, other cameramen who might be interested in the project, she hadn’t made contact with any of them. She’d never expected to waste two full weeks chasing after Dex Kennedy, and filming was due to start in mere days.
Rain began to hit the windshield and she turned on the wipers. When she reached the small village, Marlie pulled the car over and grabbed the map, trying to figure out the fastest way back to Killarney. Yet the thought of walking away from Dex and everything he had to offer was causing her to doubt her actions. She’d come this far. Was she really ready to give up so easily?
“No,” Marlie muttered. He hadn’t even given her a chance. She cursed softly. At least not a chance to talk about her project.
So just how far was she willing to go to convince Dex to do her film? She’d never compromised herself for the sake of professional advancement. Yet now that the film of her career was about to slip through her fingers, she had to take drastic action, and she wasn’t going to give up. Not until she’d exhausted every last option with Dex. Every last option, except sex. That, she decided, was her line.
Marlie made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the little cottage. When she reached the building, she pulled up near the stone wall and turned off the ignition.
The house was dark and she wondered if he’d left already. But the SUV was still parked in its spot. It was early, not even 8:00 p.m. Had he gone to bed? If she waited here, she could catch him in the morning, maybe in a better mood. Or she could bang on the door and demand that he hear her out.
Marlie grabbed her laptop and got out of the car. Nothing had ever come easily to her. Why would Dex Kennedy be any different? Somehow, she would put aside her ridiculous attraction to him and keep her wits about her. And she’d convince him that this film was the most important thing in her life—and his.
When she reached the door, Marlie drew a deep breath. “He’s just a guy. Just an ordinary guy. He’s not that good-looking. Or charming.” She rapped on the door, her heart pounding. After a second knock, Marlie realized he wasn’t planning to answer.
“I know you’re in there. I’m not going away until you give me a chance to pitch my project.”
Marlie put her ear up against the door. But she heard nothing inside. “I’m not going to give up. You can talk to me now, or you can talk to me later.”
She reached for the doorknob. Holding her breath, she slowly turned it, surprised when the door opened. The last thing she needed was to be accused of breaking and entering. But since the door was unlocked, she couldn’t be accused of breaking in, and if she stayed on the front step, she wouldn’t be entering.
“Hello?” The interior was dark, the only light coming from the remains of a fire in the hearth. “Dex? Are you here?”
If he was going to be this stubborn, then maybe she’d need to be a bit more aggressive. Besides, he wouldn’t call the police, would he? “I’m not breaking and entering, I just have a few more things I want to say.”
She switched on a lamp and then walked slowly through the cottage. But Dex was nowhere to be found. Maybe he’d gone out for a walk.
It was cold and rainy outside. He’d have to come home sooner or later. She’d wait in the car until she saw the lights come on, and then she’d knock again.
Marlie walked back out to her car and crawled inside, pulling her jacket around her to ward off the chill. He couldn’t stay out that long in weather like this...unless a friend had picked him up and they’d gone out. She groaned. He could be gone until the pubs closed.
Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out of her pocket. “Hello?”
“Miss Jenner, this is Ian Stephens.”
Marlie suppressed another groan. What else was going to go wrong? With her luck, Aileen Quinn was probably having second thoughts, too. “Hello. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I hope I’m not ringing too late, but I wanted to let you know that I got all of Miss Quinn’s photos on a disk. You can pick them up tomorrow or I can drop them at your hotel.”
“If you could drop them off, that would be great,” Marlie said. “I’m a little busy with other matters.”
“And Miss Quinn has asked if we could move the first interview forward one day. She had a conflict come up. And I think she’s excited to get started.”
“Yes,” Marlie said. “That would be fine. So we’ll be there Friday instead of Saturday.”
“That will do. Have a pleasant evening and I’ll see you soon.”
Marlie hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket. She leaned back and closed her eyes. She had to make this work. She’d already told her bosses at Back Bay she could get Dex Kennedy to sign on to the project, and they’d already begun making plans based on her overly optimistic claim.
How could she go back to them and tell them she’d failed? They’d lose all faith in her. They already had their doubts. There was only one choice—she’d have to convince him, no matter what it took.
* * *
THE DAMP WIND stung his cheeks and Dex shoved his hands farther into his pockets. He was chilled to the bone but he didn’t feel the cold. All he wanted was the numbness that it brought.
The moon had come out from behind the clouds, illuminating the wet road in front of him. He knew this route so well in the dark, navigating from cottage to cottage by the light spilling out of the windows.
The weather matched his mood—foul and dark. He’d paced the cottage for a full ten minutes, regretting his decision to send Marlie Jenner away. Then the walls had begun to close in and he had to escape.
If he walked long enough and fast enough, he’d exhaust himself and maybe get a little sleep. His encounter with Marlie certainly hadn’t done anything to relax him. After her reaction to his invitation for a drink, he realized the mistake he’d made. He’d assumed the attraction was mutual, but she’d obviously only been flirting with him in the hopes it might help her cause. He’d misread her interest.
He’d been so long without a woman that he couldn’t even read the signs anymore. In eight months, he hadn’t even considered indulging in the pleasure of a woman’s company. And now, suddenly, he was desperate for another chance to touch her, to lose himself in the taste of her mouth or the scent of her hair.
Because in that single moment when their lips had met, he’d felt as if a door had been thrown open and the sun had shone through with blinding white light that had warmed his soul. He’d sensed his life might finally get back on track, if he could just spend a little time standing in that light.
What was it about her that he found so alluring? She was pretty, that much was evident. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. But there was something else that drew him to her. She had an innocence, a naïveté, that he usually didn’t find in the women he dated.
How easy would it be to fall into a relationship with her, and for all the wrong reasons? She was just like that bottle of sleeping pills, a drug that made all his problems disappear, a drug he’d soon come to crave, knowing all the while that he was just medicating the problem, not solving it.
Then there was the matter of professional ethics. He’d never mixed his personal life with his professional life. It was a strict rule that he and Matt had made for themselves and it was part of the reason they had been so successful. When they were immersed in a project, there were never any distractions.
And if that wasn’t reason enough, Dex couldn’t drag her into his messy life. No one, not even someone as tempting as her, deserved that. He’d done the right thing in sending her away. He needed more time to heal.
But how much more? Dex wondered. When would he start to feel this darkness lift? There were days when he could barely crawl out of bed.
And yet the moment he’d set eyes on Marlie, all of that had been forgotten. So maybe he just needed a woman, any woman, to distract him for a bit. Any woman except Marlie Jenner.
As he neared the cottage, Dex noticed a car parked on the road just outside the garden gate. He squinted in the darkness, trying to make out who it might be. Had Claire decided to drive out and keep him company? The moon emerged again and he made out the silhouette of Marlie’s Fiat.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. As he approached the car, he wondered if she’d decided to wait inside. But the cottage was dark, just as he’d left it.
He peered into the window and saw Marlie, curled up in the front seat, her eyes closed. Dex rapped softly on the window and she jerked, startled by the sound. As she looked out at him, he circled his finger, silently asking her to roll the window down.
“What are you doing out here?” he demanded.
“Waiting for you,” Marlie said, rubbing her eyes and sending him a weak smile.
“I thought we’d settled everything earlier.”
“You didn’t let me make my presentation,” she snapped. “I’m not going to let you say no until you’ve listened to what I have to say.”
Dex circled around the car, but instead of going back inside the cottage, he waited for her to unlock the passenger-side door. When she did, he got inside, settling himself into the seat.
He rubbed his hands together to warm them. “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to work with you,” Dex murmured. “I just don’t think I’d be any good to anyone right now. I’ve sort of lost my focus and I’m not sure I’m going to get it back.”
“You won’t know unless you try,” Marlie said.
“I know that I just spent three hours in the rain trying to get you out of my head.”
She drew a sharp breath and glanced away, rattled by his declaration. “Maybe you’re feeling guilty that you didn’t give me a chance?”
Dex chuckled. “What I’m feeling has nothing to do with guilt.” He twisted around in the small seat and faced her. “Tell me, why are you so determined to make this film? Beyond fame and fortune, which I can promise you, you won’t find making documentary films. So there must be a reason. Why this film? Why Aileen Quinn?”
She considered his question for a moment, as if she wanted to make sure she gave him the answer he was seeking.
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,” he warned. “Tell me the truth.”
She nodded. “When I was younger, I was...lost. I didn’t really fit in—with my family, with the kids in school. I felt like an outsider most of the time. Then one day, I picked up one of Aileen Quinn’s books at the library. I think I was twelve, and I was so excited that the librarian had given me an adult book. I found myself in that book. The heroine in the story was all alone in the world, but she was so strong and determined, nothing could stop her. And in the end, she made a wonderful life for herself. And I told myself that I could do the same thing.” Marlie met his gaze. “Aileen Quinn changed my life. I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s true.”
“That’s a good reason,” he murmured. “You’re passionate about your subject.”
“So maybe instead of thinking of all the reasons why you can’t do this project, you should think about the reasons why you should.”
“And what might those be?” Dex asked.
“I’ll be honest. With your name attached to the project, it’s going to get much more attention than it ever would with just my name. People will be interested in seeing it. We’ll get distribution and interest at the film festivals.”
Dex turned away, letting the sound of her voice lure him back in again. Everything she said was true. His name would open a lot of doors for her. And it wasn’t as if he was doing anything useful with his time, beyond lying around Claire’s flat and drinking far too much.
But if he did agree to do the film, he’d have to maintain the same professionalism he and Matt had insisted on. He’d have to find a way to keep his mind—and his hands—off Marlie.
“There are other guys in Ireland who could do the job,” Dex said.
“But I want you.”
He took in the stubborn set of her jaw, the determined look in her eyes, and he felt his resistance softening. The least he could do is listen to her proposal. How the hell was he supposed to say no? Maybe if he found the pitch interesting, he might consider doing the film. But if he found himself more intrigued by the woman than the project, he’d send her on her way.
After all, working might be good for him. But falling into an affair with a beautiful yet vulnerable American had disaster written all over it. And Dex had had enough of disaster lately.
“Tell me something,” Dex said. “If I hadn’t come along, were you planning on sleeping out here?”
“I guess I was,” Marlie said. She shrugged. “I had to give it one more try.” She met his gaze. “Will you listen?”
“Yeah,” Dex said. “I can’t promise you anything, except—” he paused “—except that I’m not going to kiss you again. If we’re considering working together, we need to make sure we can keep things professional.”
“Of course. There will be no more kissing,” she said. “Or touching. Because that could lead to kissing. Strictly professional.”
“All right,” Dex said. “Why don’t you grab your computer and come inside?”
“Now? You don’t want to leave this until the morning?”
“No,” Dex said. “I’m not tired. We can do it now.”
A smile broke across her face. “All right. Thank you. You won’t be disappointed. You’re going to say yes. I just know it.”
As Dex got out of the car, he realized that her prediction was probably right. He’d have a hard time saying no to a woman as beautiful and passionate as Marlie Jenner. She could ask him to strip naked and run down Grafton Street in Dublin and he’d probably do it. So if she decided to kiss him again, how was he going to stop her?
She joined him at the gate, her laptop clutched in her arms. When he opened the front door, he reached inside, flipping on a light. Marlie followed him, smiling brightly.
“I really do appreciate this chance.”
Dex helped her out of her jacket, his fingers brushing against her shoulders and tangling for a moment in her hair. The contact sent a current of desire racing through him, and he fought against the reaction.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Dex said. “Can I get you anything?”
“What do you have?” Marlie asked. “Something to warm me up would be good.”
“Whiskey,” Dex murmured. “We need whiskey. Why don’t you sit down on the sofa. I’ll get the drinks, start a fire and then we’ll see what you have to say.”
Dex wandered back to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard above the sink. He took a long swallow, letting the alcohol burn a path down his throat and warm his body. “Get a grip. She’s just a girl. Just a pretty girl.”
* * *
“SO WHAT DO you think?” Marlie grabbed her glass of whiskey and took a slip. “Please tell me you at least find this interesting. I want your creative input. I—I realize it’s not the kind of project you usually do. But it’s a wonderful story, and she’s an incredible woman. You’re going to love her and—”
Dex pressed a finger to her lips and Marlie stopped. She’d made her pitch. Now it was time to let him do the talking. So she asked, “Do you have any questions? Or comments, maybe?”
He chuckled. “I have a lot of questions. But I’m not sure I should ask them.”
“No, I want you to. Challenge me. Argue with me. I want to know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are, do you?” Dex shook his head and groaned. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. But it had to be said.” He turned her laptop toward him and stared at the old photo of Aileen Quinn.
Marlie watched him as he contemplated his decision. Watching the firelight dance over his face, she wanted to reach out and touch him, to lose herself in the wild sensations of desire and need that had raced through her when they’d kissed.
She couldn’t imagine they’d be able to go back to a professional relationship after that kiss, wasn’t even sure she wanted to. It had been quite a while since she’d had a man in her life. And she’d never been with a man quite as accomplished—and sexy—as Dex.
But if he felt that a professional relationship was required, she’d do her best to keep her distance.
“Miss Quinn is an interesting subject,” Dex said, “but I just don’t see a hook here. We’d just be making a filmed version of her biography.”
Marlie had held back the most interesting part of the story, hoping it might push him over the edge if he had any doubts. “Aileen Quinn had four older brothers. Shortly after she was born, her mother sent them off to different corners of the world, some with new families. Aileen just learned about her brothers last year and she’s been tracking down their descendants. They’re all gathering here in Ireland at Christmas for a big reunion, and we’re going to be there to talk to them. She’s still looking for one of the brothers, Conal, so that search will be part of the film, too. Maybe we’ll even find him.” She paused. “I was planning on using the search to structure the narrative.”
“That does make for an interesting story,” he admitted.
“And each of the heirs is getting a million dollars,” she said. “Give or take. It’s like winning the lottery. It’s changed their lives. And there are so many great stories to tell.”
He closed her laptop and rested his hand over it. “I have one big concern, though, and that’s your obvious admiration for Aileen Quinn.”
“I do admire her.”
“You have to maintain a proper distance from your subject so that you can see her objectively, warts and all. I won’t do this if you’re just looking to do a pretty story. You might have to make some tough choices, and I need to know that you’ll be able to do that when the time comes.”
Marlie shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“No one lives a perfect life, Marlie. And if you’re going to tell Aileen Quinn’s story, you need to tell the good parts along with the bad ones.”
“There are no bad parts,” Marlie said. “I’ve read her autobiography. She’s led an exemplary life.”
“Everyone has skeletons in their closet,” he said. “Our job is to find them.”
“No,” Marlie said. “I’m not going to turn this into some exposé.”
“I wouldn’t, either. I’m simply talking about discovering the truth of her story and making a movie about it. It’s all part of the person she is, and that’s the story we’re telling. The complete story. Can you do that?”
Marlie grabbed her laptop. “Yes, of course.” She could promise that. She knew that Aileen had lived a scandal-free life. Dex would discover that, and realize there were no skeletons to find.
“All right,” Dex said, getting to his feet. “I’ve got everything I wanted to know. Can I have some time to consider?”
“Sure,” Marlie said. “But not long. We’re scheduled to start shooting on Friday.”
“Friday?”
Marlie nodded. “I know it’s soon, but I didn’t think it would take this long to track you down and convince you.”
“Weren’t there any others on your short list?”
“No. Not really.”
“Well, if I decide not to do it, I’ll help you find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else,” she said stubbornly. “I want you.”
“You’ve made that very clear,” Dex replied.
Marlie glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was nearly 1:00 a.m. Getting to her feet, she wavered slightly, the effect of too much whiskey suddenly hitting her. “I should go. I’ve got a long drive back to Killarney.”
“You can’t drive. You’ve had too much to drink.”
Marlie ran her hands through her hair. “You’re right. Maybe I could call a car? A taxi?”
Dex stood and took her hand, then drew her back down onto the sofa. “I think it would be better if you stay here tonight.”
“No. I don’t have anything with me, and—and we would be asking for trouble.” She glanced down at their fingers, now tangled together so tightly that she couldn’t distinguish his hand from hers.
“I’d drive you myself, but I’ve had more to drink than you have. It will be fine. You can stay in one bedroom and I’ll stay in the other.” He placed her hand on her knee and drew his away. “If we’re going to be working together, we’re going to need to get used to hanging out together.”
“You’re going to do it?” Marlie asked, her heart leaping in her chest.
“I can’t think of a good reason why I shouldn’t. And I can think of one good reason why I should.”
“What is that? And please don’t say it’s because you like to kiss me.”
“No, I believe we could make a helluva good film.”
Still, Marlie wondered if his reason for accepting her offer had less to do with her proposal than what had happened when their lips met. But if they were going to spend the next few months working on the documentary, then they’d have to trust each other.
“Yes, the film will be wonderful,” she said. “So I guess I can have my people call your people and we’ll iron out the details of a contract?”
“All right. And tomorrow morning, we’ll get started.”
“I’ve put together a production schedule. Since I’ve already scheduled our first interview with Aileen for Friday, we have a lot of work to do before then. I think you should meet Aileen first so you can get to know her. You’re going to love her.”
“No, I’m not. And you shouldn’t, either,” he warned.
Marlie ignored him. It was ridiculous to think that she shouldn’t admire Aileen. “And Ian Stephens, her research assistant. He’s providing a lot of the background information on the search. I also have a contact who will digitize all the archival photos we want, and I’ve looked at a few spaces for a temporary studio.”
“I have a small studio in Dublin where I store all my equipment. We can use that.”
Marlie couldn’t believe it had all worked out so well. Earlier that afternoon, she’d thought the film—and her career—was ruined. But tomorrow they’d begin work on the project that would transform her into a real producer. She’d finally gotten her big break, and now that it was here, she couldn’t wait to get started.
“All right,” Marlie said. A wave of exhaustion came over her and she fought back a yawn. “I should probably turn in. I’ve been up since 6:00 a.m., and the whiskey is making me sleepy.”
Dex stood up and took her hands, guiding her to one of the bedrooms. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
“I could use something to sleep in,” she said.
“Wait here,” he said. He disappeared into the other room and returned with a faded rugby jersey. Dex held it out. “Will this do?”
“That will be fine,” she said. Marlie paused, fighting the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him again. It was the only way she could think to communicate her gratitude. A handshake wouldn’t do. In the end, she pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dex.”
“Good night, Marlie.”
When she closed the bedroom door behind her, Marlie leaned back against it and took a ragged breath. This was all so strange, spending the night under the same roof as a virtual stranger.
Marlie crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the old iron bed. Now that he’d agreed to do the film, she’d thought the pressure might fade a bit. But instead, it had only become worse. If they didn’t develop a good working relationship, then the next two months would be very difficult.
But Dex was a strong personality, and she’d have to work hard to make sure he took her ideas about the film seriously. She had less experience as a producer and so much more to lose if this film wasn’t good. Her bosses at Back Bay already had high expectations for this documentary, and she needed to deliver. And if she did, maybe she’d finally be able to prove to her family that she’d made the right career choice.
It wasn’t easy being a Jenner. Both of her parents were surgeons at the best hospital in Boston, her father also serving as chief of staff. Her four older siblings, two sisters and two brothers, had also opted for careers in the medical field, but only after attending Ivy League colleges and prestigious medical schools. Boston Magazine had even done a feature article on the Jenners, calling them Boston’s first family of medicine.
Marlie sighed. They’d called her the black sheep of the family. She knew what they all thought, that she was somehow defective since she had no interest in the “family business.” She’d always loved art and books and movies and music. She’d played the piano and taken ballet lessons, and yet none of her successes as a child had made a difference because she hadn’t skipped a grade or two in school or gotten a perfect score on her college entrance exams.
Why was she still bothering to try? Marlie wondered. They’d never consider her work important. She wasn’t saving lives or doing critical research. In their eyes, she’d always be a failure.
“But I’m not,” she said as she stripped out of her clothes. She had managed to snag Dex Kennedy, one of the world’s best documentary filmmakers, and with him at her side, they’d create something everyone would finally be proud of.
The bedroom was damp and chilly, so she quickly crawled beneath the faded bedcovers, then pulled them up to her chin. But the more she tried to relax, the more her mind kept spinning with everything that had happened that day.
Though she’d occasionally had men in her life, her relationships never lasted very long. She usually ended up with men who wanted a sweet, compliant woman who would put her career on the back burner for them, which she tried very hard to be. She’d turn herself into exactly what they wanted, but eventually the charade would become too much bear.
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