“So what’s it going to be, Maura?” he asked a moment later. “Are we going to strike a deal or am I going to have to revisit those other properties?”
In the sudden silence, Maura gave a quick look around the Lion’s Den. But for Michael behind the bar and a few straggling patrons nursing a final beer, she and Jefferson were alone. The crowd had gone off and the Flanagans had packed up their instruments and left for home and she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so wrapped up in talking with Jefferson, watching his smile, listening to the rumble of his voice, the whole world could have come to an end and she’d have sat through it all without a care.
Which told her she was in very deep danger of losing her heart to a man who wouldn’t be interested in keeping it. Yes, best all around to have their business be done so he could leave and her life could settle back into its familiar pattern.
She held her right hand out to him then and there. “We’ve a deal, Jefferson King. You’ll make your movie on my farm and we’ll both get what we want.”
He took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it as she’d expected, he simply held on to it, stroking his thumb across her slender fingers. Her stomach jittered and her mouth went dry. Suddenly, she wished she’d ordered another beer because something cool and frothy would no doubt ease her parched throat.
“I have the papers at the inn,” he said. “Why don’t you come to my room now and we can get them signed.”
She slipped her hand from his and chuckled. “Oh, no thank you. If I’m seen going into your hotel room at this hour, the village wags will be talking about us for weeks.”
“How would anyone know?”
“In a village, there are no secrets,” she told him. “Frances Boyle runs a tight ship at her inn. Believe me when I tell you she knows every person that steps across her threshold.”
“Okay,” he said, “then why don’t we order another round, I’ll go to the hotel, gather the papers and bring them back here for you to sign?”
Maura considered it, chewing at her bottom lip. She did want the deed done, but it was already late and she’d have to be up with the sun and—
“I thought you said you didn’t have to run your life by the clock,” he reminded her.
“Touché,” she said with a nod, amused that he’d rightly guessed what she’d been thinking about. “All right then, I’ll order the beer while you get your paperwork.”
When he left, Maura’s gaze dropped to his behind and she gave herself a stern talking-to. You’ll have a drink, sign his papers and say thanks very much and goodbye. There’ll be no loitering in the moonlight, Maura Donohue. He’s a man you can’t have, so there’s no point in wishing things were different. Don’t be a fool about this, Maura, or you’ll surely regret it.
All very rational, she thought. Too bad she wasn’t listening.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t gone long.
The truth was, Jefferson hadn’t wanted to leave her at all. He’d hoped to get her back to the hotel where he could try to slide her into his bed and seal the deal in a way that would ease the ache he’d been carrying for the last few days. But typically enough, Maura had managed to shatter his quickly thought-up plan with a simple “no.” So, adjusting his plan on the fly, he thought he could maneuver her into letting him take her home and maybe he could slide himself into her bed instead.
When he walked into the quiet pub, Michael the barman gave him a nod of welcome, then went back to watching the news on the television. There was only one other customer left at the bar and Maura at the table where he’d left her. The single candle flickering on their table threw dancing shadows across her face and its faint light seemed to shimmer in the rich thickness of her hair.
The need he’d been carrying around inside him burst into flame. Instantly, his mind filled again with the image of her dancing. Her smile. Her regal yet somehow wild bearing. The rhythm in her body, the fast fury of her small feet, and he wanted with a desperation he’d never known before.
“That was quick,” she said when he stopped at the edge of their table.
“No point in wasting time, is there?”
“None at all,” she agreed, sliding out of the booth to stand beside him. “But I think we should go back to the farm so Michael can close the pub and go home. I’ve some wine in the fridge. We can toast the signed contract if you like.”
Jefferson was silent for a moment, simply because he couldn’t believe she’d suggested the very thing he’d been about to recommend. She seemed to be one step ahead of him and that was an unusual enough happening that he could enjoy the sensation. He wondered, though, if she wanted what he did. Was she simply being nice, or was she as anxious as him for them to be alone together?
He’d find out soon enough.
“Good idea.” He laid one hand at the small of her back and guided her across the room. When she called out good-night to Michael, the barman merely waved a towel at them.
Then they were outside, in the stillness. The village was quiet—houses dark, streets empty. There was a hush in the air that felt as if the world had taken a breath and held it. Or maybe, Jefferson told himself, his time in Ireland had been enough to make any man—even him—fanciful.
The trip to the Donohue farmhouse was a quick one, yet it felt like forever to Jefferson. With Maura beside him in the car, her scent seemed to wrap itself around him, taunting him, arousing him to the point where simply sitting still became an act of torture.
At the house he parked the car in the driveway, what Maura would call “the street,” and walked beside her in silence to the front door. Neither of them had much to say, mainly he thought, because there was too much to say. So where was a man supposed to start?
Sign the contract?
Take off your clothes?
He knew which he’d prefer, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.
Inside the house, Maura flipped light switches on as they moved through the silent rooms to the kitchen. There, she tossed her keys onto the table and walked to the fridge. Looking at him over her shoulder, she said, “Will you take down a couple of glasses from the far cupboard?”
“Sure.” Jefferson laid the envelope containing the contract on the table and went for the glasses. A moment later, she was filling them with a cold, straw-colored wine that shone almost gold in the overhead light.
He’d been in this room before, though those visits had been in broad daylight. The old kitchen was clean and tidy, its ancient appliances gleaming with the care she took with them. The counter was bare of all but a set of canisters and a teapot and the wood floor was scarred from wear but polished to a high shine.
“I suppose I should sign the papers first,” she was saying and Jefferson turned his attention to her.
“Good idea. We take care of business first.”
“First. And then what?” Her blue eyes glittered as she turned them up to him and Jefferson’s body stirred like a hungry dog on a short leash.
“Then,” he said, “we’ll toast to the success of our joint venture.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Venture, is it? A fine word for it, anyway.”
She took the pen he offered her and sat down to read through the short contract. He liked that about her, too. He thought