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“What?”
“Sex,” she said.
He frowned, then shook his head. “Is that what you think I’m doing? I was just having some fun. Talking. I didn’t mean to—”
“I didn’t want you to think that I was—”
“Oh, I didn’t. I guess, I’m just used to—”
“I understand and I don’t mean to—”
“I do understand,” he said softly. He took a step toward her and she held her breath.
This was crazy. She wanted him to kiss her. With any other man, she would have already been halfway to the bedroom. But Alex was different. All these strange feelings stirred inside of her. She longed for his touch, yet she knew how dangerous it would be. Need mixed with fear and she wasn’t sure what to do.
But then Alex took the decision out of her hands. He smoothed his hand over her cheek and bent closer. An instant later, his lips met hers and Tenley felt a tremor race through her body. He lingered over her mouth, taking his time, waiting for her to surrender.
With a soft sigh, Tenley opened beneath the gentle assault. A delicious rush of warmth washed through her body. Lately, she hadn’t felt much like a woman. It was amazing what one kiss could do to change all that.
She pushed up on her toes, eager to lose herself in the taste of him. It didn’t matter that they’d just met. It didn’t matter that she knew nothing about him. He made her feel all warm and tingly inside. That was all she cared about.
He drew back slightly, his breath warm against her mouth. “Maybe we should get back to dinner,” he suggested.
With a satisfied smile, Tenley stepped out of his embrace. They did have the entire night. With the blizzard raging outside, there was no way he’d be able to get into town. “There’s white wine and beer in the fridge and red wine in the cabinet above. Pick what you want.”
“What are you making?” He stood over her shoulder and peered into the cast-iron pot steaming on the stove. “It smells good.”
“Camp supper,” she said. “It’s just whatever’s at hand, tossed into a pot. There’s hamburger, potatoes, peppers, carrots and onions. I think I’ll add some corn.”
It wasn’t gourmet. Cooking had never been one of her talents. In truth, Tenley wasn’t really sure what she was good at. Right about the time she was ready to find out, her life had been turned upside down. Her grandfather was an artist and so was her father. And her mother was a poet, so creativity did run in her veins.
But like everything else in her world, she’d been too afraid to invest any passion in her future for fear that it might slip through her fingers. So she chose to help her grandfather further his career by running his art gallery. At least she knew she was good at that, even though it was more of a job than a passion.
Alex retrieved a bottle of red wine from the cabinet and set it on the counter. She handed him a corkscrew and he deftly dispatched the cork and poured two glasses of Merlot. “This is a nice place,” he said.
“It belonged to my grandparents. My great-grandfather built it for them as a wedding gift. After my grandmother died, my grandfather moved into town, and I moved here.”
“What do you do?”
“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” Tenley said, deflecting his question. “What brings you to Door County in the middle of a blizzard? It must be something very important.”
“Business,” he replied. “I’m here to see an artist. T. J. Marshall. Do you know him?”
Tenley’s breath caught in her throat and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. This man had come to see her grandfather? How was that possible? She was in charge of her grandfather’s appointments and she didn’t remember making one for—Oh, God. That was where she knew his name. He’d left a string of messages on her grandfather’s voice mail. Something about publishing a novel. Her grandfather already worked with a publisher and he didn’t write novels, so she’d ignored the messages. “I do. Everyone knows him. What do you want with him?”
“He sent us a graphic novel. I want to publish it.”
Tenley frowned. Her grandfather painted landscapes. He didn’t even know what a graphic novel was. She, however, did know. In fact, she’d made one for Josh Barton, the neighbor boy, as a Christmas gift, a thankyou for caring for her animals. “Do you have it with you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice indifferent.
“I do.”
“Could I see it?”
“Sure. Do you like graphic novels?”
“I’ve read a few,” she replied.
“This one is incredible. Very dark. The guy who wrote this has got some real demons haunting him. Or he’s got a great imagination. It’s about a girl named Cyd who can bring people back from the dead.”
Alex walked across the room to fetch his briefcase. Tenley grabbed her glass of wine and took three quick gulps. If this was her work, how had it possibly gotten into Alex’s hands? Perhaps Josh had decided to start a career as an artist’s agent at age fourteen?
Alex returned with a file folder, holding it out to her. “The story is loaded with conflict and it’s really edgy. It’s hard to find graphic novels that combine great art with a solid story. And this has both.”
Tenley opened the folder and immediately recognized the cover of Josh’s Christmas gift. She sighed softly as she flipped through the photocopy. What had he done? He’d raved about the story, but she’d never expected him to send a copy to a publisher. It had been a private little gift between the two of them, that was all. Josh had shared his love of the genre with her and she’d made him a story of his very own. She’d never intended it for public consumption.
Tenley had always had a love-hate affair with her artistic abilities. Though establishing her own career in art might make sense to the casual observer, Tenley fought against it. She and her brother had always talked about striking out on their own, leaving Door County and finding work in a big city. She’d wanted to be an actress and Tommy had been interested in architecture.
But after the boating accident, Tenley had given up on dreams. Her parents had been devastated and their grief led to a divorce. There was a fight over where Tenley would live and in the end, they let her stay in Door County with her grandparents while they escaped to opposite coasts.
They still encouraged her to paint or sculpt or do anything worthy with her art. But putting herself out there, for everyone to see, made her feel more vulnerable than she already did. There were too many ways to get hurt, and so many expectations that could never be met. And now, the one time in years that she’d put pen to paper had brought this man to her door. What were the odds?
“This is interesting,” she murmured. “But I think someone is messing with you. T. J. Marshall paints landscapes. This isn’t his work.”
“You know his work?”
“Yes. Everyone does. He has a gallery in town. You must be looking for another T. J. Marshall.”
“How many are there in Sawyer Bay?” he asked.
Two, Tenley thought to herself. Thomas James and Tenley Jacinda. “Only one,” she lied.
“And you know him. So you can introduce me. Tell me about him. How old is he? What’s his background? Has he done commercial illustration in the past?”
What was she supposed to say? That Tenley Jacinda Marshall was the T. J. Marshall he was looking for? That she was twenty-six years old, had never formally studied art or design, and had spent her entire life in Door County? And that she’d never intended anyone, outside of Josh Barton, to see her story?
“I know this will sell. It’s exactly what the market is looking for,” Alex continued. “A female protagonist, a story filled with moral dilemmas and great pictures.”
Was he really interested in paying her for the story? It would be nice to have some extra cash. Horse feed and vet care didn’t come cheap. And though her grandfather paid her well, she never felt as if she did enough to earn her salary. Still, with money came responsibility. She liked her life exactly the way it was—uncomplicated.
“I think I’ll make a salad,” she said.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her escape. “Promise you’ll introduce me,” Alex pleaded, catching her chin with his finger and turning her gaze to his. “This is important.”
“All right,” Tenley said. “I will. But not tonight.”
He laughed. “No, not tonight.” He bent close and dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then frowned. “Are you ever going to tell me anything about yourself?”
“I don’t lead a very exciting life,” Tenley murmured, as he smoothed his finger along her jaw. A shiver skittered down her spine. His touch was so addictive. She barely knew him, yet she craved physical contact. He’d come here to see her, but somehow she knew that revealing her identity would be a mistake—at least for the next twelve hours.
“You rescued me from disaster,” he said. “I could have frozen out there.”
“Someone would have come along sooner or later,” she said.
They continued preparations for dinner in relative silence. But the thoughts racing through Tenley’s mind were anything but quiet. In the past, it had always been so simple to take what she wanted from a man. Physical pleasure was just a natural need, or so she told herself. And though she chose carefully when it came to the men who shared her bed, she’d never hesitated when she found a suitable sexual partner.
This was different. There was an attraction here she’d never felt before, a connection that went beyond the surface. He was incredibly handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, and a body that promised to be close to
perfection once he removed his clothes. He was quite intelligent and witty. And he seemed perfectly capable of seducing her on his own.
It might be nice to be the seduced rather than the seducer, Tenley thought. But would he move fast enough? They only had this one night. Sometime tomorrow, he’d find out she was the artist also known as T. J. Marshall. And then everything would change.
“Would you like some more wine?” Alex asked.
Tenley nodded. “Sure.” The bottle was already halfempty. Where would they be when it was gone?
THEY HAD DINNER in front of the fire. The sexual tension between them wasn’t lost on Alex. By all accounts, the setting was impossibly romantic—a blazing fire, a snowstorm outside and the entire night ahead of them. With any other woman, he could have turned on the charm and had her within an hour. But there was something about Tenley that made him bide his time. She wasn’t just any woman and she seemed to see right through him.
In the twelve years he’d been actively pursing women, Alex had honed his techniques. He’d found that most women were turned off by a man who wanted jump into bed after just a few hours together. Though he usually felt the urge, he’d learned to control his desires. He never slept with a woman on the first date. Or the second. But by the third, there were no rules left to follow.
Now he was finding it difficult putting thoughts of seduction out of his head. He wasn’t sure he was reading the signs correctly. Though he found Tenley incredibly sexy, he wasn’t sure they were moving in that direction. One moment she seemed interested and the next, she acted as though she couldn’t care less.
Though the conversation between them was easy, it wasn’t terribly informative. He’d learned that Tenley had lived in Door County her entire life and that the cabin had belonged to her grandparents. Her father was an artist and her mother, a poet. Though she didn’t say for certain, he gleaned from her comments that they were divorced. When he asked where they lived, she’d quickly changed the subject.
She kept the conversation firmly focused on him, asking about his business, about his life in Chicago, about his childhood. She seemed particularly interested in the market for graphic novels and his interest in publishing them.
“My grandfather started the company in 1962,” Alex explained. “He used to do technical manuals, then started a line of how-to books, right about the time everyone was getting into home improvement. He retired and my father expanded our list to include other how-to titles. How to Groom a Poodle, How to Make a Soufflé, How to Play the Ukulele. Real page-turners.”
“And then you came along with an idea for graphic novels.”
“I’ve read comic books since I was a kid. But they’re not just comic books anymore. They’re an incredible mix of graphic art and story. They’ve turned some of the best ones into movies, so they’re starting to move into mainstream culture.”
“And this book by T. J. Marshall? Why do you like it?”
“It’s…tragic. There’s this heroine who, after a brush with death, discovers she can bring people back to life. But she’s forced to choose between those she can save and those not worthy. The power only works for a short time before it’s gone again. And there’s this governmental agency that’s after her. They want to use her powers for evil.”
“And you liked her—I mean, his art?”
“Yeah,” Alex replied. “The drawings have an energy about them, a rawness that matches the dark emotion in the story. I find it pretty amazing that someone could be such a great writer and an incredible artist, too.”
“So you just want to publish it? Just like that?”
Alex shook his head. “No. There are some things that need to be addressed. The story needs to be expanded. There’s a subplot that has to be fleshed out. I’ve got minor questions about the character, some inconsistencies in the backstory. And we’d want to explore a story arc for a sequel or two, maybe make it a trilogy.”
She frowned. “A trilogy?”
“Yeah. We’d want to publish more than one novel. The real success in publishing is not in buying a book, but in building a career.”
“So it pays a lot of money?”
“Not a lot. It would depend on how the books sold. But we have a great marketing department. I think they’d do really well. Well enough to provide a comfortable living for the artist.”
Tenley quickly stood and gathered up the remains of their dinner. He got to his feet and helped her, following her into the kitchen with the empty bottle of wine. Though he hadn’t quite figured out her mercurial mood changes, he was finding them less troublesome. She just moved more quickly from one thing to the next than the ordinary person, as if she became bored or distracted easily.
“Can I help you with the dishes?” he asked, standing beside her at the sink.
“Sure,” she murmured.
He reached across her for the soap, his hand brushing hers. The contact was startling in its effect on his body. A current raced up his arm, jolting him like an electric shock. Intrigued, he reached down and took her hand in his, smoothing his fingers over her palm.
“You have beautiful hands,” he said, examining her fingers. It was as if he knew these hands, knew exactly how they’d feel on his face, on his body. Her nails were painted a dark purple and she wore several rings on her fingers and thumb.
Alex slowly pulled them off, setting them down on the edge of the sink. It was like undressing her in a way, discovering the woman beneath all the accoutrements. He drew her hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of her wrist.
Her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes wide, filled with indecision. Alex held his breath, waiting for a reaction. He kissed a fingertip, then drew it across his lower lip. The gesture had the desired effect. She leaned into him and a moment later, their mouths met.
Unlike the experiment that was their first kiss, this was slow and delicious. She tasted sweet, like the wine they’d drunk. He pulled her close, smoothing his hands over her back until her body was pressed against his. Kissing her left him breathless, his heart slamming in his chest.
He ran his hands over her arms, then grasped her wrists and wrapped them around his neck. A tiny sigh slipped from her throat and she softened in his embrace, as if the kiss were affecting her as much as it was him.
Alex had made the same move with any number of women, but it had never had this kind of effect on him. What was usually carefully controlled need was now raw and urgent. He wanted to possess her, to get inside her soul and find out who this woman was. She was sweet and complicated and vulnerable and tough. And everything about her drew him in and made him want more.
Maybe that was it. He’d learned well how to read women, to play on their desires and to make them want him. But Tenley was a challenge. She didn’t react to his charm in the usual ways. Yet that wasn’t all he found so intriguing. She lived all alone in the woods, with a bunch of animals. Where was her family? Where were the people who cared about her? And how did a woman as beautiful as Tenley not have a boyfriend or a husband to take care of her?
He sensed there was something not right here, something he couldn’t explain. Alex felt an overwhelming need to reveal those parts of her that she was trying so hard to hide. She’d rescued him out on the road, but now he suspected that she was the one who needed saving.
The diversion was short-lived. The phone rang and, startled by the sound, Tenley stepped back. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips damp. “I—I should get that.”
Alex nodded as she slipped from his embrace. She hurried to the phone and picked it up, watching him from beneath dark lashes. He leaned back against the edge of the counter and waited, certain they’d begin again just as soon as the call was over. But when she hung up, she maintained her distance.
“Jesse towed your car into town,” she said.
“Good.”
“But not before the snowplow hit it. He says it’s not real bad. It’ll need a new back bumper and a side panel. And a taillight. And a few more things.”
Alex groaned. “Can I still drive it?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Great,” he muttered. “How the hell am I going to get around?”
“I guess I’ll have to drive you,” Tenley said. “You’re not going to be going anywhere tonight anyway, so it’s not worth worrying about. Jesse says the wind is just blowing the roads closed right after they plow them.” She crossed back to him. “I—I should go out and check on the horses.”
“I’ll come with you,” Alex suggested.
“It’s late. You’re probably tired. You can have the guest room. It’s at the end of the hall. There are towels in the closet outside the bathroom. Just help yourself.”
With that, she fetched her boots from a spot near the back door, then pulled on her jacket. A moment later, she stepped out into the storm. Alex opened the door behind her and watched as she disappeared into the darkness. The cold wind whipped a swirl of snow into his face and he quickly closed the door and leaned back against it.
