One-Click Buy: February 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Betina Krahn

  “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 thank-you 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 half-empty. 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.

  What had begun as a simple business trip had taken a rather interesting turn. But he wasn’t sure whether he ought to take his chances and hike into town, or spend the night under the same roof as this utterly captivating and perplexing woman.

  He grabbed his duffel and walked to the guest room. When he finally found the light switch, he was surprised to find two cats curled up on the bed. T
he two calicos were sleeping so closely, he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Neither one of them stirred as he dropped the bag on the floor. But when the dogs came bounding into the room, they opened their eyes and watched the pair with wary gazes.

  “Time to go,” he said, picking them each up and gently setting them on the floor. They ran out the door, the dogs following after them.

  Alex shut the door, then flopped down on the bed. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift back to the kiss he’d shared with Tenley. Though he hadn’t had any expectations of further intimacies, he wished they hadn’t been interrupted. With each step forward, he found himself curious about the next.

  Though he’d enjoyed physical pleasure with lots of women, this was different. Everything felt…new. As if he were experiencing it for the first time. He groaned softly. He wanted her, in his arms and in his bed. But wanting her was as far as he would go. He was a guest in her house and wasn’t about to take advantage, no matter how intense his need.

  He’d come here to do a job, to sign T. J. Marshall to a publishing contract. It wouldn’t do to get distracted from his purpose.

  2

  THE WATER WAS SO COLD and black. Even with her eyes open, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Stay awake, stay awake. A voice inside her head kept repeating the refrain. Or was it Tommy? Was he saying the words?

  Her nails clawed at the fitting on the hull of the boat as it bobbed in the water. Stay with the boat. Don’t try to swim for shore. Though she wore a life jacket, Tenley knew that sooner or later her body temperature would drop so low it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t drown. She’d just quietly go to sleep and drift out into the lake.

  “Tommy!” She called his name and then felt his hand on hers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She grasped at his fingers, but they weren’t there. He wasn’t there. He’d decided to swim for it, ordering her to stay with the boat. “I’ll be back for you,” he called. “I promise.”