Chapter One
“You think I’m charming,” Jefferson King said with a smug smile. “I can tell.”
“Charming, is it?” Maura Donohue straightened up to her full, if less-than-imposing height. “Do you believe I’m so easily swayed by a smooth-talking man?”
“Easily?” Jefferson laughed. “We’ve known each other for the better part of a week now, Maura, and I can say with certainty there’s nothing ‘easy’ about you.”
“Well now,” she countered with a smile of her own. “Isn’t that a lovely thing to say.”
She was pleased. Jefferson read the truth on her features. No other woman he’d ever known would have been complimented by knowing that a man thought her difficult. But then, Maura Donohue was one in a million, wasn’t she?
He’d known it the moment he met her.
In Ireland scouting locations for an upcoming movie from King Studios, Jefferson had stumbled across Maura’s sheep farm in County Mayo and had realized instantly that it was just what he’d been searching for. Of course, convincing Maura of that fact was something else again.
“You know,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the white-washed stone wall of the barn, “most people would be leaping at the chance to make some easy money.”
She flipped her long black hair behind her shoulder, narrowed sea-blue eyes on him and countered, “There you are again, using the word ‘easy,’ when you’ve already admitted I’m not a woman accustomed to taking the easy way.”
He sighed and shook his head. The woman had an answer for everything but damned if she wasn’t intriguing enough that he was enjoying himself. As the head of King Studios, Jefferson was more accustomed to people falling all over themselves to accommodate him. When he rolled into a town looking to pay top dollar for the use of a location, those he dealt with were always eager to sign on the dotted line and collect their cash.
Not Maura, though.
For days now, he’d been coming to the Donohue farm to talk to its stubborn owner/operator. He’d plied Maura with compliments, tempted her with promises of mountains of money he knew damn well she could ill afford to turn down and in general had tried to make himself too amiable to resist.
Yet she’d managed.
“You’re in my way,” she said.
“Sorry.” Jefferson stepped aside so she could walk past him carrying a sack of God-knew-what. His every instinct told him to snatch the heavy load out of her arms and carry it for her. But she wouldn’t accept or appreciate his offer at help.
She was fiercely independent, with a quick wit, sharp tongue and a body that he’d spent far too much time thinking about. Her thick black hair fell in soft waves to the middle of her back and he itched to gather it up in his hands to feel its sleekness sliding across his skin. She had a stubborn chin that she tended to lift when making a point and a pair of dark blue eyes fringed by long, inky-black lashes.
She was dressed in worn jeans and a heavy Irish knit sweater that covered most of her curves. But winter in Ireland meant damp, cold weather so he could hardly blame her for bundling up. Still, he hoped she invited him into her house for a cup of tea, because then she’d strip that sweater off to reveal a shirt that gave him a much better peek at what she kept hidden.
But for now, he followed her out of the barn into an icy wind that slapped at his face and stung his eyes as if daring him to brave the Irish countryside. His ears were cold and his overcoat wasn’t nearly warm enough. He made a mental note to do some shopping in the village. Buy a heavier coat if he could find one and a few of the hand-knit sweaters. Couldn’t hurt to endear himself to the local merchants. He’d want everyone in the tiny town of Craic on his side as he tried to sway Maura into renting King Studios the use of her farm.
“Where are we going?” he shouted into the wind and could have sworn he actually saw the wind throw his words back at him.
“We’re not going anywhere,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m going to the high pasture to lay out a bit more feed.”
“I could help,” he said.
She turned and looked him over, her gaze pausing on his well-shined, expensive black shoes. Smirking then, she said, “In those fine shoes? They’ll be ruined in a moment, walking through the grass and mud.”
“Why not let me worry about my shoes?”
Lifting that stubborn chin of hers, she said, “Spoken like a man who needn’t worry about where his next pair of shoes might come from.”
“Is it all rich people you don’t like,” Jefferson asked, an amused smile on his face, “or is it just me?”
She grinned back at him, completely unabashed. “Well now, that’s an interesting question, isn’t it?”
Jefferson laughed. The women he was used to were more coy. More willing to agree with him no matter what he said. They didn’t voice opinions for fear he wouldn’t share them. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in way too long.
And it wasn’t just the women, either, he mused. It was everyone he knew back in Hollywood.
Came from not only being a member of a prominent family, but from being the head of a studio where dreams could be made or shattered on the whim of an executive. Too many people were trying too hard to stay on his good side. It was refreshing as hell to find someone who didn’t care if he had a good side.
Maura slammed the gate of her small, beat-up lorry, then leaned back against it. Folding her arms over her chest in a classic defensive posture she asked, “Why are you trying so hard, Jefferson King? Is it the challenge of winning me over that’s driving you? Are you not used to hearing the word ‘no’?”
“I don’t hear it often, that’s true.”
“I imagine you don’t. A man like you with his fine shoes and his full wallet. Probably you’re welcome wherever you go, aren’t you?”
“You have something against a full wallet?”
“Only when it’s thrown in my face every few minutes.”
“Not thrown,” he corrected. “Offered. I’m offering you a small fortune for the lease of your land for a few weeks. How is that an insult?”
Her mouth worked as if she were fighting a smile. “Not an insult, to be sure. But your stubborn determination to win me over is a curiosity.”
“As you said, I do love a challenge.” Every King did. And Maura Donohue was the most interesting one he’d had in a long time.