Wedding at King's Convenience / Bedding the Secret Heiress: Wedding at King's Convenience

Jefferson King was a man meant to be ogled by women, she thought, eyeing his fine physique. Broad shoulders, narrow hips and large hands with more calluses on them than she would have imagined a Hollywood type to have. He had long legs, muscular thighs and a fine ass if anyone were to ask her opinion.

And he was only a temporary visitor to the lovely island she called home. She had to remember that. He’d only come to Ireland looking for a place to make a movie. He wasn’t here on the Donohue Farm because he found her fascinating. He was here to rent her land, nothing more. Once she’d signed his bloody papers, he’d be off. Back to his own world that lay so very far from hers.

Well. She didn’t like the thought of that.

And so, she continued to draw out the negotiations.

“They act like they haven’t eaten in weeks,” Jefferson said as he walked toward her.

“Aye, well, it’s cold out. That’ll make for heartier appetites.”

“Speaking of,” he hinted broadly.

They’d fallen into a routine of sorts since his arrival. Maura had hardly noticed it happening, but there it was. Jefferson spent most of the day at her farm, following her about, touting the merits of the deal he was trying to make her and then they ended the afternoon over a bowl of soup and some hot tea in her kitchen. Strange how she’d come to look forward to that time with him.

Still, she said, “You could ask the sheep to share their meal with you if you’re that hungry.”

“Tempting,” he said, pushing one hand through his hair to sweep it back off his forehead. “But I’d prefer some of that brown bread you gave me yesterday.”

“Fond of soda bread, are you?”

He looked down at her from his great height and she could have sworn she saw actual sparks glittering in his pale blue eyes. “I’m fond of a lot of things around here.”

“Oh, you’ve a smooth tongue on you, Jefferson King.” And her knees wobbled even more as she thought of the many uses that smooth tongue of his could be put to.

“Do I?”

“And well you know it,” she told him, plucking two long strands of her hair out of her eyes. “But you’re wasting your time trying to wheedle me into signing that contract of yours. I will or I won’t and nothing you can say will sway me in either direction.”

“Ah, but it’s my time, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” she said and was silently glad he hadn’t given up just yet.

In truth, she’d been considering his offer seriously since the moment he’d made it. Her mind had raced with possibilities. With the money he was offering her, she had tried to imagine what she could do to the centuries-old farmhouse that had been in her family for forever. Not to mention the changes she could make to the farm itself.

She already had a paid worker coming a few days a week, but with Jefferson King’s money, she would be able to hire someone full-time, to help ease the workload. And even with all that, she’d still have money left over to make a fine cushion in her bank account.

But she wasn’t entirely ready to agree to his terms just yet. He’d already sweetened his offer once and she’d no doubt he would do so again. Yes, he could find another farm just as suitable for his needs, but he wouldn’t find a prettier one, Maura told herself. Besides, he’d already told her he thought the Donohue land was perfect.

Which meant he wouldn’t be withdrawing his offer. And Maura, coming from a long line of wily horse traders, was going to make sure she got the very best deal she could. It wasn’t greed motivating her, either. Just think what a movie crew would do to her well-ordered life, not to mention her home and land. She’d need some of the money he would pay her just to put to rights the sorry mess they would no doubt leave behind.

While she stared at him, his gaze moved past her, scanning the surrounding countryside. As she’d grown up on Donohue land, and knew every inch of it as well as Tarzan knew the jungle, she didn’t have to look to know what he was seeing. Green fields as far as the eye could see. Stone fences rising up from the ground like ancient sentinels. The shadow of the Partry Mountains looming behind them and the whole of Lough Mask stretching out in front of them, its silvery surface looking on this gray day like molten steel frothing in the wind. Across the way, a tumbled ruin of an ancient castle slept as if only waiting for the clang of a sword to wake it. Sheep wandered these hills freely as they had for centuries and would, no doubt, for centuries to come. The Irish wind kissed the land and the rain blessed it and those who lived here appreciated every single acre as no outsider ever could.

The village of Craic was only two kilometers down the long, twisting road and dotted along the way were B and Bs, a few more farmhouses and even one palatial mansion belonging to one Rogan Butler and his wife, Aly, who now spent most of their time in Dublin.

But here in the middle of her own fields, she and Jefferson might as well have been the only two people on the planet. A latter-day Adam and Eve, without the fig leaves, thanks very much, and surrounded by bleating sheep.

“Did I tell you,” he said, shattering the quiet between them, “that my great-grandmother was Irish?”

“You mean Mary Frances Rafferty King who was born in County Sligo and met your great-grandfather when he was taking a tour of Ireland? He saw her in a pub. On a Tuesday, wasn’t it?” Maura smiled. “Aye, you might have mentioned her once or twice.”

He grinned at her. “Didn’t mean to bore you.”

“Did I say I was bored?”

“No.” He stepped closer and she felt the heat of him reaching for her, charging the icy air. “But let me know if you feel yourself nodding off and I’ll try harder to enchant you.”

“You mean to say you’ve got to try to be appealing?” she quipped, taking a quick step or two back from him. “I’m disappointed. Here I thought you were just a born charmer.”

“Did you?” he asked, closing the distance between them again with a single, long step. “Now, isn’t that interesting?”

“I didn’t say your charm was working on me, mind you,” Maura told him, enjoying their sparring far too much. It had been a long time since she’d met a man who appealed to her on so many different levels. A shame, she reminded herself, that he was only here temporarily. Better that she keep that thought in mind before her body and heart became too involved for their own good.

“You can’t fool me, Maura. I’m wearing you down.”

“Is that right?”

“It is,” he said. “You haven’t threatened to throw me off your property in almost—” he checked his watch “—six hours.”

Still smiling, she said, “I could remedy that right now.”

“Ah, but you don’t want to.”

“I don’t?” That smile of his should be considered a lethal weapon, she told herself.

“No,” he said, “because you actually like having me around, whether you’ll admit to it or not.”

Well, he was right about that now, wasn’t he, she thought. But then what single woman in her right mind wouldn’t enjoy having a man such as Jefferson King about the house? It wasn’t every day a rich, gorgeous man showed up on her doorstep wanting to rent her farm. Could she really help it if she was enjoying the negotiations so much that she was rather dragging the process out?

“Admit it,” he said, his voice low enough that it was barely more than a breath. “I dare you.”

“You’ll find, Jefferson,” she said softly, lifting her eyes to meet his, “that if I want you…around, I’ll have no trouble admitting it. To you or to myself.”

Chapter Two

In the village of Craic, Jefferson King was big news and Maura had half the town nagging her to sign his silly papers so they could all “get famous.” Not a moment went by when she didn’t hear someone’s opinion on the subject.

But she wasn’t going to be hurried into a decision. Not by her friends, not by her sister and not by Jefferson. She’d give him her answer when she was ready and not before.

She should have thought twice about suggesting to him they go to the village pub for supper. Should have known that her friends and neighbors would pounce on the opportunity to engage Jefferson in conversation while managing to give Maura a nudge or two at the same time. But, the truth was, she had been feeling far too…itchy to trust herself alone in her house with him. He was a fine-looking man after all, and her hormones had been doing a fast step-dance since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him.

Now, Maura had to wonder if coming into the Lion’s Den pub for a meal hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

Of course, she was surrounded by villagers, so there was no chance at all her hormones would be able to take over her good sense. But the downside was, she was surrounded by villagers, all of whom were vying for Jefferson’s attentions.

In early December, the interior of the pub was dim, with lamplight gleaming dully on paneled walls stained with centuries of smoke from the peat fires kept burning in a brazier. The floor was wood as well, scuffed from the steps of thousands of patrons. There were several small round tables with chairs gathered close and a handful of booths lining two of the walls. The bar itself was highly polished walnut that Michael O’Shay, the pub owner, kept as shiny as a church pew. And beside the wide mirror reflecting the crowd back on itself, there was a television perched high on a shelf, displaying a soccer game with the sound muted.

Michael sauntered up to their table with a perfectly stacked pint of Guinness beer for Jefferson and a glass of Harp beer for Maura. As he set them down, he gave a swift, unnecessary swipe of the gleaming table with a pristine bar rag. Then he beamed at them both like Father Christmas. “I’ll have your soup and bread up for you in a moment. It’s potato-leek today. My Margaret made it and you’ll enjoy it I’m sure. When your movie folk arrive,” he added with a grin for Jefferson, “I’ll see that Margaret makes it by the boatload for you.”