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
