agreed to participate. They were scheduled to start filming in five days. A filmmaker of Dex Kennedy’s caliber and reputation would legitimize the project to the industry.
With the help of Quinn’s researcher, Ian Stephens, and with Dex Kennedy as her coproducer, they’d create something that celebrated Miss Quinn’s long and colorful career and make a film that would be shown all over the world—maybe even at Cannes or Sundance. She would have proved herself as a producer. No one would be able to doubt her then.
But first she had to find Dex Kennedy. The road wound down a long hill and suddenly the directions made sense. “Turn right at the blue cottage with the thatched roof,” she repeated, “and drive until the bushes come over the car.” She bumped along on a rutted road for what seemed like forever, and just as she was ready to turn back, she saw a long line of bushes arched over the lane. “Make another right at the stone wall next to the old abbey.” And again, the wall and a ruined abbey appeared.
Marlie smiled. Maybe she’d been a little harsh on herself. Claire Kennedy’s directions had been spot-on, once she’d actually figured out where she was.
The landscape offered a beautiful view of rolling hills crisscrossed by dry stone walls and the sea beyond. Like every spot in Ireland, the green of the hills here was so vivid that it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it. Perhaps it was the sun, which seemed to hang lower in the sky, always shining from behind fluffy white clouds. Marlie wondered if the landscape would look as beautiful onscreen as it did to her eyes.
She saw the sign for the village before she saw the small gathering of cottages and outbuildings. Though she was only a half hour outside Killarney, this seemed like a place out of another time.
There were no numbers on the cottages, but Claire’s description of the place was enough to locate it. She pulled up in front of an overgrown privet hedge and got out of the Fiat. The front garden was unkempt, the summer perennials now faded in the early-November chill.
Marlie drew a deep breath and started up the stone walk, running over her sales pitch in her head. She hoped to appeal to his sense of national pride. Who better to film this documentary about a great Irish writer than a great Irish filmmaker? He was the best person to tell this story. And it would be a nice change of pace for him, give him a chance to sleep in his own bed.
Marlie bit back a groan. Was that even a factor for a guy like Dex Kennedy? He’d been to Sierra Leone and Chechnya, Libya and Afghanistan, living in primitive conditions to get the best stories. He probably didn’t worry about creature comforts....
Marlie rapped sharply on the front door. A few seconds later, it swung open. Her breath caught in her throat as a tall man stared at her in curiosity. His shirt was unbuttoned down the front, revealing a smooth expanse of skin and muscle. And his raven hair, shaggy and thick, was tousled around his face, as if he’d just crawled out of bed.
All she could manage for a greeting was a pathetic squeak. “Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied. His gaze fixed on hers and his brow furrowed. Marlie urged herself to state her case as quickly as she could before he tossed her out. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think about anything but how incredibly handsome Dex Kennedy was in real life.
She’d seen photos, but they just hadn’t done him justice, as he’d usually been wearing sunglasses and a cap pulled low over his eyes—the silent partner in the pair. He’d always managed to make himself seem very mysterious...and a little dangerous, too. But now, without cap or sunglasses, she realized he had striking features, high cheekbones and a perfectly straight nose, a strong chin and lips that were...very kissable. She swallowed hard. He was, most definitely, the kind of man who made a girl’s knees weak and her heart pound.
Marlie searched for a flaw in his face and had almost given up when she noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He looked as if he’d been out late the night before. Marlie wondered if lack of sleep might make him more irritable and less likely to listen to her proposal. She decided to proceed carefully.
“My sister mentioned you’d be calling,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in, then. I’m Dex. Dex Kennedy.”
Oh, that accent. If his looks hadn’t unnerved her, then his voice would finish the job. Deep and rich, each word lilted with the sound of Ireland. She thought she’d grown used to it over the past few weeks, but obviously she hadn’t.
“And you might be?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten if my sister told me your name.”
“Marlie. Marlie Jenner,” she said.
Well, this was off to a good start, she thought. He hadn’t slammed the door in her face. Maybe Claire had decided to pave the way for her.
“Come on,” he said.
Marlie realized she’d been frozen on the front step. She picked up her foot to move, concentrating on projecting a confident air. “Thank you,” she said.
“It’s a bit chilly in here,” he said. “We’ve been keeping the temperature down to save on heating costs. Let me show you the kitchen. It’s this way. Tea?”
Marlie followed him, not sure what there was to see in the kitchen or why it seemed so important to him to show her. Though her job really didn’t include fixing tea, she was willing to make quite a few concessions to get Dex to agree to her project. Besides, making tea might give her a little more time to collect her composure.
“I could make you some tea,” she offered.
“Only if you’d like some,” he said.
“Actually, I prefer coffee.”
“Would you like coffee?”
“No,” Marlie said.
An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Maybe she was a little starstruck. After all, this was Dex Kennedy, award-winning filmmaker. And he was hot.
“What do you think?” Dex finally said.
“About?”
“I know, it’s not a very posh setup. But everything works, it’s just a little old. You have your cooker and your oven. There’s no microwave and not many modern conveniences. I guess some people might find it charming.”
“Yes. It is that.”
“I suppose you’ll want to see the bedrooms?” Once again, his gaze met hers, but this time it lingered just a little longer than necessary. Was he feeling the same strange attraction as she was? Or was this all in her overactive imagination?
“They’re this way,” he finally said, leading her back out into the living room. She walked behind him, taking the chance to admire the muscular shoulders beneath the faded cotton shirt. Her attention dropped lower and focused on his backside...just as he suddenly stopped and turned around.
His brow rose and she thought she saw a tiny twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Go right in,” he murmured. “Do you want to test out the mattress?”
Marlie’s heart slammed in her chest. Was this some kind of game he was playing, trying to shake her confidence? Or was it a test to see just how far she’d go to get what she wanted? Though it wouldn’t be difficult to fall into bed with this man.
“Mr.
