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

“It’s time you found out, don’t you think?”

“And just who should I ask?” Even as he said the words though, he knew what the answer would be.

Sure enough, a moment later, Michael said, “Talk to Maura. She’ll tell you or not as she pleases. But don’t come into Craic looking for friends until you do.”

The men at the table behind him muttered agreement, but Jefferson paid them no attention at all. Why was the town one step short of a mob threatening to tar and feather him?

And why was he still standing there when he knew where he could go to get some answers?

“Fine. I’m here to talk to Maura anyway. I’ll settle this with her and then you and I are going to have a talk.”

“I look forward to it.”

He left the pub at a brisk walk and headed straight for his rental car. The rain pelted at him as if Heaven were throwing icy pebbles down just to elevate his misery. He felt the stares of dozens of people watching him as he went and realized that he’d fully expected to solve this problem with ease.

He’d had friends here, damn it. What could have happened to change that so completely? And why was Maura the key?

He fired up the engine and steered the small sports car down the narrow road leading out of town and toward Maura. It was time to get some answers.

The muddy track was familiar, and despite the carefully banked anger inside him, there was something else within, too. A curl of anticipation at the thought of seeing Maura again. He didn’t want it. Had fought the very memory of her for months. But being here again fed the flames he’d been trying to extinguish.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. He wasn’t here to indulge in his desire for a woman who’d made no secret of the fact that she wasn’t interested. He wasn’t going to walk blindly back down a path he’d already traveled.

Besides, he was wet, tired and just this side of miserable when he pulled the rental car into Maura’s drive. Through the heavy mist and low-hanging clouds, the manor house sat like a beacon of light. Its whitewashed walls, dark green shutters and bright blue door belied the gray day and the jewel-colored flowers bursting from pots on either side of the door valiantly stood against an icy wind.

On the far side of the yard, three RVs, a tent and the equipment that made up a film shoot were staggered. People bustled about, though Jefferson knew the actors would be tucked inside their trailers, waiting out the weather. Between the rain and the delays caused by an uncooperative Maura and friends, Jefferson could practically hear money being flushed down the drain.

Frustrated with the entire situation, Jefferson opened the car door to a fresh wall of wet, and once he was standing on the sodden gravel drive slammed the door closed again.

Heads turned. Worker bees, the PA, Harry the director, all looked at him, but when Harry made to walk toward him, Jefferson held him back with one upraised hand. He wanted to talk to Maura before he got any more information.

“And she’d better have some damn answers,” he muttered, soles of his shoes sliding on the wet gravel.

With anger churning in his gut, he started for the house. He didn’t notice the charm of the place now. Paid no attention to the half-dozen or so spring lambs chasing each other through the fenced front yard.

He didn’t even slow down when someone shouted a warning, so he was taken by surprise when a black dog as big as a small bear charged from the corner of the house and made straight for him.

“Jesus Christ!” Jefferson’s shout of surprise was raw and hoarse, scraping from his throat loud enough to carry over the deranged barking filling the air.

Instantly, the front door flew open. Maura stepped into the rain and said sharply, “King!”

The dog skidded to a stop on the gravel, its momentum carrying it into Jefferson, who swayed, but held his ground against the heavy impact. Still startled, Jefferson looked down into a smiling dog face, complete with sharp black eyes and a tongue the size of a flag lolling out the side of its mouth.

The dog’s huge head was waist high on Jefferson, and the dog had to weigh at least a hundred pounds.

“It is a pony,” he said, remembering Harry’s comment.

“Irish wolfhound,” Maura told him, then added, “He meant no harm. He was only greeting you, as he’s a baby yet and a poor judge of character.”

He ground his back teeth together and shifted a look at her. “His name’s King? You named him after me?”

Her mouth twisted into a brief sneer. “Aye, I did as he’s a son of a bitch, as well.”

Jefferson wasn’t amused. He looked into her dark blue eyes and saw a river of emotions shining out at him. They were shifting, changing even as he watched, so that he wasn’t sure if she was going to throw something at him or rush into his arms, however belatedly. A moment later, he had his answer.

“Why’re you here?”

The music of her accent didn’t soften her words any. She faced him down as the wind lifted her long black hair into a dance about her head. She was beautiful and stubborn and the most fascinating woman he’d ever known.

Because of her, he’d hopped a plane and flown thousands of miles only to be treated like a leper by people he’d considered friends.

“You mean, why am I standing in the rain in front of a hardheaded woman who isn’t honoring the contract she signed?” He snapped the words out and noticed she didn’t so much as flinch. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“Your people are littering the street in front of my house at this very moment,” she challenged, “so I’m thinking I’m honoring what was between us a good deal more than you have.”

“You know,” he said, shoving the monstrously huge dog off his legs so that he could stalk toward the porch. And her. “I’ve been back in Ireland about an hour and in that short amount of time, I’ve been rained on, had a flat tire, got mud in my shoes and been insulted by everyone I’ve spoken to. So I’m not in the mood to listen to more obscure references to what a bastard I am. If you’ve got a problem with me,” he added, stopping just short of the porch, “then tell me what it is so I can fix it.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. She crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her chin and said, “I’m pregnant. Fix that.”

Chapter Six

She slammed the door an instant later.

Eyes wide, heart pounding in her chest, Maura leaned back against the door and tried to catch her breath. She shivered slightly and couldn’t be sure if it was the bitter spring weather or the ice in Jefferson’s pale blue eyes that had made her feel cold down to the bone. She only knew that seeing him again had shaken her. Shaken her so badly she couldn’t afford to let him see it.

Bad enough he’d shown up on her doorstep without so much as a phone call in warning. “But then,” she murmured aloud, “the man obviously doesn’t know how to use a bloody phone now, does he, since I’ve been calling him for more than three months now with no success.”

And yet here he was.

At her front door, looking half-drowned and furious with it and still so tempting everything in her wanted to shout for glee at seeing him again. Even though she knew better, Maura felt that familiar need for him rise up inside her. She should have been prepared for this. Somehow, she should have known.

Of course he’d come back to Ireland. If not to see her, then to check on his blasted movie people. Yet, even if she had expected to see him, she doubted she would have been prepared for the delicious licks of want and desire that swept through her with just a single look into the man’s eyes.

“He had the right of it. He is a bastard.” She leaned her head back against the closed door and waited for him to start pounding on it.

Jefferson wasn’t the kind of man who’d hear the news she’d just delivered and then disappear as quickly as he could. Oh no, he’d be demanding entry in another moment or two. And then he’d be righteous and full of himself and expecting explanations and details.

Though she’d been trying for months to give him exactly that, right now, she was in no mind to speak with him at all.

Mostly because her stomach was still spinning from that first sight of him. And because her hands itched to slap or hold she wasn’t sure which and mostly, because he was Jefferson.

God help her, it didn’t seem to matter that she was furious with him. Her heart was still full of him and she couldn’t seem to dig him out despite how hard she tried. Which only made her even more furious with herself than she was with him.

And who would have thought that possible?

A heartbeat later, several loud thuds came from right behind her head. She knew without looking out the window that he was using his fist to batter at her door. Her heartbeat quickened and low in her belly something stirred, buzzing awake feelings that had been lying fallow for weeks now. Like a limb waking from a deep sleep, there were pinpricks of awareness tingling across every inch of her skin.

“Damn it, Maura, open the door!”