Another Notch in the Beltway (3 page)

“Sure, don't you agree, Lenore?” MP asked.

“I'm willing to give it a try,” she answered.

“Good, now to financial arrangements should the project get picked up. It might be a bit premature but I'd like all the issues addressed up front.” Nikko began.

“I thought we'd split the profits 50/50 with you taking your usual percentage, Nik,” Lenore offered.

“But, lass, I know you make a fair bit more than I do,” MP said without ego.

“It doesn't matter; it's a neat clean transaction that way. Plus, I don't know a thing about contemporary romance. Presumably you, on the other hand, MP, know a thing or two about being a man.”

“Yes, a thing or two,” he agreed, amused. “Perhaps one day I'll even show you.” His brogue was heavier now and mischief danced in his cloudless blue eyes.

Lenore smiled back but thought, yes, I'll have to watch this one.

Several weeks later, MP and Lenore/LaSandra met at her Yardley home. She had a large office and they had decided it was as good a place as any to brainstorm and plan what they were going to do and how. He was staying at the Hampton Suites, only a couple miles from her house.

Addy was fluttering like a butterfly on speed in a purple silky batik top.

“Stop already,” Lenore told her.

Addy looked at her questioningly.

“You're flitting around for no reason. Go and read some fan letters, update the web site, do something before I shoot you.”

“Sorry, La, I'm excited to meet Michael Patrick Finnegan. I've read all his books, and they are so yum.”

Lenore rolled her eyes and shuddered. You'd never believe that Addy had a brain in her head if all you did was listen to her speak, but she was very bright and competent, so as much as she annoyed her, Lenore tolerated her eccentricities.

“Save your yum for him, and get some work done. Have you made the changes to the first three chapters of
Moon Over the Garden
?” She had a little secret that she shared with no one. All of her titles had the word moon in them somewhere. It was her little joke, moon was for the bare butts that were often exposed in the moonlight, thus the titles of her books
Moon Over the Garden
,
Under the Full Moon
,
Midnight Moon
,
Cloudy Moon
,
Moon Over Westcliff Castle
, and so on. If anyone ever discovered her secret, they'd probably excommunicate her from the Romance Writers Association. She smiled.

Addy had been speaking, and she had heard not a word, “I'm sorry, Addison, what did you say?”

“Yes, the chapters are edited, and they should be on your computer.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to her computer and went to work.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and Addy all but skipped to get it.

She could hear her admin's excited voice talking to MP. Lenore smiled, sure that the woman would be swooning over him at any moment.

“I've been with Ms. Lacy for five years now, and it's been wonderful,” Addy gushed as she entered the office.

“Ms. Lacy, Mr. Finnegan is here.”

“Please call me MP,” he said to her.

Addison giggled and blushed. “Would you like some coffee?”

Lenore couldn't remember the last time Addy offered to bring her coffee.

“I'm fine, lass, but thank you all the same.”

Yup, the swoon was coming any second now.

“Addison, I'd like a cup, thanks,” Lenore said, more for spite than anything.

“Grand place you have here, Ms. Lacy,” MP said, smiling.

“Please, it's Lenore. For some reason, Addy insists on keeping in character.”

“Hmm.” He smiled.

“Here's your coffee, Ms. Lacy; is there anything else?”

“We'll be fine thanks, Addy.”

She left closing the door behind her.

One wall of the office was comprised totally of French doors that led to a deck with a stairway going down, overlooking her backyard and pool. MP was taking in the view.

“I love the pool and often work outside. I'm always dismayed when summer ends and the pool has to be closed for the winter,” Lenore said, noticing his gaze.

“Summer girl, are you?”

“Yes, there's something about being able to be outside in the light until nine o'clock. I hate the cold and dark of late fall and winter.”

“I'm distracted by the sun myself. It's rainy and misty a lot in Dublin. When the sun is out, I like to go into the country and feel the warmth of its rays on my face.” Then turning back to the room, he added, “I like your office, too.”

The space was well appointed with heavy, rich walnut furniture and comfortable, overstuffed, distressed leather chairs and couches. There were bookcases filled to overflowing and books, stacked artfully, topped with glass that served as coffee and end tables.

“It gives me sanctuary from the rest of the crazy world.”

“Everyone needs a private hideaway now and again. Mine, too, is my office.”

“Come sit,” she said motioning with a slim graceful hand.

They each sat on a chair that flanked the flagstone fireplace.

He steepled his chin on his two index fingers and looked at her. She returned his gaze, his eyes intent on hers.

“Your eyes are beautiful, lass. They change like rare opals when the light hits them, sometimes blue, sometimes green, and sometimes an intoxicating mix of the two.”

She looked at him for a moment, said nothing, then offered, “Thank you.”

“I didn't mean to embarrass you,” he said as the pink blush tinted her cheeks.

“Have you given any thought as to how you want to tackle this project?” she asked, totally ignoring his comment.

“Yes, many, in fact. I'm sure you have as well.” He winked at her.

She simply continued. “You're right. But this is your genre so, at least for now, I'm going to defer to your expertise.”

“At least for now? At some point do you intend to become the alpha on the project?”

She actually thought about her choice of words. “I should warn you I sometimes have a tendency to take over. I'm fairly independent and do what I want to do.”

“And the consequences be damned?”

She paused and remembered how she had thought she knew best when it came to her son's father, then spoke, “Yes, but I take responsibility for the consequences.”

“I'm sure you do.” he replied evenly, watching her shift in her seat and changed the subject. “Why don't we switch off? I'll give an idea, and then you'll give one. More of a give-and-take.”

“Sure, let me get a notepad. I'll write the ideas down. Kind of like a brainstorming session. You first,” she said as she sat down again, pad and pen in hand.

She crossed her long legs out of habit. They were clad in black leggings and on top she wore a black ruched tunic that showed a hint of cleavage. Lenore watched his eyes start at her bare feet with their pink painted toes and travel unashamedly up her body.

“No laptop or tablet?” he asked when his eyes finally settled on her face again.

“Not for this. If you want a copy, I'll make you one, or if you can't read my handwriting, I'm sure Addy would willingly put it in Word for you.” She gave him a placid smile, hoping her face was not bright red, inflamed as the rest of her was starting to feel.

“She's a fan. She told me,” he commented, his eyes not leaving her face.

“Yes, but I'm sure that's the reaction you'll get a lot once you come out of the closet. Are you sure you and the women in your life are ready for that?”

“I'm kind of a homebody, so a few adoring fans at a book signing shouldn't be too hard to handle. There are no women in my life, at present. I think coming out as a man will help sales. People, I'm guessing mostly women, will want to get a man's take on romance.

“Money.” It was a statement.

“Yes, money, lass, it makes the world go round.”

“It does at that, laddie.”

He laughed, and then grew serious. “I have medical bills that are threatening to bankrupt me. My nephew had a brain tumor, and my sister didn't have the funds for private doctors and hospitals. You know, we have socialized medicine in Ireland, and my nephew was ruled a hopeless case, so getting him anything but hospice care was out of the question. I paid for his surgery and treatment. He beat the cancer only to be killed in an automobile accident along with my sister. He was ten.”

She gasped. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks, but I'd do it all over again. I don't have children of my own, but I can't imagine loving a child more than if he was mine.”

His eyes welled up and held hers; he was not embarrassed to let her see the raw emotion that dwelled there. Most men would have looked away and quickly changed the subject, most women, too, for that matter.

Lenore, her own eyes filling but still locked on his, said again gently, “MP, I'm sorry. I had no idea. If anything happened to my son, I don't know what I'd do.”

“I didn't know you had a son.”

“Yes, he's a senior at Georgetown, going to Yale Law next year. I'm very proud of him. He's the light of my life.”

MP smiled warmly, a real smile and not the high-voltage stage smile. “It seems like you have good reason to be proud.”

She gave a Mona Lisa smile and thought, there's more to this man than the package reveals. He's warm, compassionate, and has a sense of family.
Can't judge a book by its cover
flitted through her mind.

“Okay, you were going to tell me what you were thinking about relative to our book collaboration.” She wanted to get back on track; she had no intention of getting personal this quickly. When working closely with another individual, it's natural that personal stories and secrets come out but not in the first twenty minutes.

MP began, “I was thinking that whatever story we decide to tell, it would be fun for you to write the female parts and for me to write the male parts. Like a back-and-forth and together kind of thing.”

Lenore began. “Something like: When he dropped her off, he kissed her breathless and stupid on the porch. Then simply disengaged and loped back to his car on those long, strong, sexy legs, leaving her panting and aroused. And you'd write: He kissed her hard and left her wanting more. He knew it. He would have taken more. Jesus, he needed more as his cock painfully reminded him in the tight jeans, but he knew he had to make her want it, want him. So he'd left her stupefied, hot, and wet.”

“Yes, exactly, very good, Ms. Lacy. Now it's your turn.”

“I thought it might be fun to write about a couple who is doing exactly what we're doing, collaborating on a book or some other project. One thing leads to another, and you know the rest. I think that would have potential in the marketplace, especially once you come out.”

A slow smile crossed his face and he said, “Life imitating art.”

“I guess.”

“Almost sounds dangerous.”

“How so?”

“It'll be a love story, yes?”

“A romance, you can have romance without love.”

“Can you?”

Lenore shrugged; she never thought you needed love for romance. It might be nice but was it essential? You could certainly have love without romance. She was thinking that this plot line would have worked better if she had kept her mouth shut and wrote it herself.

“I guess we'll write the book and see. Let the story tell itself.”

“To a point, but it still needs to be shaped.”

“Agreed, but don't you find your characters take on a life of their own? Don't you find yourself thinking that's not what Lady Westcott would say or do?”

“Yes.”

“And on occasion doesn't something happen or evolve that you didn't plan or think about? A new twist or turn that often adds to the story? A murder? An assignation? An illegitimate heir?”

“Of course.”

“Then we start writing and let nature take its course, so to speak.” He raised his eyebrows at her and his eyes glimmered with what? Amusement, excitement, creativity?

“Will that work with the two of us, do you think?” She pretended she didn't get his double entendre.

“It will be better, especially if we take different paths to get to the same ends.”

“And if we don't reach the same ends?”

“We're writing a romance; there has to be a happily-ever-after.”

“No romantic tragedy?”

“No, we need an HEA. People buy romance, because they want the happy ending. So often in life, there isn't one,” MP said with conviction.

She thought about Addy saying the exact same thing not too long ago.

“Escapism,” she commented simply.

“Yes, or wishful thinking. The human spirit looks for love to triumph regardless of the hurdles that might be thrust in its way.”

She laughed. “Are you a psychologist by training?”

He shook his head. “Merely a person who studies people.”

“Hmm.”

“You're thinking I'm full of blarney?”

“Hmm,” she said again with a small smirk and then, “So, you like the idea?”

“Very much.

Amanda Loring saw him all smug, arrogant, and pure male, leaning against the bar. His look was lingering and appreciative. She held his gaze a moment longer than necessary and then continued into the room. Amanda was looking for her agent, Jake Bishop. He should be here somewhere. There he was. She smiled, waved and went to meet him.

Oh baby, Casper Grossman thought as she entered the room. The woman, not three feet from him, was of medium height, buxom, and very real, all of her: blond hair, couldn't see the eyes, but he'd bet green or blue, a smattering of freckles on her bare creamy shoulders. He'd bet there were more on her face, probably sprinkled around her nose. She was smokin'. Who was she? Casper wondered. He'd have to find out; a sly smile crossed his face as he set off across the room to follow her.