If your pictures aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough.
Robert Capa
KISSING LIAM WOULDN’T happen again. Dolley’s fingers rattled on the Carleton House kitchen counter. All yesterday she’d avoided him.
Their interactions needed to focus on photography. With her poor record with men, she refused to cave in to her desires.
Unfortunately, kissing Liam had been her best kiss ever. She sighed. But not worth risking his mentorship for a few days of pleasure.
Thank goodness she had an excuse not to work with him this morning. She was walking through Carleton House with the AV/Wi-Fi techs.
“What’s up with you?” Daniel asked, setting his hand on top of her tapping fingers.
“I hate waiting,” she lied.
Daniel checked his phone. “They aren’t even late. Something wrong?”
“Why would you ask that?”
Daniel’s blond eyebrows snapped together. “Because you’re the happy, fun-loving sister. Not the frowning, serious sister.”
Dolley sank to the floor, her back against the wall. “There’s just a lot going on in my life.”
“Does any of this nervousness have to do with that slick-talking Irishman who’s staying in Fitzgerald House?” Daniel’s hands formed fists. “I could have a talk with him.”
“No!”
“Hey. Gray and I are part of your family.” His grin was wicked. “We could both have a talk with him.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles.” She stroked a finger over the newly varnished cabinet. Then stopped. It reminded her of how Liam touched the woodwork in Fitzgerald House.
“So you and the Irishman are battling.” Daniel slid down the wall. “What can I do to help?”
“We’re not battling.”
Dolley was battling her stupid hormones. Warmth flooded her body. She wanted all the things Liam’s kiss had promised. “Does Bess know this crazy protective side of you?”
His grin expanded. “She knows every side of me.”
Dolley nudged him. “Keep it clean.”
“Did Bess tell you she’s moving in with me?” Eagerness filled his voice.
“Yeah. Yesterday.” And Bess’s eyes had gleamed as bright as Daniel’s did now.
Maybe she should move into the Fitzgerald carriage house. She wasn’t bringing in as much money as when she worked for Jackson.
The tech guys finally arrived.
“Good to see you, Vernon.” Dolley pushed off the floor.
“Fun to work with you on the B and B again,” he said.
They walked through the plans and requirements. “I’d like to use Fitzgerald House’s Wi-Fi. Can we boost the signal to cover Carleton House?”
Daniel wandered away as she, Vernon and his team got into the gritty details of bandwidth, security, card readers and locks.
“We decided to run cable between the two houses,” Dolley said when Daniel came back.
Vernon nodded. “With the server in Fitzgerald House, you’ll have a cleaner signal.”
Daniel helped decide on where to route the cable into Carleton House.
“That’s all we need for now,” Vernon said. “Answer your cell if I call.”
“Will do.” She headed back to the kitchen and tugged on her coat.
The door opened as she reached for the knob.
“Dolley.” Liam filled the doorway, his black hair wind tousled. He smiled. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Every muscle tightened. Her pulse accelerated, echoing in her ears. She should be able to be in the same room without wanting to touch him. “What do you need?” she snapped.
His smile slipped away.
Her face flamed in embarrassment. She’d been hounding him to smile, and now she’d stripped one off his face. And worse, Liam was a guest. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
“Abby thought you could show me the Carleton House dining room.”
“Sure.” She headed down the hall.
“Thank you.” His tone was so formal, no one would guess he’d had his tongue in her mouth. And it was her fault. She was the one acting weird.
She glanced back, but all he did was nod. “Why do you want to see the dining room?”
“When my team arrives, we’ll need meeting space. Abby thought Carleton House was the best option.”
She opened the dining room door. One wall was torn open to provide a pass-through from the butler pantry. “You’ll have to imagine sliding windows through this hole. And a large table and buffet.”
“We’d need large screen projection capabilities to review film.”
She rubbed her neck. “Would this wall work? We have a picture slated, but we could wait to hang it.”
“It might.” He nodded, not looking at her. “She also mentioned a second floor parlor.”
She led him up the stairs, the rattle of the paper protecting the refinished floors the only sound.
Opening a door, she said, “This used to be the old music room.”
“Do you know what furniture will go in here?”
She pictured the lists she and her sisters had created. “A rose settee here. Two burgundy armchairs in front of the fireplace.”
She walked the room, shaping the space with her hands. “A sofa. Coffee table in front of that. I found a really sweet secretary for this wall. We’re not buying a baby grand, but I have my eye out for a small spinet or harpsichord for right here.”
“Nothing but a coffee table?”
“Yes. And with the curved walls, it would distort any projection.” She paced the room. “We could bring in a screen and work table.”
He moved around, finally stopping in front of her. His stare pinned her like she was a butterfly on a board.
She shifted, her back hitting the wall. “Were there other rooms you wanted to see?”
“That was it.” He took another step but didn’t touch her. “Why?”
She didn’t pretend not to understand his question. “I don’t want to mess up working together.”
“Why do you think it will?” His eyebrows smashed together above his gorgeous blue eyes. He was too damn easy to look at.
“Because it will.”
She was getting what she needed from Liam, knowledge to launch a photography career. This apprenticeship was her ticket out of Savannah and into the limelight. She’d finally break free of her sisters’ shadows.
Dating would complicate everything. People might assume that’s why he was helping her. She’d always wonder if she really had talent or if it had just been attraction.
Life would become too, too complicated.
“I think we can do both.” He set his hands on the wall on either side of her head.
“I don’t.” She crossed her arms, ensuring she didn’t reach out to straighten his hair.
“You’re going to ignore the sparks between us?” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “You can ignore this?”
“We have to.” She shivered, turning her cheek away from his hand. “We’re adults. That shouldn’t be that hard.”
“But why should we want things to be hard?” He leaned in. “Kissing you makes sense to me.”
She pressed on his shoulders, easing him away. “That’s not what I want.”
His breath ruffled her hair. They stared at each other.
“No,” she croaked.
He held up his hands and backed away. “We’re missing out on something spectacular.”
He didn’t understand. Men grew tired of her. She couldn’t allow that to happen when her dreams were on the line.
“Do you want to see any other rooms?” Her voice shook.
“We’ll use the dining room.” His voice had chilled. “Can you get me prices?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, his eyes icy blue. “Thanks for your time.”
“It’s for the best,” she whispered. But Liam was gone.
This time when she sank to the floor, it was because her legs wouldn’t hold her up.
* * *
LIAM JERKED OPEN his laptop. He’d planned to edit pictures, but couldn’t do delicate work when he wanted to punch something. His long walk and stopping in for afternoon tea hadn’t cooled his temper.
What did Dolley think would happen if they dated? He’d take advantage of her?
She should know him better than that. He adored her family. Maybe they needed to spend more time together. Then she’d realize they should give it a chance.
He clicked, then clicked again when the icon for his email didn’t open. He took a deep breath and clicked one more time.
They’d kissed, she’d rejected him. Big deal. He’d been rejected before. Probably. It shouldn’t bother him.
But it did.
His email opened. The first one—Ian asking whether he’d delivered the letters.
He sent back a terse Mission accomplished.
The second email was from Barbara. She’d lined up the rest of his crew. He sent a quick thank-you and dashed off replies to questions from his business manager and agent.
His email dinged, a message from Dolley. Email? Bollocks. Now she wouldn’t talk to him?
It was the dining room rental agreement. He scanned the document. The cost was fair. He shot it off to Barbara. Let her look at the clauses and whatevers.
He shut his computer, a little calmer than when he’d opened it. But he still wasn’t in the right frame of mind to edit photos.
If he wanted to spend more time with Dolley, he’d have to be sneaky. He wasn’t above that. He’d worked angles with the boarding school kids, always figuring out who might take pity on him for holidays.
Pocketing his key card, he left his room. It was time to explore using the Fitzgeralds in the documentary. He wanted to open and close with Fitzgerald information. He could talk about his shirttail connection. It was the reason he’d started this quest.
The sisters would assign someone to work with him. He smiled. Dolley.
He pushed through the kitchen door, aware he was taking advantage of his long-term guest status. But Fitzgerald House felt like home.
Abby smiled. “Hi, Liam. Can I do something for you?”
He came up to the counter where she was packing away leftover bars from tea. “I’m wondering if you have any history of your family’s Irish roots?”
“Dolley would be your best bet.” She nodded over to the table. “Do you remember what happened to the old journals we found?”
Dolley tapped away on her laptop keyboard. She held up one finger, her head never popping up from her task.
Having been in the kitchen enough times, he pulled a mug from the stack, poured coffee and doctored it with milk.
“Can I pour for you?” he asked Abby.
“Sure.”
He handed her a mug with a little sugar and a spot of milk.
She sipped. “You’re handy to have around.”
A snort sounded from Dolley.
He settled into a chair across the table from Dolley, trying to keep a smirk off his face. A plan coming together was a lovely thing.
Furrows formed between her eyebrows. Her hand moved back and forth from the mouse to the keyboard. She chewed her lower lip, a study of concentration.
His fingers clenched. Damn, he wanted to run his thumb along her worry lines and soothe the lips she abused. He wanted to kiss that mouth again. How could she deny them that pleasure? His breath wheezed out.
Her green gaze homed in on him. “A couple more minutes.”
He nodded, sipping his coffee.
Abby joined them at the table, a plate of sweets in her hand. “So you’re interested in the Fitzgerald family?”
Liam kept his eyes off Dolley so her sister didn’t know how interested he was in one particular member of the family. “I want to include your family in the documentary.”
“You do?” Abby almost bounced in her chair.
Dolley looked up, eyebrows arching over her entrancing eyes in disbelief. At least she wasn’t frowning. Then she looked back at her keyboard, and her fingers flew.
He would make so many bloody mistakes if he typed that fast.
“Done.” Dolley shut her laptop with a snap. “What are you looking for?”
Her gaze was like a green tractor beam. He fought against the pull. She’d been firm. Nothing personal between them.
Dolley would have to make the next move.
“I’d like to interview your family and tie James’s journey to the Americas into the documentary.”
“Why us?” Dolley’s head tilted. “Aren’t there other families that are more interesting?”
Not to him. “Trust me, viewers will be interested.”
“I love this idea,” Abby said. “I’d help if I could, but Dolley is our historian.”
He kept the smile from breaking across his face. “Excellent.”
Dolley crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her frown was back.
He kept his gaze on Abby’s animated face. “Do you think I could interview you, your mum and your sisters?”
Abby turned to Dolley, touching her hand. “We could do the interviews when the family is here for my wedding.” When Dolley kept frowning, Abby added, “Besides, Liam is helping us out with my wedding. We owe him.”
He leaned forward. Abby was a coconspirator, even if she didn’t know it.
Dolley eyed him suspiciously.
He sipped his coffee and put on his best innocent look.
She frowned harder.
“This could be good for the B and B,” he added.
“Do we have control over what you say?” Dolley placed her elbows on the table and leaned into his space. “I don’t want to hurt our business.”
Did she think he’d forgotten that’s all she wanted between them? He tipped his head. “You won’t have absolute control, but I can let you review the rough edits.”
And she would have to spend more time with him. Splendid idea.
“I know where the old journals are.” She moved into the kitchen and took a set of keys off a rack next to the telephone. “I don’t know how far back they go.”
Liam stood. To Abby he said, “Why don’t you give me possible interview dates? I’d like a two-hour block of time.”
“Will do.” Abby moved to a pad of paper on the counter and added a note.
Dolley waited for him in the hallway, her hands on her hips. “Don’t think this changes anything between us.”
“This is business. That’s what you wanted, right?”
He wanted her thinking about him. About their kiss. “Thanks for the rental agreement. I’ve sent it on to my producer.”
“Oh. Good.” She blinked, long eyelashes covering her confused stare.
“Lay on, MacDuff.” The phrase seemed appropriate. He waved his arm so she would lead. They were heading into a battle of wills. “I’d like to see these journals.”
* * *
DOLLEY TOOK THE back stairs, not bothering to see if Liam followed. He was. His scent and footsteps filled the narrow stairway.
What game was he playing now?
She rubbed her temples. He was making her crazy. Her vow of business only sounded childish and stubborn.
They moved down the third floor hallway to a recessed door.
“I didn’t know there was a fourth floor,” he said.
“It’s not for guests.” She unlocked the door and entered the narrow stairway. His scent grew fainter, making her want to turn around and take a sniff. Stupid.
She took the last steps in a rush. Flipping on the naked lights hanging from the ceiling, she moved into the room.
The narrow attic was tall enough for her to stand, but Liam had to duck. Maybe he would hit his head and knock some sense in his hard noggin.
“Shouldn’t it be musty and dark up here, with cobwebs?” Liam asked.
“In Fitzgerald House? Cobwebs are not allowed. Marion sends someone up here once a month.”
Old paintings leaned against the wall. Lamps filled a corner next to the chimney stacks. They might be able to use some of the bits and pieces they’d stored here for Carleton House. And there were trunks. Lots and lots of trunks. Steamers in different shapes and sizes had flat or domed lids. Some locked with ornate iron latches. They were made of wood and leather. Her favorites were the trunks with drawers and hidden compartments.
She opened the first trunk. Clothes. Kept opening and closing until she found one filled with Mylar bags.
She started to tug it to the center of the room.
Liam touched her back. “Let me.”
Before she could protest, he picked it up and pulled it to the center. His head rapped against the ceiling. “Damn.”
She winced. She really hadn’t wanted him to hurt himself.
Kneeling, she opened the lid. When cleaning out the third floor, they’d tried to stop the papers and photos from deteriorating by placing everything in Mylar bags. She’d always meant to discover what secrets the past contained.
Liam’s knees popped as he knelt next to her. “This is amazing.”
“You might like to look at these.” She opened a bag with all the Savannah maps they’d found. Some were still in frames. “We should be wearing gloves, so please handle them by the edges.”
“Wonderful!” Liam gently picked up the plot of the city. “It’s dated 1850. Look, another dated 1862. Any chance I could take pictures of these? They’re better than what I found in the historical society.”
“Sure.”
She should have remembered there were things here Liam could use. Instead, she’d worried about her attraction to him.
Her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t nice. He was here to do a job. Not everything was about her and her needs.
Digging through the trunk, she found a shape that felt like a journal. Maybe they should have taken the journals to the historical society, but this was their heritage. “This should be one.”
He sat, his long legs stretched out next to her. Picking up a bag, he asked, “May I open it?”
“Don’t touch the paper.” She looked into his eyes.
And got lost.
She swallowed. His stare dipped to her throat.
“May I?”
What was he asking? Could he kiss her? She’d already explained why that was a terrible idea.
He held up the bag.
She blinked. God, he was asking whether he could open the book bag.
“Of course.” Her voice was as rusty as the light fixtures they’d cleaned for Carleton House.
She shifted, pulling away from the vortex that tugged her close to his lean, wonderful body. Peering into the trunk, she pulled out more bags. She’d always planned to go through the journals, but they’d been busy finishing Fitzgerald House and beginning work on Carleton House. They’d stuffed everything in bags and forgotten them.
By the time she’d emptied the trunk, ten journals, two bags of letters and a pile of household and business ledgers sat between them on the floor.
“May I get the portable?” he asked.
“Portable?”
“Video camera.” Excitement glowed in his eyes.
He glanced at her, and their connection clicked in place like finding the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle. She was afraid to breathe, afraid to move because it might be toward him and not away.
She forced herself to look away. “Portable. Of course.”
His footsteps echoed on the stairs.
She leaned back, drawing in a full breath. Pathetic.
She checked the other trunks, not sure if someone had stored papers elsewhere.
Bingo. Here were books that looked like diaries. She placed them with the growing pile of documents.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs again, a little slower this time. He reappeared at the top of the steps, and the room shrank. How did his personality fill a space? He was usually quiet, watching, listening. Why was she so aware of every nuance of his expression?
Right now his face glowed. He stopped next to her. “Even if nothing ties into my research, I appreciate you letting me look at the material.”
“I should have thought of the journals earlier.” She stared at her feet.
He touched her chin, compelling her to look up. He was smiling, a rare gift to the world and to her. “The timing is grand.”
He pulled his hand away.
She longed for his touch. How messed up was that?
“I’m thankful you remembered,” he said.
She gazed into the depths of his blue eyes.
His smile faded. Something flickered in his eyes, and they darkened.
She didn’t know how long they stared at each other. She wanted him to close the distance. Wanted his artist’s fingers on her face and in her hair. Wanted his lips, so firm yet soft on her mouth.
“Thanks.” He pulled away, bending to dig in the camera bag.
Her breath whooshed out. Disappointment weighed down her shoulders. He was doing exactly what she wanted—so why did it hurt?
“What can I do to help?” she asked. “Hold something for you?”
He attached a battery and checked settings. “Could you sit behind the trunk?”
“You don’t want me in the shot?” she asked, appalled.
“Of course I do.” He fumbled with switches.
“Umm, sure.” She ran a hand through her tangled hair. Then she crouched next to the open trunk.
He peered through the viewfinder. “How long do you think the papers have been up here?”
He adjusted settings on the camera.
“James Michael Fitzgerald arrived in Savannah in the summer of 1830. He built Fitzgerald House in 1837. There was water damage in the 1950s, and there might have been a fire at some point, but when we stored the papers, a lot of the material was still intact.”
“What do you know about James’s relatives in Ireland?”
“Not much. He was the second son. I think they owned quarries.”
He shouldered the camera. “I wonder if they ever came to visit.”
She waved her hands at the bags scattered on the floor. “I guess when we go through the books and papers, we might discover whether they did. When we packed these up, we probably should have had everything filmed by the historical society.”
“And why didn’t you?” He walked around the room. He must have been looking at how to frame the shot. He was such a perfectionist.
“I guess we were being selfish.” She shrugged. “We didn’t want to give it away because it’s ours.”
He hit more buttons and pulled the camera off his shoulder.
“Not enough light?” she asked.
“Lighting’s lovely.”
“So you decided it wasn’t a good shot?”
“The shot was great.” He grinned. “Thanks.”
She scrambled to her feet. “You didn’t give me any warning.”
“I didn’t want you to tense up.” He pointed to her shoulders. “Like you’re doing now.”
“I...” She was tensing up. She hated public speaking. Her back felt like there were rocks instead of muscles there. “Well.”
He waved a hand at the papers. “What do you think is the best way to go through the material?”
They kicked around ideas and finally decided the attic was a good place to work. “I’ll get Nigel to bring up tables and chairs. We’ll need gloves.”
“You’ll help me?” he said.
He’d muttered the words so softly she had to lean in.
“I thought I was your research assistant.” She tried to infuse her voice with lighthearted banter. But it just came out breathy.
“I wasn’t sure you still wanted to work with me,” he said.
She touched his arm. “That’s what I don’t want messed up.”
He covered her hand with his. “Did someone hurt you?”
Oh, no. Not going to happen. She was not telling him how guys used her and tossed her away. “Too many to mention.”
“They were fools.” His lilt did funny things in her chest.
“Yes, they were.” She slipped her hand out from under his.
This conversation was not about business.
Standing, she escaped his irresistible pull. It didn’t matter that each day it got harder to ignore her fascination with Liam. She had too much at stake to give into a momentary attraction.
It was up to her to stay in control.