Through a Magnolia Filter (22 page)

“That's not your normal reaction to life.” He let the camera drop in his lap and took one of the hands she twisted from her lap. “What's wrong?”

“I...I don't know.” She stared at their hands. “I want more.”

“More?” From him?

“I don't want to be the other Fitzgerald sister or a website designer.” She swallowed. “I'm a photographer.”

“I know, darlin'.” He waved at the camera sitting in his lap.

“You do?” Her jaw stiffened. “You didn't introduce me that way today.”

“I didn't?” He thought back to their morning meeting. “I...I guess it was because we were there to talk about the website.”

“Or was it because that's how you think of me first? Website designer. Gopher. Research assistant.” She pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms.

He was stepping onto boggy ground without a safety rope. “You're talented at everything you do. Photography. Researching. Running a B and B. Website design. Kissing. Making love.”

Her stiff shoulders softened. “Good answer.”

“I'm sorry if I didn't highlight each of your many talents.” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles. When that wasn't enough, he pulled her into his chest.

“So you texted me earlier.” Her cheek was resting against his chest.

“Aye.” He tightened his arm around her. “Don't take this wrong, but I want you to find more descendants of the immigrants who worked for James.”

She snorted. “Of course you do.”

“But I only ask, knowing how amazing you are at everything you do.”

“Suck-up.”

“And I really want to see you develop some of the pictures you just took. They are almost as amazing as you.”

She brushed a kiss on his lips. “Good save.”

“One more request.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Barb and I talked about documenting the making of the film for the book. I'd like you to take those pictures.”

“Really?” Her body quivered against his.

There was that energy, the life that filled her so full, she couldn't help but vibrate in his arms. Her grin was a twenty on a scale of one to ten. “I would love to.”

“Wonderful.” Putting a little leer in his voice, he asked, “Interested in working out the finer details in my room?”

“Oh, my. Do you make that offer to all your research assistants?”

“Never.”

She drew a pattern on his chest that had his body tightening up. “The carriage house is closer.”

He grabbed her hand. “Let's go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Seeing is not enough; you have to feel what you photograph.

Andre Kertesz

L
IAM
WAITED
AS
the team set up for the Murphy interview. The family immigrated in 1905. The wife had worked for the Fitzgeralds as a cook, and her husband eventually became a supervisor in the warehouse. Now their descendants owned and managed Savannah real estate.

And the Murphys had produced meticulous records of their journey from Ireland to America and their early life in Savannah. A great find.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The patriarch of the family wasn't here yet, so he took the call.

He kept his voice low. “Hey, Barb, what's up?”

“We've got a couple of publications interested in doing pieces on your documentary.”

“Wonderful. What do you need from me?”

“I'll email you their contact info. They might ask a few more questions, but I've given them background. They've requested pictures.”

“Sounds great.” His heart beat a little faster. He could use Dolley's Waving Girl picture. Get her some exposure while they did publicity for the film. “I'll contact them as soon as I'm done.”

He was pulling the phone away from his ear when he heard a click.

Dolley lowered her camera, a grin painting her face. She smiled a lot lately. And so had he.

“I'm naming that picture
Documentary Maker at Work
.”

“Or taking a phone call.”

“That, too.” She tipped her head to the group. “I never knew the Murphys were connected with my family until you had me do the research.”

“Your family touched a lot of lives.”

“Thank you.” She inched closer. “For showing me how...exceptional my ancestors were.”

He touched her arm. “I can think of other ways to thank me.”

“Me, too.” She looked over at the crew. They were oblivious to their conversation. “My place tonight?”

“Seems reasonable.” He sighed. “Although I might have to do some publicity work. I'll keep you posted.”

“You do that, Mr. Delaney.”

“You're okay if I send in pictures we both took, right?” he asked.

“Some of my pictures?” Her eyes lit up like fireworks. “You bet.”

“I know just the photographs I want to send them.” After Dolley got recognition for her photos, how bright would her eyes gleam?

After finishing with the Murphys, Liam shoehorned in talking to both interviewers and sent off a series of pictures, both his and Dolley's.

By the time they were together in Dolley's carriage house apartment, he wanted an ale and Dolley.

He pulled a bottle from her fridge and leaned against her living room doorway. Dolley bent over her laptop. Her curls bobbed as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

A peacefulness warmed him like a blanket. He was where he belonged. Savannah. The Fitzgeralds. Dolley. Not just for this project, but maybe the long-term.

“I did some publicity today and gave them your email. You can add the online article links to the website.” He handed her his beer, and she took a sip. “Hopefully, you'll have the info tomorrow.”

“That will work. I've almost finished the website's first pass.” She pulled up the home page. “I'll add an announcement or reviews section. I've seen that on a couple of the other sites.”

He stared down at her.

Looking up, she asked, “What?”

“It's time to pack it in for the night.” He reached for her computer.

She whipped it away. “I want to impress the people I'm working for.”

“You always impress me.” He pushed the coffee table back with his foot and knelt in front of her. His hands stroked her thighs. “I think we should take the night off.”

“You work more hours than me.” Her breasts brushed his shoulder as she set her computer on the table.

A touch of her body and his headed for high alert. “Not tonight.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “What did you have in mind?”

His hands wormed under her jumper, pushing it over her head. Her bra was hot pink. There would be matching knickers under her jeans. “Nice.”

“I got
hot
watching you work today.” She worked on the buttons of his shirt.

He tugged off his shirt. “If you're hot, I'll help you shed your clothes.”

Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “You're so useful.”

“I know, darlin'.” He kissed her.

She tasted of beer and Dolley and all things that were home. He could imagine living in Savannah and spending his life coming home to Fitzgerald House and being a part of the whole family. Learning their language, being part of their jokes.

It was all he'd ever wanted. Being part of something. Belonging.

He nuzzled under her ear, a spot guaranteed to have her squirming her lithe body against his.

“I love the way you kiss,” she moaned. “I love the way you touch me.”

He froze.
Love?

That would suit him just fine. He loved the Fitzgeralds, loved Savannah and he was falling in love with Dolley. She was the icing on this particular cake. A little bit spicy and always a surprise.

After he had been an emotional tumbleweed all his life, the Fitzgeralds were giving him roots. He wanted whatever was growing between them to take root and bloom.

He kissed her hard. Fumbling, he flipped open her jeans, then stripped them off her legs, tossing jeans and socks behind him. The only thing left between him and heaven was her skimpy hot-pink thong.

He pulled her up to his mouth, soaking the silk that kept him from paradise.

She moaned, the sound drilling into his groin. “Liam.” She tried to pull him up.

“Let me.” The material was pushed aside, and he kissed her core. Heat and honey flowed over his tongue as he licked the heart of her.

“I want
you
,” she pleaded.

He whipped away the silk, and she was bare to him. Bare and beautiful. He ached to join with her, but wanted to capture this moment.

He snatched her camera off the coffee table.

“What are you doing!” She curled into a ball, giving him a delightful view of her bum.

“Please.” He touched her shoulder. “I want you to see how...lovely, how full of life you are.”

She uncurled her body, her lip tucked between her teeth. “Liam, I...”

He kissed her until they both gasped for air.

She slumped against the sofa. “If these ever end up on social media, I will kill you.”

He grinned. Standing over her with the camera, he shot a close up of her face. Her eyes sparkled with arousal. Her curls, tousled by his hands, covered half her face. He dropped to her lips, swollen from his kisses.

Then he focused on her breasts, the skin flushed. Her tight nipples gleamed from his mouth.

His breath turned to pants.

Zooming out, he captured her whole body. One arm thrust above her head, nipples erect, slim hips waiting for him. And in that moment, that perfect click, her face...knowing. Seductive.

His hands shook as he set the camera down. “What you do to me,” he whispered.

Dolley slid to the edge of the sofa. “Enough.”

His trouser button was dealt with. She reached under his boxers and wrapped her fingers around him.

He groaned, clapping his hand on hers. “Too much.”

Shifting, he shucked off pants, boxers and socks.

She wrapped her lips around him.

His fingers burrowed in her hair. “Dolley!”

He pulled her up and sat her on the sofa.

After donning a condom, he set her legs on his shoulders. Finally, he entered her, driving home.

She clutched at the sofa, her head rolling back and forth.

“Yes,” she cried.

Her body clung to his as he pounded into her, unable to hold back or slow down.

She came apart around him, and he rocketed to completion. He panted, driving into her one more time.

Her head lolled back.

His legs wobbled. How could being with Dolley keep getting better and better? If he took a picture now, he'd title it
Satisfied Woman.

He kissed her ankles and slipped them from his shoulders. And collapsed at her feet.

Dolley opened one eye. “Hey, handsome.”

He should clean up, but he couldn't find the energy. He laid his head on her thigh. “Hey, yourself.”

“That was...different.”

He snatched up the beer sitting on the end table and gulped down half the bottle. Then he handed it to her. “Different good or different bad?”

Her fingers ruffled his hair. “Absolutely fantastic.”

He sat on the floor between her legs, wrapping them so they draped down his chest. He didn't want to lose their connection. His body quivered with aftershocks. “I'm knackered.”

Her legs bounced as she laughed. “I feel like I could take on the world.”

He inhaled. “I'm for bed.”

“I think I'll work a little more.”

“It's after ten.”

She pushed on his shoulders. “Get some sleep. A lot of my best creativity happens after midnight.”

“But lots of your best moves happen before.”

Another dazzling laugh shook her body. “Only with you.”

Did she mean that? Was what they had special to her, too? He didn't like the idea of going to bed without her, but he understood the creative process.

He hauled himself up from the floor and brushed a kiss on her upturned nose. “Don't be too late.”

* * *

D
OLLEY
PUSHED
HER
hair off her face. The adrenaline that had sustained through the first hour of work evaporated. Time to crawl into bed. With Liam.

She gave herself a hug. This was the first man she'd dated who hadn't given her the boot after a few dates, and it felt...incredible.

She started to shut her laptop, but her email dinged.

It was after midnight. No one would expect her to answer.

She touched the top of her laptop ready to shut it, but couldn't. She would just peek. It was probably junk mail.

She clicked and scanned the subject. It was one of the articles about Liam and the documentary. Had Liam talked about her family? About Savannah? She couldn't resist reading what the interviewer said about the film. She could take a quick look, link the article to the website and then head to bed.

When the site opened, the first picture that loaded was her Waving Girl in the Fog. Dolley's mouth dropped open. Her photo was in a major magazine.

She shimmied a little, her joy too strong to sit still. She'd assumed Liam would use some of the pictures they'd taken around town. Her photo was in the article.

She clicked on the picture, and her fingers froze over her mouse. “What?”

She stared at the attribution:
Photo: Liam Delaney
and Dolley Fitzgerald.

Liam had had nothing to do with the photo. Why had he claimed her picture?

She checked the entire article. Of the seven pictures, four were hers and three were Liam's. They were all labeled Liam Delaney and Dolley Fitzgerald.

She chewed her thumbnail. The reporter must have made a mistake. Liam wouldn't take credit for her pictures.

What had he said earlier?
You're okay if I send in pictures we both took.

She'd expected to receive credit for her own pictures.

She closed her eyes and scanned the contract she'd signed with the documentary company.
Nothing about photography.
It only gave them rights to the pictures she took while documenting the film. Not rights to her other photos.

The Waving Girl
was one of the best pictures she'd ever taken. Acid burned holes in her stomach. Now Liam's name was on it.

She'd trusted him. The breath she inhaled shook. She'd shared her dreams with him, and he'd stolen her work. Betrayed her.

She tore at her curls. He knew how much photography meant to her. The thief slept in her bed. She wanted to toss off the covers and throw him out of her apartment—out of the B and B. Out of her life.

“Damn it!” Unfortunately, the B and B was better off
with
Liam and his crew than without them. They might be able to rent the rooms around St. Patrick's Day, but kicking him out would jeopardize a month of rentals for a minimum of four beds.

She couldn't sleep next to him. If she did, she'd be tempted to cover his lying face with a pillow.

Curling up on the sofa, she wrapped a throw around herself. He had everything she wanted: travel, a career in photography, even the documentary. Why did he have to steal her dreams, too?

A single tear slid down her cheek. She sniffed back any others. It was all the grief she could afford to release, because if she lost control, she might have to acknowledge she'd started to fall in love with a bastard.

She tossed, turned. Every few minutes a voice inside her head screamed,
Why!

Finally, she marched into the bedroom. She didn't care if it was two in the morning. She shoved his shoulder.

He rolled over, never waking.

She pushed again. “Delaney.”

“Mphfgh,” he mumbled.

She leaned into his ear. “Wake up!”

His arm flailed. “What's wrong?” His voice was scratchy with sleep.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” He rubbed his eyes. Shaking his head, he sat up. He looked so at home—
in her bed
. He stared at the clock. “Come to bed.”

“Why did you do it?” She forced herself to ask again. “Why did you steal my picture?”

“Steal?” He flipped on the end-table light, wincing at the brightness. “Darlin', I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”

Her stomach flopped. “I got the link. Is that why you had the interviewer send it to me? So I knew that you took credit for my pictures?”