Shamrock Season by Jennifer Rose

Author:Jennifer Rose
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504020442
Publisher: Open Road Distribution

Chapter 12

“Take that, George MacDonagh!” Maggie shouted angrily, picking up her copy of the Art O’Leary script and flinging it across the room. It hit the director square on the side of the head, but he didn’t stop grinning. Maggie’s eyes darted around the room for more objects to throw. A ceramic ashtray, her traveling alarm clock, a pillow from her bed, a translucent Belleek pitcher full of garden flowers—all came to hand, all found their target. Finally George’s grin died down. Finally Maggie’s rage was spent.

Well, almost. Yelling and hurling within the confines of her mind could do just so much to calm her. A festive dinner, with George at his wittiest and most charming, had only intensified the pain and anger she’d felt earlier when he’d accused her of faking her passion for him. “You’re not a half-bad actress, Emerald Eyes.” The words seemed to reverberate off the peach papered walls. Actress! How could he have?

Did he really think she’d been faking? Did that mean he’d been faking? Lord, no, it just wasn’t possible. Their sweet, sultry interlude had aroused her and moved her far more than any other intimate encounter in her life. If the faceless intruder hadn’t shattered the heated moment, there was no telling how far they would have gone. No—untrue. She knew perfectly well how far they would have gone—to the other side of the moon, to the place where “stop” was not a part of the language, and love was the only law.

Actress!

Impossible. George was too smart really to have thought she was just getting into the role of Eileen O’Leary, clothing herself in Eileen’s remembered lust for her dead husband. He was a professional. He was the consummate director. He knew who was acting and who wasn’t.

Realizing that anew, Maggie felt all the more outraged and depressed. If he hadn’t thought she’d been acting, then his comment could have had only one purpose—to hurt her, to goad her into losing her temper, to humiliate her. At the very moment when she’d begun to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d somehow misconstrued the words she’d overheard in the back of Tom Farley’s car, he’d proved out her awful theory. He’d brought her to Castlecove to get even with her for having knocked him off his high horse at Sardi’s, for provoking him into storming away from the table.

She’d cheated him of satisfaction, though, hadn’t she? She’d been bubbly as champagne during dinner, and later had escaped from the strain of acting by announcing that she had work to do, and marched to her room. Then again, she had to admit, he’d cheated her of satisfaction. He hadn’t come knocking at her door with some bright little line about taking up unfinished business. Was anything more frustrating than having the perfect rebuff ready and not getting a chance to use it?

She gave a huge sigh and turned the pillow under her head. Then she rearranged herself on the big, old-fashioned brass bedstead. Closing her eyes, she saw George MacDonagh, coming toward her with arms ready to embrace.

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