A Mighty Quinn Seduction (The Mighty Quinns) by Kate Hoffmann Page A

too. What the hell was he saying? This was a professional meeting, not some drunken hook-up. “I just meant—”
    She cleared her throat and then brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Well, you don’t look like I thought you would either.”
    Ian frowned. What was that supposed to mean? “What did you expect, some nebbishy old man with failing eyesight and a houndstooth jacket?”
    She looked down at his jacket and grinned. All right, he was wearing houndstooth, but that’s only because it was chilly that morning and it was the first thing he grabbed from his closet. Just because he was a history scholar didn’t mean he ought to smell like musty books and wear sensible shoes. Granted, sometimes he did smell like musty books and wear sensible shoes, but—
    “No,” Claire finally said. “Marlena Jenner said that you were quite handsome. I think James Bond might have been mentioned?” She plopped down on the stool beside him and held out her hand. “I’m Claire Kennedy.”
    He took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Ian Stephens. Pleasure to meet you.”
    “Yes. Same here.”
    “Why don’t we get a table,” he said, suddenly noticing that everyone in the bar was watching them. “Would you care for a drink?”
    “Sure,” she said, glancing at his pint of Guinness. “I’ll have a whiskey. Two fingers, please.”
    When he raised his eyebrow, she observed him coolly. “I’m having a bloody rotten day. I’m wet and cold and I probably look like a drowned rat. And according to that clock up there, it’s well past five.”
    Ian walked with her to a table, then held out her chair. She gave him another odd look and then took her seat. “May I take your jacket?” he asked.
    “I’m a bit chilled,” she said. “I think I’ll keep it.”
    “It’s soaked. Let me take your jacket and you can have mine.” He waited while she slipped hers off. The silk blouse clung to her skin, making it completely transparent. He could see the outline of a lacy black bra beneath and he held out his jacket so she could slip her arms inside.
    “Better?” he asked as he sat down across from her.
    “Much,” she murmured. “Thank you.” Claire pulled the wool jacket tightly around her and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so peckish. I’m usually a very nice person.”
    Ian nodded. “I’m sure you are.”
    The barkeeper brought her glass of whiskey and set it down in front of her. “Can I get you anything else?”
    “I wouldn’t mind something to eat?” Claire said. “Have you had supper?”
    “No, but I had a large lunch.”
    “What’s the best here?” Claire asked.
    “Ham sandwich,” he said. “And a cup of potato soup.”
    “Sounds good,” she said.
    “Me, too,” Ian added. He sat back. “So, I understand we’re going to be working together on the documentary.”
    Ian had been working with novelist Aileen Quinn, helping to research the 97-year-old author’s family genealogy for her autobiography. He’d helped her discover a family she’d lost as a child—four brothers who’d been scattered to the winds when their parents had died. Since then, he’d coordinated a world-wide search to reunite Aileen with the descendants of those four brothers.
    Recently, an American producer, Marlena Jenner, had arrived to make a documentary, hiring Claire’s brother, Dex Kennedy, to co-produce it. Claire would work with Ian to coordinate research for the film.
    Ian wasn’t accustomed to working with a partner, but then, he’d never had a partner quite as beautiful as Claire. He watched as she tossed back the whiskey in one gulp then set the glass down in front of her. She folded her hands in front of her and leaned closer.
    “Tell me about yourself, Ian Stephens.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Oh, none of the usual things. Tell me something interesting. Tell me something that no one else knows about you.”
    Ian stared at her for a long moment. What did this have to do with the job at