"I could use some coffee," Sean said. That, and a very cold shower. "Do you think Alistair made some?"
"I take it you're not a morning person?"
"Is it morning?"
"The sun is up. It's nearly nine. We have the whole day in front of us. Come on, we can get coffee on our way," she insisted. "Take a quick shower and then we can go."
Aw, hell. His reaction was only natural, a physiological response that most men experienced in the morning. He rolled off the bed and stood beside it. Her gaze skimmed along his chest, then stopped in the vicinity of his lap, at the obvious bulge in his boxers. Laurel cleared her throat and looked away.
"Maybe I'll go get you some coffee," she said. She quickly tugged on her skirt, then hurried to the door.
The door closed and Sean started toward the bathroom, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the boxers and shoving them over his hips. But the door opened again and Sean froze. He glanced over his shoulder as she poked her head back inside.
"Oh, sorry," she murmured. She closed the door until it was open just a crack. "Sugar?" she asked, her voice a bit breathless.
"No."
Laurel closed the door behind her and Sean waited. Right on schedule, she opened the door again. If he didn't know Laurel, he might think she was deliberately trying to get a good look at his ass.
"Cream?" she asked.
"A little milk," he said.
When she'd closed the door again, Sean chuckled softly. Considering the effect his naked body had on her, maybe it would be best to walk around this way all the time. She'd certainly keep her distance.
He grabbed his toothbrush from his duffel, then walked to the bathroom. But he stopped a few steps inside and sighed. The room was almost as large as his bedroom at home. A huge tub stood against one wall, and nearby, a spacious shower. The vanity, littered with cosmetics and lotions and pretty bottles of perfume, had two sinks with shiny gold fixtures. Hell, even the toilet looked high-class.
Sean reached inside the shower and turned on the water. Immediately the scent of Laurel's shampoo filled the room. He quickly brushed his teeth, then stepped into the marble-lined stall. A low moan slipped from his throat as he stood beneath the rush of water.
The shower was like everything else in the mansion, functional but in a very luxurious way. He tipped his head back and ran his fingers though his hair, then grabbed a bar of soap in lieu of shampoo. He didn't want to spend the day smelling like Laurel. He had enough trouble keeping his mind-and his hands-off of her.
The shower was too relaxing to leave and he stayed beneath the water until his fingers began to wrinkle. The bathroom was filled with steam as he stepped out and wrapped a plush towel around his waist. When he walked out of the bathroom, he found Laurel waiting, sitting on the bed with a tray filled with food.
"Alistair made us breakfast in bed," she said. "He thinks we're still on our honeymoon"
The impulse to tell her that Alistair knew the truth about their "marriage" was immediate, but he decided against revealing the secret for now. He'd save that news for another time. He wanted the charade to continue a little longer-just to see where it would lead.
Sean readjusted the towel, wondering what would happen if he just let it drop to the floor. Would she run? Or would she pull him onto the bed and explore his body with her hands. He pushed the thoughts aside, unwilling to let himself become aroused again.
He pulled a silver cover off a plate. "French toast."
Laurel pointed to another covered plate as she munched on a croissant. "An egg-white omelette with tomatoes and green peppers. My favorite." She pulled up another cover. "And I don't know who would eat all this for breakfast. Fried eggs, fried mushrooms, fried tomato, bacon, sausage, some kind of potato pancake and canned beans." She winced. "This is a heart attack waiting to happen. I'm surprised Alistair didn't fry the napkin and silverware while he was at it."
Sean grinned. Leave it to Alistair. The man certainly knew how to please. "That's an Irish breakfast," he said. "Everything but the black-and-white pudding."
"Irish people eat pudding for breakfast?"
"Black-and-white pudding is two kinds of sausage made of-" He paused. "Never mind."
She frowned as she stared down at the plate. "Why would Alistair make you-"
"He probably thought I'd enjoy a hearty breakfast. Maybe this is what he eats for breakfast."
She seemed satisfied with the answer and poured herself a cup of coffee.
"There is one thing I'd like," he said.
"What is it? I'll call Alistair. He'll make you whatever you want."
Sean reached out and hooked his finger beneath her chin, then turned her face to his. "This is what I want," he said, leaning forward. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the strawberry jam that she'd smeared on the croissant. He didn't pull back right away, instead lingering, testing and tasting until he was satisfied that he'd sated that particular hunger.
He'd been fighting his impulses for far too long. And now that he'd given in and admitted this powerful attraction he had to Laurel, Sean realized that he'd been silly to deny himself. Just because they kissed and touched, didn't mean that the curse was working. He was just following his natural instincts. Laurel was a beautiful woman, he was a healthy man. And when it came time to walk away, he'd do it.
Turning back to his breakfast, Sean grabbed a fork and speared a crispy brown sausage. "A great way to start the day," he murmured.
"The food?" she asked, her expression still a bit startled.
"No, the kiss." He sent her a grin. "The food is good, too."
As they enjoyed their breakfast, Sean decided that he could get used to a life of luxury. He was making a decent wage and spending time with a beautiful woman. And Alistair was a helluva good cook. Life couldn't get much better.
But as he watched Laurel wrap her kiss-swollen lips around a forkful of omelette, he realized that life could get a whole lot better-and a whole lot more complicated in the process.
Chapter 5
Dust motes swirled in the air as Sean and Laurel walked through the old storefront. Tall windows, covered with a wire mesh outside, were cracked and broken and grimy with dirt-a sign that the building had been vacant for some time. And with outside temperatures nearing eighty, the air inside was stale and musty, heavy with the heat of the early September afternoon.
"What do you think?" Laurel asked.
Sean glanced around. She'd been so excited to show him this place, he was afraid to admit that he'd expected something a little nicer. "I think you have a lot of work to do."
"I know," she said, excitement filling her voice. "But I think it would make a great children's center. And I can probably get some matching grants from local foundations and maybe even from the government to do the renovations. The first thing I'm going to do is hire someone who is really good at fund-raising. Five million won't last long if we don't bring money in."
"What if your uncle doesn't give you the five million?"
"I'm thinking positively. He has to give me the money," she said, a desperate edge invading her cheerful voice. "I can't lose this place. It's too perfect."
Sean didn't see it as perfect. In truth, it was about as far from perfect as a building could get. But he couldn't deny Laurel's enthusiasm. "How can you be so sure this is what you want to do?"
Laurel slowly turned, taking in the entire room. "I just am. It's as if my past is connected now with my present. There were times when I felt like I was… drifting. When my father died, my last tether to who I was, was cut. This place makes me feel like I have my feet back on the ground."
"It must be nice to be sure," Sean said.
"Aren't you?"
In truth Sean had never been sure of anything in his life. He'd always waited for the next bad thing to happen, for the next disaster to come knocking at the door. There was only one person he could truly trust and depend on in the world-himself. "Yeah," he lied.
"I'm going to name t
his place the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts," she said. "After my mother."
"What if your uncle asks for proof before he hands over the money? What if he wants to see a marriage certificate?"
"I'll deal with that then," she said. "My father never realized what it would be like for me, living under Sinclair's thumb. If he'd known, he wouldn't have put my uncle in charge of my trust. And if he were alive, I know he'd support this idea. My mother would have loved it, too. I'm thinking positively." She turned to face the room. "Now, this is going to be the dance studio. We'll put mirrors on that wall and put in a new floor." She did a fancy little ballet step around him. "And over here, I'd like to have an art studio. And behind that wall would be storage for materials and supplies. And downstairs in the front part of the building, I want a small gallery and performance space, so people in the neighborhood can visit and see what we're doing here."
She danced by and Sean grabbed her around the waist and stopped her. "You could talk to Sinclair about your idea, lay out your plan. He might decide to support it."
"You don't know him," she said, shaking her head. "He formed his ideas about the opposite sex back in the Neanderthal ages. He thinks the only future for me is marriage and children and a nice little three-bedroom cave. His idea of the perfect husband has nothing at all to do with love. If the guy can keep track of my money, then he's a perfect candidate."
He stared down into her gaze and Laurel grew still. "Did you love Eddie?" Sean asked. He didn't want to know the answer, but he had to.
"Edward," she corrected. Laurel considered his question for a moment. "No. But he was the only one asking me to marry him. And I thought he was the kind of man I could live with. That was enough for me."
"You sell yourself short," Sean said. He released her and walked across the room to examine a broken door. Why couldn't she see how wonderful she was? She was beautiful and sexy and smart, and the kind of woman any man would want. Why would she settle for a guy like Eddie the Cruiser?
Laurel followed him. "And how would you know? Do you think I should give up my dreams while I wait for a man to ride to my rescue? I want to do something with my life. I want to make a difference, and I can't do that if Sinclair won't give me my money."
"Find it somewhere else," he said, his voice tight.
"Who is going to give me five million dollars?"
"Like you said. Foundations. The government. Have you tried?"
Anger suffused her expression. "You don't think I can do this, do you? You're just like Uncle Sinclair!"
"Laurel, that's not true. I'm just-"
A sudden movement above their head startled Laurel and she screamed as a pigeon swooped in between them. A moment later she was in his arms, her breath coming in tiny gasps.
"It's just a pigeon," he murmured, smoothing his hand over her hair and watching the bird perch on a pipe near the ceiling. He distractedly tucked a strand behind her ear then ran his palm along her jaw.
Sean waited for her to pull away, to break the intimate contact. But her gaze was fixed to his mouth. His thumb found her lower lip and he dragged it across, watching as she closed her eyes and turned into his touch.
She looked like an angel, the sun streaming through a window behind her and bathing her pale hair in an unearthly light He bent closer and touched his mouth to hers and she instantly responded, opening to his kiss. It was like touching heaven and tasting immortality. Every ounce of his being was focused on the feel of her lips beneath his.
A kiss had always been something very simple to him, an enjoyable pastime and a necessary step in seduction. But with Laurel the experience was like nothing he'd ever felt before. They seemed to communicate with the touch of their tongues and the soft shift of their lips.
It was everything he needed, but it wasn't enough. Sean wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, never breaking contact with her mouth. He wasn't sure where he was going, but when he found a rough brick wall, he gently trapped her there, pulling her legs up around his waist.
The kiss turned more desperate and Laurel pushed her palms beneath his T-shirt, shoving it up around his chest. The feel of her hands on his skin was electric, sending a current racing through his body and setting his nerves on fire. He couldn't stop himself, even if he wanted to. He couldn't.
With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, Sean worked at the buttons of her blouse, shoving the fabric aside until he could press his mouth to her shoulder. Her skirt was gathered around her hips and his hands skimmed over her legs, still wrapped around his waist.
Of all the places for desire to overwhelm them, this had to be the worst choice. The temperature in the building felt close to one hundred degrees and there was nowhere comfortable to continue this seduction. If he let it go further, there would be no turning back-because he wanted to make love to Laurel, to experience her body in the same way he enjoyed her mouth.
He slid his hand from her shoulder down to her breast, cupping the soft flesh in his palm. He'd always been so uneasy with, women, not when it came to seduction, but with what came after-the emotion and the intimacy. Sex had been about satisfying a need. With Laurel, Sean knew it would be more.
Just the thought of stripping off their clothes and letting their desires overwhelm them caused his heart to hammer and his blood to warm. His arousal was powerful, and anticipation raced though him each time he. shifted her in his embrace.
The sound of wings flapping above their heads caused Laurel to suck in a sharp breath and Sean used the chance to gather his control. He wanted her, more than he'd ever wanted a woman before. Yet not here, and not now. But soon. "We should go," he murmured.
She froze, her breath stilling. Sean glanced up to see confusion fill her eyes. To reassure her, he kissed her again, gently yet thoroughly, making it clear that there would be more to come another time. Then he let her body slide down along his, stifling a groan as she rubbed against his arousal.
"I guess we really don't have to practice that part of marriage," she said.
Sean worked at the buttons of her blouse. "Practice makes perfect."
She sighed and reached up to touch his cheek. "Yes, it does."
As they restored order to their clothes, the intimacy didn't stop. Laurel smoothed her hands over his chest, then brushed his hair out of his eyes. And Sean took a last chance to touch her, raking his fingers through her hair and pulling it back from her face.
It was as if they both knew the inevitable was coming. They would make love and it would be perfect between them. But when and where would be decided later.
* * *
The night was as warm and humid as the day had been, summer holding tight to the first weeks of September. Laurel slowly strolled along the stone terrace that overlooked the swimming pool. It was the one luxury she gave into, insisting that if she had to live in the mansion, Sinclair would have to pay for a pool man.
Sinclair preferred the family vacation home in Maine, a rough lodge on Deer Island. There, he could focus all his attention on his coins, his stamps and his other obsessions. He had so many things to occupy his time, why did he continue to interfere in her life? Even the house had become a source of contention between them. The mansion was half hers-the half that her father had left her. But Sinclair owned the other half and neither one of them could sell unless the other agreed.
Laurel sat on the low wall that surrounded the terrace. There were times when the mansion seemed like such a burden, another chain tying her to her uncle. But she felt differently now-now that Sean was living here with her. She turned and glanced back at the tall windows of the dining room, illuminated in the dusk by the crystal chandelier that her father had bought in Paris.
Her thoughts focused on the man she'd brought home as her "husband," the man who was sitting with her uncle in the library, pouring over the old man's stamp collection. A tiny shiver skittered down her spine. After their encounter earlier that morning, they'd both tried to act as if nothing had happen
ed. But with each kiss and each caress they shared, she and Sean were moving closer and closer to total surrender.
She turned back to stare out at the lawn, the swallows diving across the grassy width from their nests in the old carriage house. The air was growing thick with the sounds of evening, crickets and night birds, while bees still buzzed in the flowers. Laurel closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She could have him if she really wanted him. All she had to do was to make the first move and to keep moving until he couldn't stop.
But so much of her life had been about following her whims and impulses. She'd never learned to think before she acted. Yes, she and Sean might have a wonderful night together, maybe even ten or twenty wonderful nights. But if she didn't look before she leaped this time, she might hit bottom and seriously hurt herself.
"What are you doing out here?"
Laurel didn't bother turning around. Sean slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her against his chest. His palms moved down to her hips and he nuzzled her neck. "I'm enjoying the silence," she said.
"We just finished a discussion about my choice of neckwear," Sean said. He grabbed the tie and flipped it over her shoulder. "I like the design. Sinclair thinks the only appropriate pattern for a man is stripes. I think he was questioning my masculinity."
"Well, I can vouch for your masculinity," she said, turning in his arms. Her thoughts returned to that morning, when he'd been unable to hide his arousal-and she'd been unable to hide her curiosity. An image of his naked backside flashed in her mind, causing her pulse to quicken. He was quite beautiful… in a purely masculine way.
"And I like the tie," Sean said.
"It is nice," she said, fingering the silk. "So you forgive me for putting you through an afternoon of shopping?"
After they'd visited the old storefront in Dorchester, Laurel had insisted that they stop at Louis Boston and Brooks Brothers to pick up some new clothes for Sean. He had grumbled at first, but when he'd seen how much she was enjoying herself, he'd relaxed and played male model for her.
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