"I don't believe in magic," he murmured.
"Your father tells me that you got married."
Sean groaned inwardly. The family grapevine was still hard at work. "I'm not married. Just pretending to be."
"And why would you do that?" she asked.
"It's a very long story."
"Tell me about this woman. Is this someone you would like to marry?"
"I'm not the marrying kind," Sean said impatiently. Though he'd once believed the words, the sentiment now rang hollow. How did he know? Didn't he deserve the same happiness that his brothers and sister had found?
"You deserve to be loved," Fiona said, echoing Sean's thoughts. "Everyone deserves to be loved. It's the true joy of life. But if you don't believe in magic, then you'll never see it. Even if it's right in front of your nose." She reached out and covered his hand with hers.
Sean stared down at her fingers and a strange sense of déjà vu came over him. This was the first time she'd touched him since he'd been a very young child, and nothing had changed. Her touch still made him feel safe and warm. Emotion clogged his throat and, for a moment, speech was impossible. "Maybe we can talk again," he finally said, looking into her eyes.
"I'd like that," she said. "Very much."
* * *
Sean parked Laurel's car in front of the mansion and stared up at the facade. Since his visit with Fiona, he'd been driving around aimlessly, trying to clear his head of some of the chaos inside. Until a few weeks ago, his life had been pretty simple. He worked, he ate, he slept.
But now he realized that he wasn't really living. He was existing, watching life from the sidelines, standing in a void of emotion. From the moment he'd walked down the aisle with Laurel, his life had been irrevocably changed. He suddenly had crucial choices to make and new emotions to deal with.
His thoughts returned to that morning, to the argument he'd had with Laurel, and then to the night before. Just the thought of her naked in his arms, arching against him in pleasure, sent a current of desire crackling through his body. But after a night made for fantasy, the morning had brought an odd reality. He was still doing a job and she was paying him to do it. And when she didn't need him anymore he'd be sent away. He'd leave much wealthier, but what would the experience cost him?
He walked to the front door and punched in the security code that opened it. The foyer was silent as he stepped inside. The scent of dinner drifted in the air and Sean quietly walked toward the kitchen. He pushed the door open, expecting to find Alistair there. But to his surprise he found Laurel, a kitchen towel wrapped around the waist of her sexy black dress.
Her back to him, she pulled the lid off a pot and peered inside, then picked up a piece of paper and read it out loud. "'The pasta goes in ten minutes before dinner is served,'" she murmured.
She picked up a glass of wine that sat on the counter beside her and took a sip, then slowly turned, her gaze meeting his.
"Hi," Sean said.
"You're home," she countered, a smile touching the corners of her lips.
It was a nice illusion, that this was indeed his home. But Sean knew the truth. The home belonged to Laurel. He was no more than a visitor-or, like Alistair, an employee. "I'm home," he said.
"I've made dinner. We're having filet of beef, and pasta with a wild mushroom sauce. And a salad of spring greens. And for dessert, a rich chocolate mousse. I made it myself." A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Actually, Alistair helped."
"Where is Alistair?"
"He and Uncle Sinclair left for New York earlier this evening. The coin auction is tomorrow. So we're all alone."
"Laurel, I think we should-"
"Talk about this morning," she completed. "I want to apologize. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm sorry, but with Eddie showing up and everything else going on, I just got a little overwhelmed."
"I shouldn't have voiced my opinion. It wasn't my place."
"No," Laurel cried, crossing the kitchen. She reached out and took his hand, and Sean felt his pulse leap at her touch. His mind flashed an image of the previous night, her naked body above his as they made love, her hair tumbled around her face, and the look of wonder in her eyes as she reached her release. He fought the impulse to yank her into his arms and to carry her up to the bedroom and make it all happen again. Now was not the time to give in to desire.
"Yes," he said. "I'm doing a job here."
"Is that what it is to you?" she asked.
"You tell me," he said. "We made a deal. Was last night part of the job?"
She gasped. "Do you think I need to pay someone to make love to me?" Laurel turned on her heel and stalked over to the stove. She dumped a box of pasta into a huge pot, then gave it a stir. "I didn't command you into my shower. I didn't even invite you. You came willingly, as I recall."
"You didn't turn me away." Sean cursed softly. He'd walked in the door fully intending to mend the rift between them. But now it only seemed to be widening. "I don't want to argue."
"What do you want? Tell me."
Sean shook his head. "I can't want anything from this."
"That's not an answer," she said. "Why can't you just say what you feel for once in your life?"
"I don't know what I feel." Sean paced the width of the kitchen. "I care about you. I want to see you happy. But I'm not your husband. And you're not my wife." He took a deep breath. "Since Sinclair is gone, maybe it would be best for me to spend the night at my place."
In truth, he needed to put some distance between them. If he had the time to think, time to put aside thoughts of her beautiful face and incredible body, thoughts that clouded his perceptions, maybe he could figure out what he felt Feeling anything for a woman was a strange experience and whatever this was that he felt for Laurel was too confusing to sort out in a night.
"No," Laurel said.
"No?"
"I'm paying you to be here and I want you to stay. I've spent most of the afternoon making this dinner and you're required to enjoy it." She grabbed up the bottle of wine and poured a glass, then pushed it at him. "Here, have a drink." A moment later, she retrieved a plate from the refrigerator. "Hors d'oeuvre?"
He plucked a cracker off the tray and popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, very good."
"Are you saying it's good because it is? Or because I'm paying you to say it is?"
"It's good," Sean said.
She seemed pleased and set the plate down on the counter beside him. "I'll just finish dinner. I thought we could eat on the terrace. I've set up the table out there. Why don't you take the wine and salad out and I'll finish cooking the pasta."
He took the salad bowl she offered, tucked the wine in the crook of his arm and walked outside. Considering her mood, dinner promised to be tense. But oddly, her mood didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. She was still the most beautiful, exciting and perplexing woman he'd ever met.
The table was set with crystal and silver and gleaming china. Sean noticed the candles in the center and picked up a book of matches to light them. The setting looked decidedly romantic, the table placed near the edge of the terrace overlooking the gardens and pool.
The candles flickered in the night, a gentle breeze stirring up the air. He poured a glass of wine for himself and wandered over to the low wall that surrounded the terrace. There were so many things he wanted to say to Laurel, but he wasn't sure how to say them. Words didn't come easily to him; less so, expressions of emotion. But he did feel something for her and it ran deep.
Sean glanced up and saw her struggling with a tray as she stepped through the door. He jogged over to her and took the tray, then offered a smile to soothe her temper. "It smells good," he murmured.
They sat and Laurel pulled the covers off the plates. Sean was impressed with the meal, but politely waited for her to take the first bite. She picked up her fork but before she could, he impulsively raised his wineglass. "Maybe we should have a toast," he murmured.
"To what?" she asked.
/> "How about to friendship?"
She hesitated, then raised her glass and touched it to his. "All right. To friendship." A tentative smile touched her lips and she took a sip.
Their dinner began in silence, but as they started on the main course, Laurel ventured a comment. "Alistair helped me with the meal. He knows about us, that we're not really married."
"I know he knows," Sean said, wondering if she'd be angry.
"You didn't tell me?"
"You had a lot on your mind."
She nodded. "Alistair said you went to see your family today."
"I talked to my mother-for the first time in my life that I can remember."
"I thought your mother left the family when you were young," she said.
Sean was surprised she remembered the conversation they'd had. "She did. She came back to Boston a year ago last January with my sister, Keely, who was born after my mother left. I haven't been able to talk to her since she returned."
"Why not?"
He'd kept the feelings bottled up inside for so long that he wasn't sure he could express them in words. But as he looked at Laurel, he knew she'd be the one to understand. "I don't know. I was angry at her. I didn't trust her. When I was little, I used to believe she was my angel, watching over me from heaven. My father had told us she'd died in a car wreck."
"And she hadn't?" Laurel said, her expression filled with sympathy. "That must have been very confusing for you."
He picked up his wineglass and took a gulp of the wine. "I went to fetch my da from the pub one night," he began, measuring each word. "And he was boasting to his buddies that he'd sent my ma packing because she'd been with another man. That's when I started to hate her. I blamed her for all the bad things that happened to us. But I never told anyone about what I'd heard."
"That's a pretty big secret for a kid to carry around."
"It was like weight that dragged me down. I didn't let myself feel anything. And today I found out that I was wrong. She didn't break her marriage vows. I'm not sure what to do with that revelation."
"Let it go," Laurel said. "After my mother died, I carried around an anger for her that I couldn't understand, I was ten and she'd left me and I blamed her because she didn't fight harder. If she loved me, she could have beaten the cancer." She paused, as if her emotions were about to overflow. "And then, one day, I just let it go. And memories of the good times came back and I could love her again."
"I don't have any memories," Sean said.
"Then make some new ones," Laurel urged. "Spend some time with your mother, take her out to lunch, find out who she is. At least you have that chance. Don't waste it."
Sean reached across the table and slipped his hand around her nape, gently pulling her toward him. The kiss began as simple gratitude, but then, after a few moments, it became more-an apology, a promise, an invitation. They both stumbled to their feet, the table still between them.
He stepped around it, his mouth locked on hers, then pulled Laurel into his arms. All the anger had faded, replaced by need, stronger than anything he'd felt the night before. He wanted to make love to her right then, to reassure himself that she truly did care for him. He needed Laurel more than he'd ever needed a woman in his life.
Sean cupped her face in his hands and stared down into her eyes. "How did you get so smart?" He kissed her again, letting his hands drift over her body, taking in the soft curves and sweet angles as if they belonged solely to him.
He was tempted to drag her up to bed, to show her how much he needed her. But last night's encounter had left them both anxious and confused, ripe for the argument they'd had. They needed time to sort out these feelings, time to let them grow naturally. He groaned inwardly. Every instinct told him to enjoy her while he could. But Sean wasn't interested in short-term pleasure. If there was something real between him and Laurel, he needed to know, and this was the only way to find out.
Sean gently set her back from him and smiled. "Dinner is getting cold."
She swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Right. Dinner."
They passed the rest of the evening in easy conversation, Sean surprised at how good it felt to discuss his childhood with her. She listened and offered her thoughts, then questioned him, prompting him to reveal more. But through it all, the kiss they'd shared hung between them like a ticking alarm clock just waiting to go off. With every minute that passed, Sean wondered how much longer he could resist touching her.
He managed to make it through dessert and then helped her clear the table and do the dishes. As they worked, they finished the bottle of wine, both of them relaxing into each other. And when the dishes were finished and the kitchen cleaned, the next step was obvious.
It would be so easy to walk up the stairs with her and to make love to her for the rest of the night. But for the first time since he'd met her, he believed that there was something special between them, something that needed to be treated with greater care-something that just might last.
Laurel wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, then carefully folded it and set it aside. "It's late," she said, glancing up at the clock. "Nearly midnight."
Sean slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her near. His lips found hers again and he kissed her, gently exploring her mouth. When he stepped back, her eyes were still closed. "Time for bed."
Laurel opened her eyes and he caught a flicker of apprehension there. "Right. I am tired. And you've had a busy day."
"And since Sinclair isn't here, I think it would be better if I found another place to sleep."
A look of surprise suffused her pretty features. She opened her mouth, as if ready to protest, then suddenly snapped it shut. "You don't want to sleep with me?"
"Of course I do," Sean said. "But I think we need to be a little more careful, don't you?"
"Careful?" She paused as if trying to come to grips with his reasoning. "You're right." Laurel cleared her throat. "So, I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks for dinner," Sean said, smoothing his hand over her cheek. "It was very nice." He kissed her once more, doing his best to keep his desires in check. And then she walked out, his gaze following her until the kitchen door swung shut.
Sean inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He waited a few minutes, then followed her up the stairs. As he passed her bedroom door, Sean stopped, fighting the temptation to go inside and to lose himself in her incredible body. He imagined her slipping out of the sexy black dress she'd worn, then discarding the lacy scraps of underwear. He imagined himself running his hands over her naked body and gently laying her down on the bed.
A soft moan slipped from his lips and he turned from the door. If he planned to get any sleep at all, he'd have to find a room as far away from Laurel's as possible. "It's going to be a long night," he murmured.
But he couldn't wait for tomorrow. The way he felt now, anything was possible.
Chapter 7
Laurel raked her hair out of her eyes and slowly descended the stairs, following the scent of coffee. Since Alistair was still in New York with Sinclair, Sean must have risen early-at least, earlier than 10:00 a.m., which was when she'd finally rolled out of bed.
She'd spent a restless night, unable to sleep or to stop thinking about Sean. Somewhere in the house, he'd fallen into a bed and she wondered if he'd slept at all or if he, too, had been plagued with memories of the night they'd spent together. It seemed so silly to sleep alone when they'd shared so much passion just twenty-four hours before.
After their dinner conversation, she felt closer than ever to Sean. They'd tipped the balance of their relationship and she didn't want to set it right again. This was now as much about pleasure as it was about business.
Did he really care for her or was this still just about a paycheck? What would he do if she suddenly decided not to pay him? She'd promised him twenty thousand at the end of their month together, but what if she informed him that she didn't plan to pay? That it, in fact, didn't feel right to pay?
Would he still want to stay? Did his feelings for her run deep enough to survive the end of their "marriage"?
Laurel sighed, then stopped to study her reflection in a tall mirror. What had begun as such a simple plan had turned her life upside down. And the man she'd hired to be her husband had become something so much more. Falling in love with Sean Quinn hadn't been part of the plan.
Satisfied that she looked as good as she could in her sleep-deprived state, Laurel pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen. She froze when she saw a pretty woman standing next to Sean, sipping a cup of coffee and chatting with him. She was dressed in a flattering summer dress that hugged her slender figure.
They both turned to look at her and Sean smiled. "Good morning," he said. He crossed the room and took Laurel's arm, pulling her toward the stranger. His touch should have sent her pulse racing, but she felt as if her heart had ground to a stop.
"Hi," Laurel said, glancing back and forth between the two of them.
The woman stepped forward and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Amy Quinn. I'm Sean's sister-in-law. You must be Laurel."
The tiny stab of jealousy she'd felt a moment ago slowly faded as she shook Amy's hand. "Hello." She glanced over at Sean. "Have you come to visit Sean?"
"She's come to see you," he said. "I asked Amy to stop by."
His response caught her off guard. Why would Sean ask a member of his family to visit her? Though she'd met Seamus, Sean hadn't seemed anxious to introduce her to any other Quinns.
"I came to talk to you about your plan," Amy explained.
Stunned, Laurel sent Sean an accusing glare. "You told her about our plan? Did you tell her about Eddie? About how he-"
"Who's Eddie?" Amy asked.
"That's another plan." Sean turned back to Laurel. "I didn't tell her about that plan. I told her about your plan. For the children's center. I thought she might want to hear about it. Amy runs a charitable foundation. She gives people money for good causes."
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