Книга - The Mighty Quinns: Sean

The Mighty Quinns: Sean
Kate Hoffmann


The only thing that can bring down a Quinn is a woman…The next Mighty Quinn…P.I. Sean Quinn lives by one rule–never get involved. And he's always held to it…until his latest case, where he nabbed a polygamist just before the guy led another poor woman astray. His mistake? Agreeing to break the bad news to the man's fiancée. Because that woman is already at the church, expecting to become a bride. And she's just asked Sean to be her groom….His downfall…If Laurel Rand can't prove to her uncle that she's married, he'll leave his entire fortune to a bunch of coin collectors. But before long, convincing her uncle is the least of Laurel's problems. Confined with Sean in close quarters, trying in vain to ignore the overwhelming chemistry between them, Laurel sees just what great "husband" material Sean is. And she's determined to make him see it, too. Luckily, the deal they made covers the honeymoon stage….









“Tell me something,” Laurel said. “Are you married?”


Sean cleared his throat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “Uh, no.” He took a step back. “I’d, uh, better be going now. You have a lot to take care of. You probably can’t return the wedding dress, but maybe your guests will let you keep the gifts—once they realize this isn’t your fault….”

“What size jacket do you wear?” Laurel quickly turned and retrieved a garment bag from a hook on the back of the standing mirror. “I’m pretty sure this will fit,” she murmured as she unzipped the bag and glanced down at his shoes. She could still salvage something from this mess. “I doubt we’d be so lucky that the shoes would fit, too. Edward had really big feet.”

“No way. I’m not getting all dressed up so I can tell your guests that you’re not getting married,” Sean said. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to tell the guests,” Laurel said. “I do plan to get married this afternoon.”

“Eddie is in jail. And I don’t think they’ll let him out.”

“Oh, I’m not going to marry Edward,” she said. “I’m going to marry you.”




Dear Reader,

I can't believe that the last episode in my MIGHTY QUINNS saga is finished and in your hands! When I started this project, I signed on for three books. And now, seven books later, I’ve married off all the Quinns—Conor, Dylan, Brendan, Keely, Liam, Brian and finally, Sean.

It’s no wonder Sean was the last to find love. He’s been the one to resist it more than any other Quinn. But when I chose Laurel Rand as the heroine of this book, I knew that Sean was a marked man. No matter how hard he tried, love was going to get him. He was about to fall very fast and very hard.

I hope you enjoy the last book in my MIGHTY QUINNS series. I can’t tell you if I’ll write any more. I’m sure there are Quinn cousins out there somewhere, waiting to find love. But for now, you can visit www.katehoffmann.com to learn more about my upcoming releases for Harlequin Books.

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann




The Mighty Quinns: Sean

Kate Hoffmann







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To old friends and new fun.

To Mary, Jane Y., Lisa, Lori, Jan, Ruthie, Susie and Jane W.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue




Prologue


SEAN QUINN sat on the front steps of his house on Kilgore Street, his chin cupped in his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. He didn’t have to look down the street to know his twin brother, Brian, was approaching. But right now, he didn’t want to talk to Brian. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Sean!”

“Go to hell!” he shouted as Brian strode up the front sidewalk.

“Come on, don’t be that way. Why didn’t you stick around? She wanted to talk to you. You just stood there like a lump.”

Sean’s fists clenched and he fought the impulse to strike out, to put a nice purple bruise on that pretty face of Brian Quinn’s. “She wanted to talk to you,” Sean shouted. “She’s only pretending to like me so she can get to you. I’m not stupid. I see the way she watches you.”

Brian stopped cold, his jaw agape. A frown wrinkled his brow. Sean took a small amount of satisfaction that he’d had the rare opportunity to best his brother. When it came to the mysterious motivations of seventh-grade girls, Brian still couldn’t tell when he was being hosed.

Sean unclenched his fists, knowing that he couldn’t hit his brother for simple stupidity. Still, he wouldn’t mind popping Brian good just for fun. Although they were twins, they didn’t have much in common beyond looks. Brian was part of the cool crowd at school, always knowing how to act and what to say. The teachers loved him, the girls adored him and he had a wide circle of buddies who seemed to hang on his every word.

Sean was known for nothing more than the fact that he was Brian Quinn’s brother—the shy one, the dumb one, the silent one. He’d always struggled to fit in, knowing Brian’s friends expected so much more from him—and were constantly disappointed when he didn’t deliver. When Colleen Kiley started paying attention to him, he thought, for one brief instant, that he might have found someone who actually saw him for who he was. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize what she was really after. He had always been able to sense when he was being manipulated or lied to.

“She…she doesn’t like me,” Brian stuttered. “She told me she likes you.”

“Get real. Sometimes you can be as dumb as a pile of dirt,” he muttered as he turned and walked to the front door. “Go ask her to the dance and see if she doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t want to go with me, she wants to go with you. She’s just using me to get to you.”

Sean yanked open the ragged screen door and stalked inside, letting the door slam behind him. He stormed through the house, past his little brother Liam, who was sprawled on the floor watching television, and past his oldest brother Conor, who had just come home from the police academy. Dylan, a high school senior, was off with one of his friends and Brendan was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, his nose buried in some dumb book about India.

Life was relatively normal, now that their father, Seamus Quinn, had left for another swordfishing run on the Mighty Quinn. They’d be without their only parent for at least another month, but Sean almost wished his father wouldn’t bother coming home at all. His infrequent periods of residence only threw the family into turmoil and emphasized the fact that the six Quinn brothers were existing on the edge, just a few steps ahead of the social workers and the bill collectors, just a few dollars away from eating ketchup soup for dinner.

Conor had managed pretty well over the years and kept the family from falling apart. Now that he’d graduated from high school and was bringing home a regular paycheck, the future looked a little brighter. Their father’s luck at poker no longer determined whether or not they’d go to bed with empty bellies.

Sean hurried to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. After flopping down on his bed, he covered his eyes with his arm. Sometimes his twin brother was so dense. Jaysus, for a guy who had so many girls drooling over him, he should have figured them out a long time ago.

Each of the Quinn boys had a particular quality they were known for. Nineteen-year-old Conor was the steady one, the provider. Dylan, the next oldest, was the playboy. All he had to do was crook his finger and every girl within a hundred yards was his. Then there was Brendan, the dreamer. He was fifteen and already he could tell the best stories, better than any of the Mighty Quinn tales their father told.

And Brian. For a thirteen-year-old, Brian was smart. He got the best grades in school, he’d been elected class president and he was good at sports. He could stand up in front of the class and give a report without turning all red and fumbling over his words. Sean could already tell that, someday, Brian would be famous. Maybe he’d even be on television. His youngest brother, Liam, was only ten, so Sean wasn’t sure what he’d be good at.

But Sean wasn’t good at anything. With a soft groan, he rolled over and hung off the side of his bed. He pulled a shoebox from the bottom drawer of the bedside table, then sat cross-legged on the bed and set it in front of him on the tattered quilt. He pushed off the lid, then flipped through the contents—his stamp collection, his baseball cards, a purple rabbit’s foot—until he found the small framed picture of the Virgin Mary.

Sean knew his brothers snooped through his treasures, but he also knew that none of them would even consider pinching his picture of the Blessed Virgin. Whether it was superstition, fear of eternal damnation or just a lack of interest in religion, Sean didn’t care. The important thing was that the framed picture made a perfect hiding place.

He carefully pulled the easel back off the picture and withdrew a faded photo he’d hidden there eight years ago. He’d managed to keep the photo a secret, from his brothers and his father, all these years. Maybe that was his talent, Sean mused as he stared at the only surviving photo of his mother—he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

He’d been just three years old when Fiona Quinn had walked out of their lives. His father’s anger and sadness had cast a gloom over the house and he’d begun to drink heavily and gamble more than usual. Two years later, Seamus told them their mother had died in a car crash. All traces of her had been wiped from the house. Though his brothers had grieved for a time, they had quickly moved on.

But Sean remembered. He remembered the spot, now empty, in front of the stove where she used to stand. And her smell—he remembered that she always wore perfume and a red apron. When he’d found the photo, caught behind a kitchen drawer, he’d tucked it away, preserving the only evidence he had of Fiona Quinn’s existence.

He rubbed his thumb gently over her face, as if he were touching her. She was the prettiest lady he’d ever seen. She had beautiful shiny hair and twinkling eyes. And a smile that made him feel better just to look at it. And she was kind and understanding. She was his angel, and whether she was dead or alive, he still felt her presence.

“Ma,” he murmured. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her saying his name. In some secret corner of his mind, before memories even began, he found the sound and it was soft and calming, making the anger he held so tightly inside of him dissolve.

A knock sounded at the door. Sean scrambled to return the photo to its hiding place. When he’d shoved the box back into the drawer, he laid down on the bed. “I don’t want to talk to you!” he shouted, knowing it would be Brian. His brother hated it when people were mad at him.

“It’s my room, too,” Brian replied. He knocked again, more insistent.

Sean hopped up and unlocked the door, then flopped back down on the bed. “You don’t have to be such a pest.”

“I can come in if I want. You can’t keep me out of my own room.”

“Suit yourself,” Sean muttered. “But I don’t have to talk to you.”

Brian sat on the end of Sean’s bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, you shouldn’t be mad. After all, you are a Mighty Quinn. We all know Mighty Quinns aren’t supposed to like girls. Da says they’re dangerous. Falling in love with girls will destroy us. Just suck the strength right out of us.”

Sean laughed derisively. He’d heard the Mighty Quinn stories for as long as he could remember and recognized them for what they were. “Yeah, well, if you believe all that crap Da feeds us, then you’re dumber than two piles of dirt.”

The stories had become a part of their family history, stories of strong and clever and brave Quinn ancestors who had slain dragons and fought ogres and rescued fair maidens. Though he’d enjoyed the tales when he was younger, he soon saw them for what they were—elaborate lies, filled with his father’s hidden warnings about the evils of the opposite sex.

“Remember that story about our long-ago cousin Ronan Quinn?” Brian slid a little closer.

“I don’t want to hear a story,” Sean insisted.

But Brian wouldn’t be deterred. He loved the stories. “Ronan was from a poor family who lived in a little cottage at the edge of a huge forest. His father was always away and his mother struggled to feed a family of six. When the last potato was eaten and the last bit of flour gone, Ronan knew they were in a desperate state.”

“I don’t want to hear a damn story!” Sean insisted.

“Yes, you do,” Brian said. “It will make you feel better.”

“So he decided to take his club and dagger and go deep into the woods to hunt the wolf,” a hesitant voice continued. Sean and Brian glanced over at the door to see Liam peeking in, adding his own part of the story. He waited, expectantly, hopefully, and when Brian nodded, Liam raced into the room and threw himself on the bed between them.

Brian reached out and ruffled Liam’s dark hair. “If Sean won’t have a story, then I’ll tell it to you.”

Liam grinned. “I love this story.”

Sean cursed beneath his breath and slouched on the bed, determined not to listen to another ridiculous tale of imaginary ancestors.

“The king had put a bounty on the head of every wolf in Ireland,” Brian continued, “and the bounty was enough to feed Ronan and his family for many years. But hunting wolves was a dangerous sport, especially for one so young. And with only a wooden club and a small dagger, Ronan would have to come face-to-face with a wolf in order to kill it—close enough to be killed himself.”

“Wolves have really sharp teeth,” Liam commented. “My teacher showed us a picture of one. They can kill a man.”

“Now, Ronan had never gone to the dark forest and wasn’t sure how to find the wolves. But he vowed to stay in the woods until he found his prey and killed it—or was killed himself. Hunger and thirst tormented him from the start. Then he came upon a small quail with colorful green and yellow feathers and thought, Here is my dinner. But just as he was about to kill the quail with his dagger, the bird turned to him and spoke.”

Liam spoke up in a high, wavering voice, “‘Please,’ she begged Ronan, ‘spare my life and if you do, I will give you a magic acorn. The acorn will give you one wish, and I will give you a piece of advice.”’

Brian nodded. “That’s right. And Ronan, always tenderhearted, couldn’t bring himself to kill the quail. So he took the acorn and bent closer for the bird’s advice. And what was it?”

“‘These woods are full of magic,”’ Liam said.

“So Ronan wished to have a bucketful of money, but nothing happened. ‘I’ve made a bad deal,’ Ronan said to himself as he headed deeper into the woods. He’d been fooled and all he had was a silly acorn in his pocket. Hours later, he still hadn’t seen a wolf or found a bite to eat. But he came upon a huge black boar, rooting in a clearing near a beautiful crystal stream. Ronan’s stomach growled and again he thought, Here is my dinner. He snuck up behind the boar and raised his club, but the boar turned and spoke. ‘If you will let me live, I will give you a magic acorn and a bit of advice,’ the boar said. But Ronan wasn’t about to be duped again. He wasn’t that stupid.”

“Yes, he was,” Liam said. “He took the acorn even though he was starving. And he got more advice. ‘Everything is not as it appears in the magic forest.’ That’s what the boar said. And that was good advice. Wait and see.”

Sean groaned. “Do we have to? You both know how the story ends. Ronan meets the deer with antlers of gold and gets a third magic acorn and more advice. ‘What you want and what you need are not always the same.’ And then he meets a wolf and—”

“No,” Brian interrupted. “This version is different.”

“How?” Sean demanded.

“Ronan meets a…a beautiful druid princess dressed in…in a sparkling white gown, with a crown of emeralds covering her long, blond hair. Ronan had never seen a woman so beautiful and he was immediately captivated.”

Liam frowned. “Wait. That’s not how the story goes!”

“Yes, it is,” Brian insisted, shushing his brother. “The druid princess saw that he possessed three magic acorns and, with three, he could have anything he wanted. She desired them for herself. So she bewitched Ronan and told him that she could offer him anything he wanted for each of the acorns. When she offered to trade him one of his magic acorns for a wonderful feast, Ronan quickly agreed. The moment she took the acorn, a delicious feast appeared before his eyes. Ronan tossed his dagger aside, for what would he need a dagger for if he had such food to eat? He reached for a shank of beef. But before he was allowed to touch the food, the princess offered him something more. A bow appeared, made of the finest silver, and a jeweled quiver full of arrows. Ronan gave her another acorn and quickly tossed his club away, for he could now hunt wolves with his new bow and arrows. But before he could touch the bow and quiver, the princess offered him one final trade. His last acorn for a beautiful steed with a fine leather saddle.”

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me calling?” Conor stood at the door, dressed in his Boston Police Department T-shirt and navy trousers. His hands were braced on his waist and, for a moment, Sean was taken by how different he looked—older, like a real adult. He wasn’t just his pain-in-the-ass big brother anymore. In a few months, he’d be a cop. “Dinner is ready. Come on, it’s getting cold.”

He disappeared and Liam turned back to Brian. “Finish the story. It’s just fishsticks and French fries.”

Brian turned to Sean. “Do you want me to finish?”

“You might as well,” Sean said, knowing that Liam would refuse to leave until he heard how the Mighty Quinn triumphed in the end.

“When Ronan saw the fine steed, he thought, I will catch many wolves with such a fine horse and I will collect many bounties and make my family rich. He pulled the last acorn from his pocket. But then Ronan hesitated. The acorns must have very powerful magic to be so valuable to the princess. The druid princess demanded the third acorn, her voice turning shrill and her face turning ugly with anger. Ronan suddenly remembered the advice he was given by the quail, the boar and the deer.”

“The woods are full of magic, everything is not as it appears and what you want and what you need are not always the same,” Liam repeated.

“‘No!’ Ronan cried, clutching the last acorn in his fist. In the blink of an eye, the feast, the quiver and bow and the fine horse disappeared, for they were an illusion. And the princess turned into a huge, vicious wolf, snarling and lunging toward him, trying to get him to drop the acorn. Ronan had thrown aside all his weapons and had no escape.”

Even Sean wasn’t sure how the story would end, for this was a completely different version of Ronan’s tale from the one his father often told. In his father’s tale, the wolf guarded a princess and Ronan killed the wolf and rescued the princess. Then he chastely returned her to her father and went on his way, because Mighty Quinns never fell in love.

Brian paused and waited, dragging out the moment.

“All right, what happened?” Sean finally asked.

“Well, Ronan gathered his courage, held the single acorn tightly in his fist and closed his eyes, wishing that the wolf would turn into a harmless animal, like a mouse or a rabbit. When the snarling and growling finally ceased, Ronan opened his eyes and in front of him was a beautiful golden wolf pelt, worth a fine bounty from the king. He carefully lifted it up and, to his surprise, an ugly toad jumped out. When the druid princess realized a magic acorn had been used to turn her into a toad, she hopped off into the woods, and Ronan headed for home, anxious to collect his bounty. And after that, there was always food on Ronan’s table.”

Sean couldn’t help but laugh at the tale’s ending. “That story doesn’t even make sense. If Ronan was so smart, why didn’t he just go home with the acorns and wish for something he really needed? And what did a princess need with magic acorns if she had a crown of emeralds? And if she had two acorns already, and Ronan had one, then she could have—”

“Aw, shut yer gob,” Brian said, giving him a shove. “It’s just a story. Who’s gonna believe in magic acorns anyway?”

“It was a good story,” Liam said, his voice full of appreciation. He scrambled off the bed. “And I know the moral. Never trust a woman, no matter how pretty she is. A Mighty Quinn can never fall in love.” He ran to the bedroom door, then turned back. “Oh, yeah, and don’t get too greedy when someone offers you really nice stuff.” He ran out, shouting to Conor that he was starving.

Brian stood and Sean followed his lead. He did feel a little bit better. To hell with Colleen Kiley. Brian could have her, and good riddance. Besides, she really wasn’t even that pretty. She had squinty eyes and she wore too much makeup, and when she laughed, she sounded like a hyena.

“One more thing,” Brian said as they walked out of the bedroom.

“If you’re going to ask if I’m taking Colleen Kiley to the dance you might as well say goodbye to your pretty teeth right now,” Sean said, “’cause I’m gonna knock them through the back of your head.”

Brian laughed. Then he held out his hand. “I thought you might be able to use these.” He dropped three acorns into Sean’s palm.

“What are these for?” Sean asked.

“I figured you could use them to turn Colleen Kiley into a toad. Or maybe a big old sewer rat.” Brian pulled three more out of his pocket. “And if that’s not enough, I’ve got three of my own to use.” He slipped his arm around Sean’s shoulders. “We Quinns gotta stick together, right?”

Sean smiled and nodded. No matter how much he fought with his brothers, he always knew he could depend on them. “Yeah, I guess we do,” he murmured, shoving the acorns into his pocket.




1


SEAN QUINN sat slumped in the front seat of his battered Ford sedan. He’d found a parking space right down the street from the three-flat located in one of Cambridge’s trendy neighborhoods, and he’d been watching the front door for almost two hours.

The case had come to him in a roundabout way, through a colleague he’d met while sitting in a bar one night. Bert Hinshaw was a hard-drinking, woman-chasing, sixty-year-old private investigator, a guy who had seen his share of crazy cases over the years. They had talked for hours, Sean learning from Bert’s experience and Bert grateful to have someone to listen to his tales. A friendship developed and they now met regularly to chat—Bert doing most of the talking and Sean taking mental notes.

But health problems had slowed Bert down, and every now and then he threw a case Sean’s way. Sean had been on this referral for nearly two weeks, hired by a wealthy woman who had been romanced, married, then bilked out of a fortune by Eddie “The Cruiser” Perkins aka Edward Naughton Smyth aka Eddie the Weasel and about six or seven other aliases.

This case had been by far the most lucrative he’d ever taken, even better than the Intertel Bank case he’d had a few months ago. He was making some real money, a guaranteed rate of nearly four hundred dollars a day.

Eddie, a notorious con man and bigamist, had left a trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts across the country. The FBI had been after him for years. A bail bondsman from Maryland had been on his tail since Eddie had jumped bail in Baltimore. But Sean had been the one to track him down when Eddie’s seventh wife had heard that he was in the Boston area. She had hired Sean to find him and to turn him over to the FBI, so she might exact her own retribution at a trial.

Sean glanced at his watch. On Saturdays, Eddie usually didn’t get out of bed before three in the afternoon. And last night had been a late one. He’d spent the evening with one of his five current lady friends, a wealthy divorcée with a Bentley and a pricey house in Back Bay. Sean had decided that the time was right to move in and had called the FBI. The agent in charge had assured Sean that he’d have two men to the flat within the hour.

“Come on, come on,” he murmured, staring out at the sideview mirror for a nondescript sedan.

It amazed him that a guy like Eddie could convince nine intelligent women from across the country to marry him and then entrust their money to him. He had to admire a guy that smooth. Not that Sean had any problems attracting women. He was a Quinn and there was something in the genes that made the Quinn brothers irresistible to the opposite sex. But, unlike his brothers, he’d never had an easy time talking to women. He just couldn’t think of anything witty or charming to say, nothing to keep them amused—beyond his talents in the bedroom.

Things hadn’t changed a whole lot since he was a kid. Brian was still the outgoing twin and Sean stood in the background—observing, evaluating. His brothers teased him that his aloofness was exactly what made him irresistible to women. The less interest he showed, the more fascinated they became.

But he knew what all those girls really wanted—great sex and a future he wasn’t prepared to give them. He recognized their need to own him, to trap him into marriage, and he always made his escape before he got caught. Quinns weren’t supposed to fall in love. And though that no longer applied to his five brothers, Sean had no intention of making the same mistakes they had.

A gray four-door sedan slowly cruised past his car and he sat up. “It’s about time,” he muttered.

He stepped out of the car and a few seconds later two agents, dressed in dark suits and sporting government-issue sunglasses, approached. “You Quinn?” one of them asked. “I’m Randolph. This is Atkins. FBI.”

“What took you so long? Did you have to stop for doughnuts?” Sean muttered.

“We were out catching some real bad guys,” Atkins said, his disdain apparent.

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender. “If you’re not interested, I can call the bail bondsman. He’ll come up from Baltimore, they’ll haul Eddie back there. Your Baltimore guys can have the collar.”

Sean knew the uneasy relationship between the Feds and bounty hunters. If they could make the arrest without too much bother, they preferred to take it rather than risk the embarrassment of being outwitted by amateurs. Either way, Sean was in for a nice finder’s fee from the bail bondsman. He wasn’t about to give that up.

“So what apartment is he in?” Atkins asked.

Sean gestured to the building. “He’s a creature of habit. On Saturdays, he leaves at precisely 3:00 p.m. Gets a cappuccino at the coffee shop down the street, buys the Racing News at the newsstand, calls his bookie on a pay phone. A little shopping, dinner around seven, then he heads out for the night.”

“How long have you been watching this guy?”

“Two weeks,” Sean said, his gaze returning to the front door of the building. He watched the door open and couldn’t help but smile when Eddie stepped out—right on schedule—dressed in a tailored sport coat and perfectly pressed trousers. Though he was in his mid-forties, Eddie made a point to stay in shape. He could easily pass for a man ten years younger. He carried a leather overnight bag, an ominous sign for a guy like Eddie. Was he preparing to run? “That’s him,” Sean murmured.

Atkins looked at his watch. “Two fifty-five. I guess you don’t know your guy as well as you thought you did.” He stepped into the street and Randolph followed. “We’ll take him. You stay here.”

“The hell I will,” Sean muttered. “If he bolts, I want to be close enough to catch him.”

They were halfway across the street when Eddie saw them. Sean knew before the agents did that he was going to run. Sean could see it in that split second when their eyes met. It was that knowledge that gave him a jump on the agents. Before they could even shout, Sean took off after Eddie. He caught up to him halfway down the block, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him to the ground.

By the time Randolph and Atkins reached them both, Sean had Eddie pinned, his hands twisted behind his back. Atkins cuffed Eddie, then yanked him to his feet. “There are a whole bunch of ladies anxious to see you again, Eddie,” the agent said.

“Wait, wait,” Eddie said. “You can’t take me now!”

Randolph laughed. “You want us to come back later? Yeah, right, we’ll do that. In fact, why don’t you just call us when you’re ready to turn yourself in?” He shoved Eddie toward the car, but Eddie stopped and turned back to Sean.

“Hey! Hey, buddy!” he shouted. “Come here.”

Sean glanced at the two agents and they both shrugged. “What do you want?” he asked.

“You gotta help me out. It’s really important.” He tried to reach into his pants’ pocket, but the agents grabbed him. Atkins pulled out a wad of bills secured in a fancy money clip. “Give the guy fifty,” Eddie said. “No, make it one hundred.”

The agent handed Sean two fifties. “What’s this for?” Sean asked.

“I want you to go over to 634 Milholme Street and tell Laurel Rand what happened.”

“You’ll get a phone call,” Sean said. “You call her.” He pushed the money back at him.

“No, I can’t. By then it will be too late. You gotta do this for me. Tell her I’m real sorry. Tell her I really loved her.”

Sean stared down at the money. He should refuse, but every dollar in his pocket was one more dollar toward a real office and maybe even a real secretary. One hundred dollars would pay the electric bill for a few months. Why not take a few minutes and run a simple errand? “All right. You want me to tell her you were arrested?”

Eddie nodded.

“You want me to tell her why?”

“You might as well. Once she learns the truth, she isn’t going to want to talk to me again. But tell her I really did love her. She was the one.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” Agent Randolph muttered. “I’m sure that’s what you tell all the ladies. Do you say that before or after you pick their bank accounts clean?”

“I loved them all,” Eddie said. “I just have this compulsion. I keep asking them and they keep saying yes. That’s their fault, not mine!”

“Let’s go.” Agent Randolph dragged Eddie away by the arm.

“Remember, you promised,” Eddie shouted at Sean. “I’m counting on you.”

The agents pushed Eddie into the back of the sedan, then roared off down the street. Sean glanced at his watch again. It wouldn’t take him more than a half hour to deliver the message. After that, he’d head back to his apartment, type out a final invoice and get it in the mail. By next week, he could have his money, and the week after that, he could start looking for a small office. There was still advertising and office equipment to think about, of course. And he’d need a phone and an answering service and a beeper. If he was going to build a successful business, he’d have to start dressing for success, too—like suits and maybe a tie or two.

He strolled over to his car. “Milholme Street,” he murmured. “This should be fun.”

Milholme was only a few miles from Eddie’s place. Sean squinted against the midday sun, pulling his sunglasses down to read the numbers on the homes along the wide boulevard. But when he reached the address Eddie had given him, he discovered it wasn’t an apartment or a business, but a church.

He pulled the car into a spot on the street. Parked near the front of the church was a long limo with a Just Married sign pasted to the back. “What the hell is this?” Suddenly he regretted saying yes to Eddie. The last thing he wanted to was to tell some woman that she was going to be dateless for the wedding festivities.

Sean noticed several single women standing in front of the church, dressed in their Saturday-afternoon finery. One of them had to be Laurel Rand. He jogged across the street and approached the first woman he met. “I’m looking for Laurel Rand,” he said.

“She’s inside,” the pretty guest replied.

Sean nodded, then took the steps two at a time. The sooner he took care of this responsibility, the sooner he could get over to Quinn’s Pub and celebrate the successful closing of a case. He found a bridesmaid just inside the doors, clutching a bouquet of flowers in her hands. “Laurel Rand?” he asked.

“She’s down that hallway,” the bridesmaid said, pointing to the left. “Last door on the right. Are you the photographer?”

Sean frowned at the girl before he headed down the hall. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on the door. But when a woman dressed in a bridal gown opened it, he knew taking the money from Eddie had been a colossal mistake. He’d just been thrown to the lions and he was wearing sirloin shorts. “Laurel Rand?”

“Yes?”

Sean swallowed hard as her gaze met his. He recognized her as one of the women he’d seen with Eddie over the past few weeks. But he’d never realized how beautiful she was. She looked like a angel, all pale and perfect, dressed in white. He had to clench his fingers just to keep from reaching out and touching her. Her wavy blond hair was pulled back from her face and tucked beneath a veil, but a tiny strand had slipped loose, the only distraction from absolute perfection.

Her dress rustled, startling him back to reality. “You’re Laurel Rand?” Sean repeated, all the time praying that Laurel Rand was somewhere else inside the room, maybe arranging the flowers or polishing the bride’s shoes.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you the photographer? You were supposed to be here an hour before the wedding.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, then pulled him into the room. Her touch was warm and caused an unbidden reaction. “We only have thirty minutes before the ceremony is supposed to begin. How are we going to get all the shots I wanted? Where is your equipment?”

“I—I’m not the photographer.”

She let go of his hand. “Who are you? And why are you interrupting me? Can’t you see I’m the bride? You’re not supposed to make me nervous,” she babbled. “I’m supposed to be calm. Don’t I look calm?”

He fought the temptation to grab her hand again, to hold on tight while he gave her the news. “You…you look—” Sean took a deep breath, searching for a word to adequately describe her. “Beautiful. Stunning. Actually…I’d say…breathtaking.” For a guy who had trouble talking to women, he certainly wasn’t having any trouble now.

A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Thank you.”

Sean wanted to turn and run, content to keep the memory of Laurel Rand in his head just as she was when she smiled. To hell with Eddie. He was a bigamist, nine times over. But still, some inborn instinct to protect her from humiliation kicked in. “Can we talk?” he asked, reaching out to take her by the elbow, anxious for any excuse to touch her again.

“Talk?”

He shut the door, then gently steered her toward a chair, just in case she decided to faint. “Who are you marrying today?”

She stared at him for a long moment with a confused expression. “I—I’m marrying Edward Garland Wilson. But you should know that, if you received an invitation to the wedding.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Are you crashing my wedding? Who are you?”

“Just one more question,” Sean said. “Is your groom about six-one, dark hair, graying at the temples?”

“Yes,” Laurel said. “Are you a friend of Edward?”

“Not exactly. But he did send me here to give you a message,” Sean said.

Her expression brightened. “He did? Oh, that’s very sweet. But he could have come himself. I don’t care about those silly superstitions about seeing the bride before the ceremony. What’s the message?”

Sean cursed silently. Jeez, why had he agreed to do this? He should just turn around and get the hell out of Dodge. He didn’t need to break this woman’s heart. And he certainly didn’t want to see her cry. But he suspected there was no way he’d get out of the room without doing both.

He took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. “Edward won’t be coming to the wedding.”



LAUREL STARED at the handsome stranger, unable to comprehend what he was saying. “Is this some stupid joke?” she asked. Sure, it might be fun to tease the bride on her wedding day, but this was downright cruel. Didn’t she have enough to worry about?

“I’m afraid it isn’t,” the man replied. “Eddie gave me a hundred dollars to come over and tell you personally.”

“No,” Laurel said, shaking her head, panic quickly setting in. “This can’t be happening. I have to get married today. There are guests and bridesmaids. I spent two months picking out the music. He cannot get cold feet thirty minutes before we walk down the aisle!” Laurel pushed past the stranger. “Where is he? I want to talk to him.” She cursed beneath her breath as she headed to the door. They had an agreement! And he wasn’t allowed to back out, especially at the last minute.

He grabbed her hand as she brushed past him, his touch firm and sure. “He’s not here. And you can’t talk to him.”

“Why not?” she demanded as she yanked out of his grasp.

“Because he’s on his way to jail,” he said.

Laurel spun around and faced him. “Who are you? And why are you here?”

“I told you. Eddie sent me. My name is Sean Quinn. I’m a private investigator. And I’m…” He paused. “I’m the one who sent your groom to jail.”

She gasped. “Jail? You sent Edward to jail?” She wasn’t sure what possessed her at the moment. Maybe it was all the stress of the last few months—planning the wedding, making sure everything was perfect, finally finding a suitable man who wanted to marry her. Laurel didn’t expect a fairy-tale wedding, but she didn’t expect this nightmare, either! She balled her fingers into a fist, cursed beneath her breath, and punched Sean Quinn squarely in the stomach.

The punch caught him by surprise and the air left his lungs in a loud whoosh. For a moment he didn’t breathe. He just looked at her with shock. Then he took a ragged breath. “Nice punch,” he said. “I—I guess I deserved that.” He slowly straightened. “But I expected a few tears, not a right jab.” He cleared his throat. “I think after I explain, you might feel a little better.”

She leveled a withering gaze at him. “The only thing that will make me feel better, Mr. Quinn, is if you disappear into thin air and Edward appears in your place.”

“That’s not going to happen. Your fiancé isn’t who he pretends to be. His real name is Eddie ‘The Cruiser’ Perkins. He’s a con man and he’s wanted in eight states.”

“You must be mistaken. Edward is from a very good family in West Palm Beach. They’re in international banking and investments. I met his parents.”

“They were probably actors he hired,” Sean said. “That’s his modus operandi, according to his sheet. He’s very good at what he does. You shouldn’t feel bad for being duped.”

“Duped?” Laurel said.

Sean Quinn gave her a weak smile. “I—I didn’t mean duped. I—I’m not saying that you’re stupid.”

“Stupid?” She felt an edge of hysteria creep into her voice and she fought the urge to punch him again. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” Sean countered. “Not at all. I think you’re—”

“Naive? Trusting? Gullible?”

He shook his head and swallowed hard. “Like I said before. Beautiful.”

His gaze met hers and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He had the most amazing eyes, an odd mixture of gold and green, strangely intriguing, yet direct, honest. Since he’d walked into the room, she hadn’t really bothered to take a good look at him. After all, this was her wedding day. She was supposed to have her mind on her groom.

Frustration welled up inside of her and she felt like screaming. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the most romantic day of her life, but it did represent a milestone of sorts. From this day on, she was supposed to be in control of her life.

Laurel walked over to the window and fixed her gaze on the courtyard outside. “The best laid plans…” she murmured. How could they have gone wrong? “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I—I really didn’t mean to mess up your special day.”

All of a sudden, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She turned back to Sean. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” A tear dribbled down her cheek and she angrily brushed it away. All this planning and now…nothing.

“Hey, don’t cry,” he murmured. He gently rubbed her arms, as if to soothe her. But the moment he wrapped his arms around her, all thoughts of Edward and her ruined wedding fled from her mind. Instead, Laurel was taken by his kindness and his strength…and his incredibly muscular chest.

She sucked in a sharp breath, then stepped back. If she had any questions about the depth of her feelings for Edward, they were answered now. She hadn’t loved him. He was out of her life barely ten minutes and she was in the arms of another man!

Laurel walked across the room, determined to observe Sean Quinn from a safe distance. His eyes weren’t the only part of him that she found attractive. His hair was dark, almost black, and brushed the collar of his leather jacket. He was handsome, but there was something else, an air of indifference about him that made him seem aloof, untouchable.

“What was he arrested for?” Laurel asked.

Sean cleared his throat. “Ah…bigamy.”

Laurel gasped. “Bigamy? He has a wife already?”

“Actually, he has nine. You’d have been number ten.”

Laurel groaned, a flush of humiliation warming her face. “I guess this is what I deserve.” She smiled weakly. “I should have suspected something was up. I wanted him to meet my friends, but he always had some excuse, some business meeting that he had to attend. And when I asked about his family, he changed the subject. And then he couldn’t make the wedding rehearsal last night. He said he had a business meeting.”

“He was with another woman,” Sean said. “But if it makes you feel better, he said he really did love you.”

Laurel laughed. Love. She was far too practical to believe in that particular emotion. She and Edward were compatible, and she’d thought he came from a good family, so she’d decided to accept his proposal when he’d asked. After all, it had fit right in with her own plans. She would marry Edward, collect her trust fund from her uncle, and make all her dreams come true. And now, everything was ruined.

Or was it?

“Tell me something,” Laurel said, lifting her gaze to Sean and sending him a smile. “Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?”

He cleared his throat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “I better be going now. You have a lot to take care of. You probably can’t return the wedding dress, but maybe your guests will let you keep the gifts—once they realize this wasn’t really your fault.”

“What size jacket do you wear?” Laurel quickly turned and retrieved a garment bag from a hook on the back of the standing mirror. “I’m pretty sure this will fit,” she murmured as she unzipped the bag and glanced down at his shoes. She could still salvage something from this mess. “I doubt if we’d be so lucky that the shoes would fit, too. Edward had really big feet.”

“No way. I’m not getting all dressed up so I can tell your guests you’re not getting married,” Sean said. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to tell the guests,” Laurel said. “I do plan to get married this afternoon.”

“Eddie is in jail. I don’t think they’re going to let him out,” Sean replied.

“Oh, I’m not going to marry Edward. I’m going to marry you.”

Laurel waited, the silence in the room deafening. His jaw slowly dropped and he stared at her as if she’d just sprouted horns and a tail. Maybe the suggestion was a little rash, but she was desperate. “Before you say no,” she murmured, “I want you to listen to my proposal.”

He backed away from her, his hands up. “I don’t need you to propose, lady. I’m not walking down the aisle. Not with you, not with any woman.”

“And I have no intention of calling off my wedding. Now, as I see it, this is entirely your fault. You’re the one responsible for Edward getting arrested and—”

“He was a damn bigamist!” Sean shouted. “He was breaking the law. And you should be grateful I saved you from him.”

“I would be, if there wasn’t so much riding on this wedding. There are guests and gifts and a huge reception planned. The embarrassment would be…” She let her words drift off. She felt a bit guilty for manipulating him, but the wedding was important. Once she got married, she’d get her inheritance. Once she got her inheritance, she could rent her building. She had it all picked out, an old brick storefront with lots of light and high ceilings.

The idea had come to her several years ago when she’d started teaching music at a grade school in Dorchester. After college, she’d bounced around from job to job, trying to find her place in the world. She’d joined the Peace Corps on a whim, only to find herself with a chronic case of dysentery. They’d sent her home after four months. A few months later she’d taken a job teaching dance on a cruise ship. But the exotic locales didn’t make up for the cramped quarters and the sea-sickness. Her career as a flight attendant ended when she’d realized she had a paralyzing fear of flying.

But this time she’d found something she might actually be good at. There were plenty of after-school programs for kids who were interested in academics or athletics, but very few available for children with talent in the arts. So she had decided that once she got her hands on her five-million-dollar trust fund, she’d open an after-school center that focused on theater and dance and music, and maybe even the visual arts. She already had a picture of it in her mind. And she would call it the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts, after her mother, who had passed down her love of the arts to Laurel.

If her uncle Sinclair hadn’t been such a miser, she might not have had to go to such extremes. But he controlled the Rand family trust, doling out money as he saw fit. And since he’d been named the administrator of her trust fund after both her parents had died, he held the purse strings. Sinclair had laid out the conditions. The trust fund provided her with a small monthly income. If she married before her twenty-sixth birthday, she would be entitled to her inheritance of five million. If she remained single, she’d have to wait until her thirty-first birthday for the money.

In truth, Sinclair Rand was nothing more than an old chauvinist. In his mind, no woman could handle that amount of money without a man to supervise. He hadn’t cared who she married, he hadn’t even bothered to meet Edward. As long as her husband had a penis, then Uncle Sinclair figured he had the brains to handle her finances, and that was enough for him. Uncle Sinclair claimed his ideas were in keeping with how Laurel’s father, Stewart Rand, would have wanted things. But she also knew if her parents were alive, they’d support her idea for the arts center.

But two could play at her uncle’s little game. “You mentioned you were a private investigator. I suppose you’re accustomed to being paid for your time. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars to put on this tuxedo and walk down the aisle with me.”

He gasped. “Ten thousand dollars? You’re crazy.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. It wouldn’t be legal. We don’t have a marriage license. All I’m asking is that you walk through the ceremony with me.” She paused. “And the reception. You just have to pretend to be Edward. Think of it as playacting. And once we’re in the limo and on our way to the honeymoon, that’s it. Your part is over.”

It would be a way of buying herself some time, Laurel mused. Sooner or later her uncle would have to see that his insistence on marriage was antiquated and untenable. After all, she’d nearly married a criminal to get her hands on her inheritance. Pretending to marry a handsome private investigator wasn’t nearly so serious. Once her uncle saw how far she was willing to go to build her dream, he’d have to relent.

“All this just to save you a little embarrassment?” Sean asked, leveling her with a suspicious gaze.

“Yes,” she lied. He didn’t really need to know the truth, did he? After all, she was paying him well for his services as a stand-in groom.

“And you’re going to pay me to do this?”

“Yes. Ten thousand. That’s a lot of money,” she said. “You could afford to get a decent haircut.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze intense. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

She felt a shiver skitter along her spine. She’d planned a wonderful honeymoon in Hawaii and was tempted to make that a requirement, as well. Maybe another ten thousand would cover a week of frolicking on a secluded beach. An image of Sean Quinn, shirtless, his skin burnished by the sun, flitted through her mind. It was immediately replaced by an image of him diving into the surf…naked…the water gleaming over his—

Laurel cursed inwardly. This was getting ridiculous! She’d nearly married another man today and she couldn’t stop fantasizing about a guy she barely knew. “I’m not paying you to trust me. I’m paying you to marry me. If it will make you feel better, I’ll put it all in writing.”

He thought about the offer for a moment longer, then sighed. “All right. I suppose I could help out. I could use the money.”

Laurel threw herself into his arms, unable to contain her joy and relief. But when he slipped his hands around her waist and held her just a bit longer than proper, she found herself wondering what it might feel like to kiss Sean Quinn. “I—I’ll write out our agreement while you get ready.” She hurried to the door, then turned around before she opened it. “You’re not going to back out on this, are you?”

Sean picked up the tuxedo and looked at it critically. “With that right jab you’ve got? I’d be fool to make you angry again.”



THE DOOR CLOSED softly behind her. Sean released a tightly held breath, then shook his head. “What the hell am I doing? I’ve got to be insane.” He glanced over at the window and wondered if he could get it open and crawl out before she returned.

The day had started out with such promise. He was going to close a big case, take a sleazebag off the street and collect a nice fat fee. But he’d made an error in judgment by offering to do a favor for that sleazebag and look where it got him. He hadn’t needed Eddie’s hundred-dollar fee; he’d already had a good day financially. Greed had gotten him in this mess.

He thought back to the tale of Ronan Quinn, how the wolf had nearly eaten him because he’d gotten a little too greedy. Now he had a chance to collect a tidy ten thousand acorns from Laurel Rand, just for pretending to be Edward Garland Wilson.

It would be ten hours’ work maximum, at a rate of one thousand dollars an hour. He’d have to be a fool to turn that down. And what did he have to lose? His only real plans this evening had been to stop by Quinn’s Pub and have a few beers, then go back to his apartment and type up the bill. And Laurel Rand was right—he hadn’t signed any marriage license, so the whole thing was off the books. Just a charade for her high-society wedding guests.

Sean slowly unzipped the garment bag and withdrew the tuxedo. He checked the label, noting the fancy designer name. The jacket looked like it might be a little small and the pants on the short side, but at least the shirt collar wouldn’t choke him.

This was certainly not what he had in mind when he thought of marriage. Of course, he’d never thought of marriage for himself at all. Sean had been told all the cautionary tales of his Mighty Quinn ancestors—as had his brothers. But Sean had been the only one in the family to recognize that the odds were against all six brothers being able to achieve eternal bachelorhood. When his oldest brothers had fallen victim, he had assumed that his odds for avoiding matrimony had improved considerably.

But there was a part of him that envied his five brothers—and even his little sister, Keely. They’d all found something that he’d never once experienced in his life. Sure, there had been women, even a few who imagined themselves in love with him. But not one had come close to touching his heart—a heart that he’d kept well protected over the years.

His attitude about marriage might not have been so harsh had he a decent example to follow. His father had been horrible at it. And his mother had been…Sean paused. He used to think of her as an angel, the perfect mother. But that had changed one day, shortly after his fourteenth birthday, when he’d learned the truth about his parents’ marriage.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. His father’s imperfections and his mother’s infidelities were in the past—so why couldn’t he forget them? A shrink might say he had trust issues, but Sean didn’t believe in that kind of psychobabble. He was who he was and there was no use trying to analyze it. He just had to live with it.

Sean took a deep breath, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it over the back of a chair. Then he stripped down to his boxers and tugged on the finely pressed black trousers. He’d just pulled the zipper up when the door opened.

Laurel Rand slipped inside and hurriedly closed the door behind her, turning to face him. For a moment she froze, staring at him mutely, her gaze dropping to his naked chest, then flitting back up to his face. His eyes met hers and for a moment he was struck again by her beauty. But then he forced himself to look at her rationally. She’d just learned her groom wouldn’t be attending the wedding, yet she’d seemed to accept the news without hysterics and tantrums.

Sean rubbed his hand over his abdomen, his muscles still tense from when she had punched him. Every instinct told him that Laurel Rand shouldn’t be trusted, but the money was just too good to resist. Ten thousand dollars didn’t fall into his lap every day. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’ll do it.”

A tiny smile curled her lips and Sean took satisfaction in the knowledge that what he was doing had pleased her. She really was extraordinarily beautiful, especially when she smiled. Some might think her mouth a little too wide or her cheekbones too high. Taken alone, each feature of her face wasn’t all that pretty. But when put together, she had a beauty that he found arresting.

She slowly approached and handed him a folded piece of paper. “I wrote it all out,” she said. “And…and I wrote you a check. It’s dated for the day after tomorrow.”

He took the paper and the check, then grabbed the tuxedo jacket and put them both into the breast pocket. “Thanks.”

“Aren’t you going to read it?” Laurel asked.

He shrugged as he slipped into the pleated shirt. “I trust you.” Sean stared down at the front of the shirt. “No buttons,” he said.

“Oh, there are studs,” she said, grabbing up the garment bag and fishing around until she found a card. “Here.”

Sean fumbled to get one off the card, but his fingers were clumsy with nerves. It dropped to the floor and skidded beneath the chair. “I never could figure these things out,” he said, bending to retrieve the stud.

“Let me,” Laurel said, taking the errant stud from his fingers.

He stood in front of her, the shirt gaping open. When her fingers brushed his skin, a current of sensation rushed through him. He held his breath as she worked at the studs, trying to focus his thoughts on something other than a vivid fantasy of her smoothing her palms over his naked skin and brushing away the shirt altogether. Of her damp lips trailing across his—

She glanced up at him and Sean sent her a weak smile.

“Do they fit?” she asked.

“They?”

She sank down, picked up one of the black patent leather shoes, and held it out. Sean slipped it on his left foot and found it had to be two sizes too big. “They’ll be all right.”

“No,” she said. To his surprise, she reached down the front of her dress and came back with a wad of tissues. “Here. Stuff some into the toes.” She pulled out more tissue and tossed it over her shoulder. “I didn’t need the cleavage anyway.”

He bit back a chuckle. Her honesty was disarming. “Aren’t you nervous?” he asked.

“Why would I be nervous?”

“Aren’t all brides supposed to be nervous?”

She ran her hand over the front of his pleated shirt. “I’m not getting married today,” she said. “You saw to that.”

A trace of anger colored her voice and he immediately felt regret for his part in her distress. “I’m sorry,” Sean said. “But I think it’s for the best.” He paused. “Did you love him a lot?”

Her hand stilled on his chest and she fixed her gaze on the shiny pink paint on her fingernails. “I obviously didn’t know him,” she said in a resigned tone. Laurel forced a smile. “I suppose we should talk about what’s going to happen. You have been to a wedding before, haven’t you?”

“Quite a few lately,” Sean said, thinking of his married siblings.

“Good, then you know how it works. You’ll go up to the front of the church and wait for me at the altar.”

“Do I have a best man?”

“No,” Laurel said. “Edward phoned me last night to tell me his brother, Lawrence, couldn’t make it. He had a family emergency, something about his pregnant wife. But then, that might have been a lie. He probably doesn’t even have a brother.” She reached for his tuxedo jacket, then held it out for him. “It’s a traditional service. Short and simple. Just listen to the minister and repeat everything he tells you to.”

“I can do that,” Sean said, turning away from her.

She slipped his jacket over his arms, then smoothed her hands across his shoulders. “That’s not such a bad fit,” she said. “I need to go get my bouquet and to talk to the photographer, so I guess I’ll see you at the altar.”

Sean slowly turned back to face her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Laurel nodded, then started for the door. But she stopped before she opened it. “One more thing,” she said. “Can you act as if this is the happiest day of your life?”

“I can try,” he said.

She slipped out of the room. Sean grabbed the shoes and stuffed a wad of tissue in each of the toes. He found socks in the garment bag and quickly pulled them on before slipping into the shoes. He wanted to make this work for her. He wasn’t sure why. He only knew that she was in trouble and she’d asked for his help.

And there was something about her that drew him. He didn’t have to measure every word he said with Laurel. She’d been bluntly honest with him, told him what she needed and how she felt. He hated the games that went on between men and women, the coy looks and the subtle innuendo, the advance and retreat meant to lead to the bedroom. His brothers were good at the game, but Sean always felt as if someone hadn’t shown him the rule book.

Laurel Rand didn’t play games. When she didn’t like what he had to say, she punched him in the stomach; when she needed his help, she simply offered to pay him for it. She hadn’t tried to manipulate him into something he didn’t want to do. He had to admire a woman like that.

When he finished tying his shoes, he made an attempt at the bow tie, but each time, it turned out lopsided. After the fifth try, he decided to settle for crooked. He raked his hands through his tousled hair, then stared at his reflection. He didn’t look too bad. “This has got to be the strangest day of your life, boyo,” he muttered before turning and walking to the door.

He walked down the hall. In the distance, he saw Laurel standing in front of the entrance to the sanctuary. She turned and their eyes met for a moment. A hesitant smile touched her lips and Sean gave her a little wave. He stopped and held out his arms, then slowly turned so that she might approve of his appearance. She laughed, and then her three bridesmaids turned to look at him.

Sean pulled open the door and slowly walked up the side aisle of the sanctuary. He found the minister waiting for him in a small anteroom. “Well, we’re almost ready to get started,” the minister said. “Are you ready?”

“I guess,” Sean murmured.

“I know you didn’t have a chance to attend the rehearsal, but the service will be pretty straightforward. Just listen to me and I’ll guide you through it. Any second thoughts?” he asked.

“What?”

“Marriage is for life, son,” he said. “If you’re not ready, then we don’t have to walk out there.”

“I’m ready,” Sean said.

“Then let’s go.” The minister walked out the door and Sean had no choice but to follow him. He didn’t have any idea what kind of sin he had just committed by lying to a minister. If he lied to a priest he’d be eternally damned, but the Episcopalians might be a bit more lenient on that point.

The minister stopped at the head of the center aisle. “You wait for your bride here,” he whispered. “Then take her hand and come to the top of those three steps.”

“Got it,” Sean murmured. Take her hand, then up the steps. Take her hand, then up the steps. Though there was no reason for him to be nervous, he was. He didn’t want to mess this up for Laurel. It seemed to mean so much to her.

Organ music suddenly filled the church and the doors opened. Slowly, bridesmaids dressed in pale green dresses marched down the aisle. When they’d arranged themselves in a line opposite Sean, the organ music swelled and Laurel appeared. Her veil obscured her face and even though he couldn’t see her features, he’d never seen anything more breathtaking. For a moment Sean wondered if this was how a real groom was supposed to feel. But then reality intruded and he remembered that the next fifteen or twenty minutes would mean nothing at all. It was all just a charade.

When Laurel reached him, he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. Together, they stepped in front of the minister. The ceremony passed without any major mistakes. Sean kept his eyes straight ahead until they had to exchange rings. He held her hand as he slipped the ring onto her finger and was surprised at how her hand trembled when she did the same. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes.

When the minister finally said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Sean breathed a silent sigh of relief. That hadn’t been so hard. But the next command made his stop short. “You may kiss your bride.”

Sean blinked and turned to him. “What?”

The minister leaned closer. “Lift her veil and kiss the bride,” he said.

Sean looked at Laurel for her approval. Through the thin veil, he saw the tight smile on her face. “Kiss me,” she murmured. “And you better make it good.”

Sean didn’t have to be told more than once. He took the bottom edge of her veil and lifted it over her head. Gently, he took her face between his hands and stared down into her wide eyes. Then, slowly, Sean brought his mouth down on hers. He had only meant to linger a few seconds—after all, this was a kiss meant purely for public enjoyment. He’d make it good. But the moment his lips touched hers, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

He lost all perspective, forgot about the wedding guests watching them and the minister standing close by. Instead he focused all his attention on the sweet taste of her mouth, the way her lips parted hesitantly and the soft moan that slipped from her throat as he touched his tongue to hers.

Sean wasn’t sure how long it lasted, only that when he finally pulled back, there was a polite round of applause from the wedding guests. “How was that?” he murmured, his mouth still hovering over hers.

“N-nice,” she said in a shaky voice. Then the organ started playing and Sean, satisfied that he’d offered up his best effort, turned and held out his arm. As they started down the aisle, he glanced over at her to find her with the same stunned look on her face that he’d seen when he’d opened his eyes from the kiss.

Sean got the distinct impression that she’d enjoyed the moment as much as he had. Well, at least Laurel Rand was getting her money’s worth. And if she wanted more, he would be happy to provide it.




2


THE RECEPTION WAS ELEGANT yet subdued, held at the Four Seasons, one of the city’s most magnificent hotels. A small combo played dance tunes at one end of the room while guests relaxed at tables scattered around the dance floor. Laurel was quite pleased with how it had all turned out, after all the planning and the careful coordination. It had been a perfect wedding—except that the groom was in jail and she had “married” a stranger instead. But thankfully, no one had noticed anything amiss.

It was a wonder she had been able to get through the dinner at all. First there had been the toasts and then the obligatory kisses for the crowd. After their kiss in the church, Laurel didn’t think it could get much better. But every time Sean’s mouth touched hers, it was different, the sensations more acute, the taste of him more addictive. The last kiss they’d shared was on the dance floor and it had left Laurel dizzy and breathless and longing to drag him off into a dark corner.

She pressed her palm to her chest and took a deep breath. She just had to get past one more hurdle before the night could be called a success. Her uncle Sinclair would put in an appearance at the reception and she’d have the task of introducing him to Sean. Though Uncle Sinclair was over eighty, he was still as shrewd as he’d been when he and Laurel’s father had made their first million together.

She looked out to the dance floor and watched as Sean swept one of her bridesmaids around. He hadn’t been much of a dancer early on in the evening, but he had a natural athleticism that allowed him to pick up the steps with ease. And he didn’t look bad in a tux, either. Any woman would be attracted to a man like…

Laurel frowned. Nan Salinger, her maid of honor and co-worker from West Elementary, looked like she was enjoying Sean just a bit too much. An unbidden surge of jealousy rushed over her and Laurel hitched up her skirt and headed to the dance floor. When she reached them, she tapped Nan on the shoulder. “I need to borrow my husband for a moment,” she said. “It’s time to cut the cake.”

“Right,” Sean said. “No problem.” As if he were following orders, he immediately let go of Nan and walked off the dance floor toward the cake, leaving Nan alone with Laurel.

“I think you’ve found yourself a real prince,” Nan said, staring after him with a dreamy gaze. “Why can’t I find a man like that?”

“Like what?” Laurel asked, curious to hear what her girlfriend thought about her groom.

“Oh, I don’t know. A manly man. You know, the strong, silent, sexy type. Broad shoulders, nice butt. He doesn’t say much, does he? But that just makes him more intriguing. Does he have any single brothers at home? Because if he does, I want to meet them.”

Laurel frowned. Nice butt? She didn’t need to listen to this on her wedding day! “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I mean I’ll let you know.” She spun away, anxious to avoid more questions.

In truth, she didn’t know anything at all about Sean’s family…or Sean. She didn’t know what he liked to eat or what he did in his spare time. She didn’t know his favorite color or what kind of car he drove. And as she thought about everything she didn’t know, Laurel realized that she’d never learn more. After tonight, Sean Quinn would walk out of her life and she’d never see him again.

“Miss Laurel?”

Laurel spun around to find her uncle’s man, Alistair Winfield, trailing behind her. Her uncle never went anywhere without his man. Alistair served as butler, valet, personal chef and business manager to Sinclair. He also served as messenger boy. He’d been the one to tell Laurel that her reclusive uncle wouldn’t attend the wedding ceremony. He’d been the one to sign the card with the wedding gift. And he’d made sure there was plenty of money in Laurel’s checking account to pay for the wedding expenses.

“Hello, Alistair.”

“You look very lovely tonight, Miss Laurel.” The diminutive, balding man smiled warmly. “I’m truly sorry I wasn’t able to see you walk down the aisle, but Mr. Sinclair had a very important meeting at the Numismatic Society. There was a discussion about a new Indian Princess pattern dime that was recently sold at auction.”

As if her uncle didn’t have enough money, he collected it, as well. He planned to leave all his money to the Numismatic Society of Greater New England. Laurel knew she could find better things to do with Sinclair’s fortune than give it to a bunch of old guys who collected money, but that was his choice. She wanted to make her own choices about her inheritance, too. “Well, I’m glad he was able to make it to the reception,” she said.

“He’d like to meet your new husband now.”

“Where is Uncle Sinclair?” Laurel asked. “I didn’t see him come in.”

“He’s waiting outside in the hall,” Alistair said. “You know how he feels about crowds.” He smiled weakly. “And women in strange hats. Plus if there are any flowers in the room, he’ll demand that they be removed. You know about his fear of roses.”

“I made sure to ask the florist to avoid roses,” she said. “And we were just about to cut the cake, so as soon as we finish with that, I’ll bring him a piece and introduce him to Edward.”

“It’s not chocolate cake, is it? Because you know how your uncle feels about chocolate.”

Laurel winced. “I forgot about the chocolate. Sorry.”

“Not to worry,” Alistair said. “We’ll be waiting. But only for seventeen minutes. Your uncle never waits more than seventeen minutes.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Laurel said. She grabbed her skirt and hurried over to where Sean was waiting.

He stood with the knife clutched in his hand. “I have no idea how to cut this thing,” he said, staring up at the four-tiered cake. “Should I start at the bottom or the top?” He glanced around the room. “Looks like we’ll need about a hundred pieces.”

“We only have to cut a piece for each other,” Laurel explained with a smile. “The photographer takes a few photos and then the caterer cuts the rest of the cake. I thought you said you’ve been to a wedding.”

“I spent most of my time at the bar,” he murmured. “They don’t keep the cake at the bar.”

Laurel grabbed the knife. “Put your hand over mine and smile,” she said. The photographer snapped three photos before Laurel sliced into the cake. She took a small piece and held it up to him. “Here, eat this. And smile.” He did as he was told. “And now, you feed me a little piece.”

Sean frowned as he picked up a piece of cake and held it out to her. Laurel leaned closer and opened her mouth. But the moment her lips touched the cake, Sean let it go and most of the piece fell down the front of her dress. The small crowd that had gathered around the table laughed and clapped, urging Sean to retrieve the cake. He leaned closer and peered down her bodice.

“Don’t you dare,” Laurel muttered, her lips just inches from his ear.

Sean quickly stepped back and Laurel turned away from the guests to get the cake herself. When she’d restored her composure, she pasted a smile on her face and slipped her arm through Sean’s. “Now, my uncle Sinclair is waiting to meet you. He’s eighty years old, he’s a little eccentric and he’s going to ask you a lot of really weird questions. He’ll probably want to see your fingernails. He has this thing about clean fingernails. Try to humor him as best you can, and if you don’t know what to say, just squeeze my hand and I’ll answer. Remember, your name is Edward Garland Wilson, you’re from West Palm Beach, Florida, and your family is in international banking. Beyond that, he doesn’t know anything about you.”

“Why hasn’t your uncle met Edward by now?” he asked as they strolled across the dance floor.

“Sinclair is a bit of a recluse. He lives in the Rand family summer home on Deer Island in Maine. He likes collecting coins and stamps and watching birds. He’ll only eat green vegetables and he has seven pairs of shoes in exactly the same style and color. Oh, and he believes that aliens are living among us. But, please, don’t get him started on that.”

“He sounds a little crazy,” Sean said.

“He’s a multimillionaire,” Laurel said, licking a bit of frosting off her finger, “so he’s not crazy, he’s eccentric.” When they reached the door to the foyer, she took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with. After Uncle Sinclair, we can leave.”

“And I was just starting to have fun,” he said.

“Are you sure you can handle this with my uncle? If you don’t think you can, then we can put it off.”

“I’m fine,” Sean replied. He slipped his hand around her waist and they stepped outside. Laurel longed for him to pull her into his arms and kiss her again, the way he had on the dance floor. But instead she forced herself to think about the task at hand, the final hurdle in her plan.

They found Sinclair Rand sitting silently in a small alcove just down the hall from the reception room, ensconced in a large wing chair like a member of the royal family. As they approached, he whispered something to Alistair and Alistair nodded. Laurel grabbed Sean’s hand as it rested on her waist and gave it an encouraging squeeze. She could do this. She could turn this whole mess around and make something good of it.

“Hello, Uncle Sinclair,” Laurel said, hanging on to Sean’s arm like a lifeline. “Uncle, this is my new husband, Edward Garland Wilson. Edward, I’d like to introduce you to Sinclair Rand, my uncle.”

On cue, Sean held out his hand. Sinclair took it, carefully examined Sean’s fingertips, then let his hand drop. “You married my niece,” Sinclair stated.

“Yes, I did,” Sean replied.

The old man watched Sean from beneath bushy white eyebrows. “What do you eat for breakfast?” he asked.

At first, Sean seemed taken aback by the question, but then he jumped right in. “Cap’n Crunch. Sometimes I like Lucky Charms or Cocoa Puffs.” He cleared his throat. “You look like an oatmeal guy.”

Sinclair’s eyebrow shot up. “I enjoy a nice bowl of oatmeal,” he said in a gruff tone. “The old-fashioned kind, not the instant. Have you ever had any surgery?”

“No,” Sean replied. “I’m a pretty healthy guy. How about you?”

“You know I have money,” Sinclair continued, ignoring Sean’s question.

“I have money, too. Probably not as much as you have. How much do you have?”

Laurel couldn’t help but smile. Usually, people were intimidated by Sinclair Rand. But Sean seemed unfazed by the questions, turning them all back on her uncle with a directness that left her uncle off balance. “Uncle, we really have to go. Our honeymoon awaits. We’re going to Hawaii.”

“Hawaii? Don’t eat the bananas there,” he warned. “Stay away from all yellow fruit and you’ll be fine. We’ll discuss your inheritance when you get back.”

Laurel bent down and gave her uncle a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you when I—I mean, we get back.” She gave Sean’s arm a tug, but he stayed glued to his spot.





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