Sean

by Kate Hoffmann

  She'd thought a marriage without love would be at least tolerable. Edward was charming and intelligent and he'd seemed to genuinely care about her. But just one evening spent with Sean Quinn had been enough to show her how wrong she'd been.

  Passions she hadn't known she possessed had suddenly surfaced. Every time Sean had touched her, her heart had beat a little faster and her knees had turned to jelly. Edward had never caused such a reaction. One kiss from her stand-in bridegroom had proved that fact.

  Gathering the last ounce of her energy, Laurel stepped out of her car. Her bags seemed to weigh a ton as she dragged them to the front door. She punched the code into the security system, then opened the door, pulling her bags in behind her.

  As she glanced around the foyer, her thoughts returned to her wedding night. A tiny shiver raced through her as she remembered that last kiss; Sean trapping her against the wall, overwhelming her with his lips and his hands. A groan slipped from her throat.

  "Welcome home, Miss Laurel."

  Laurel jumped at the sound of Alistair's chipper voice, a tiny scream slipping from her throat. She turned as he hurried toward her. Hefting up her bags, he smiled warmly. "And where is Mr. Edward?"

  "What are you doing here?" Laurel asked.

  "Your uncle decided to stay here for a time. He heard about a coin auction at Sotheby's in New York City and was anxious to attend, so he decided not to go back to Maine until later this month. You look very tired. Isn't Mr. Edward with you?"

  She scrambled to make up an excuse for her absent husband. Her uncle's presence had not been part of the plan! "I-I dropped him off at his apartment so he could pack up a few of his things. He didn't have time before the wedding. I'm going to go back into town to pick him up in an hour."

  "And how was your honeymoon? Very romantic, I trust."

  "Oh, very! We had a… a wonderful time," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "The beaches were beautiful and I-we walked every day." Laurel had never been an accomplished liar and Alistair was a shrewd man. A quick retreat was in order before he suspected the truth. "I-I better go pick up Edward."

  "I thought you said he'd be expecting you in an hour."

  She forced a smile. "Well, the honeymoon isn't over. I can't stand being away from him for a single second." Laurel backed toward the door, then slipped out and hurried to her car. "Damn," she muttered. "Damn, damn, damn." Now what was she supposed to do? She'd never anticipated this wrinkle in her plan.

  Over the past two weeks in Hawaii, she'd formulated a perfect strategy. She'd collect her inheritance, wait a few months, then write to her uncle to tell him that the marriage had been a mistake. She'd even decided to use the real Edward's past to her advantage. She'd married a con man who was already married. So, she'd fulfilled the requirements to get her trust fund-technically. The only part that worried her was that her uncle could be a capricious man and he might decide that a failed marriage wasn't a marriage at all.

  "I need a husband," she muttered to herself as she pulled out of the driveway. "I have a husband. A bought-and-paid-for husband. I just have to find him."

  As she drove toward Boston, Laurel rummaged through her purse for her cell phone. The information operator answered and Laurel requested the phone number for Sean Quinn. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't have a listing for Sean Quinn."

  "Try S. Quinn."

  "No, ma'am."

  Laurel groaned. How could she have been so stupid? For ten thousand dollars, she should have at least requested his phone number. There had to be some way to find the man. "What about Quinn's Pub?" she asked. "It's in South Boston."

  She waited for a few moments, holding her breath until the operator came on the line. "Here's the number." An automated voice recited the digits and Laurel quickly committed them to memory before she dialed. A minute later she had the address of the pub and directions on how to get there.

  Until now, seeing Sean again had never been an option. But after what had happened between them, Laurel had fantasized about another encounter-nearly every waking moment of her "honeymoon." She'd nearly asked him to come with her to Hawaii that night, as they'd said their farewells, and regretted not doing so.

  As she wove through traffic, she tried to formulate the best approach to her problem. Ten thousand dollars had been a high price to pay for one day's work. Maybe she could convince him that he owed her more time. If he requested more money, she might be able to find a few hundred. The money she'd given him had been the last from her wedding fund, a reasonable expense she'd thought. Or maybe she could convince him to wait for a cut of her trust fund.

  When she pulled up in front of the pub, Laurel said a quick prayer, hoping that she'd find him quickly. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, then grabbed her purse and dashed on a bit of lipstick. Satisfied that she looked as good as a jet-lagged honeymooner could look, she stepped out of the car and hurried inside.

  Lively Irish music played. A beautiful wood bar, reminiscent of nineteenth-century pubs, ran along one wall, its mirror reflecting the dim lighting. On her only visit to Dublin on a college summer vacation, she'd visited pubs just like Quinn's. A white-haired barkeep nodded at her as she approached.

  "I'm hoping you might know where I can find Sean Quinn."

  "And what would you be wantin' with Sean?" the man asked, his Irish accent thick.

  "I have a private matter I need to discuss," Laurel said. "Do you know how I can reach him?"

  "I wouldn't know that. Why don't you leave him a note and if he comes in I'll-"

  "No," Laurel said, growing impatient with the runaround. "I have to find him now."

  The man shook his head. "I don't know who you think you are, but-"

  "I'm his wife," Laurel blurted. The old man froze, his expression a mask of astonishment, and she silently cursed her quick tongue. She hadn't meant to say it, but she needed to find Sean. "Not exactly his wife, but-"

  "One minute," the man interrupted. "I'll just ring him." He hurried off to the far end of the bar and, after a short phone conversation, returned to her. "He's on his way."

  "Thank you," Laurel said, a knot tightening in her stomach. Her hands flitted to her hair and she nervously smoothed the wrinkled skirt of her sundress. If she was going to make this work, she needed to control her rash behavior. All her life, she'd been too impulsive, too reckless, never looking before she leaped. That's what had gotten her into this mess in the first place-marrying a man she didn't even know.

  She glanced up and found the bartender watching her with a suspicious glint in his eye. "Can I get you anything to drink, lass?"

  "White wine would be nice," she said.

  As she sipped her drink, Laurel casually observed her surroundings. In the rear of the pub, stained-glass lamps illuminated a pool table and dartboards hung from the walls. A chalkboard menu near the bar boasted Irish favorites including corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew and something called Dublin Coddle.

  Laurel's stomach growled and she realized that she hadn't eaten for nearly six hours. She waved to the bartender and he approached, this time a bit more warily. "I'd like to order something to eat. Some soup?"

  "We've got a nice potato soup. Or maybe ye'd prefer pea and ham soup. We also might have some clam chowder left from yesterday."

  "Potato, please," Laurel said.

  "Let me get you a bowl."

  After he left, Laurel gulped down the rest of her wine, hoping that it might fortify her courage. She'd paid Sean to pose as her bridegroom for a day and he had no obligation to help her. How could she convince him to resume his role? What kind of offer might he accept?

  Laurel wasn't certain how much a woman ought to pay for a husband but figured it couldn't be more than the man would make at a day-to-day job. After all, the job wasn't that difficult. She'd start with twenty thousand and negotiate from there. Twenty thousand out of five million was a small price to pay.

  "Here you go, lass. Potato soup. And that's soda bread." He rested his
arms on the bar and watched her eat. "Tell me, when did you and my son get married?"

  The spoonful of potato soup was halfway down her throat when the old man posed the question. Laurel coughed, snatching up her napkin. Her eyes began to water and Sean's father reached across the bar and slapped her on the back. "Your… your son?"

  "Sean is my son. I'm Seamus Quinn. And you'd be?"

  "Laurel Rand."

  "I'm surprised that Sean didn't tell us he'd found himself a wife. But then, the boy never did talk much."

  "Well, I'm not exactly his wife. Not technically." She quickly stood and grabbed her purse, wiping at her runny eyes. "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back."

  The ladies' room was in the rear of the bar, past the pool table. When she got inside, she locked the door behind her, then stood in front of the mirror and wiped at the smudged mascara beneath her eyes. "Calm down," she murmured. "If he accepts your offer, then you'll be fine. And if he refuses, you'll deal with it."

  With a soft curse, she opened her purse and pulled out her cosmetics bag. A tiny vial contained her favorite perfume and she dabbed a bit on before pulling out her mascara and lipstick. She'd have to use every advantage that she had, including scented skin, smouldering eyes and a sexy mouth.

  * * *

  Sean stepped inside Quinn's Pub and scanned the bar for his father. Seamus had called ten minutes before, frantic, insisting that Sean come down to the pub immediately. He'd claimed an emergency but had refused to give details, so Sean had no choice but to leave the Red Sox game he'd been watching on television and head down to the bar a few hours early.

  When he walked in, he'd assumed that the crowd had been too much for Seamus to handle and he'd needed an extra pair of hands. But the Saturday evening crowd was about what he'd expected for the early hour. Sean ducked beneath the end of the bar. As he nabbed an apron and wrapped it around his waist, he saw his father hurrying toward him from the back of the pub.

  "Good, you're here," he muttered.

  "What's wrong?"

  Seamus grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him closer. "She's here. In the toilet."

  "Who is here?"

  "Yer wife. She and I had a little chin-wag and the lass says yer married."

  Sean frowned. Lately, women had gone to greater lengths to entice the last remaining Quinn brother, but this was- Oh, hell. Could his father be talking about Laurel Rand? "What did she look like, Da?"

  "Like a woman who just caught herself a husband."

  "Blonde? Wavy hair?" He held his hand up to his chin. "About so tall?"

  "Said her name was Laurie or-"

  Sean didn't bother with the rest of the conversation with his father. He yanked off the apron, tossed it on the bar and headed for the ladies' room. When he'd left Laurel that night after the wedding, he'd told himself it was the last he'd see of her. And though he was curious about the attraction he'd felt for her, he knew better than to dwell on it. He wasn't ready to fall in love and he suspected he never would be.

  The door to the ladies' room swung open an instant before he reached for the knob. Laurel stood in front of him, wide-eyed and wary. Sean searched for something to say. A variety of opening lines raced through his head and he opened his mouth, ready to give one of them a try. What was it about Laurel? One minute, conversation with her was so easy, the next, he lost all capacity to speak, all ability to think straight.

  Suddenly, Laurel threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. At first he was too stunned to reciprocate. But when her lips parted slightly, Sean didn't see any reason not to enjoy what she offered. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her nearer, deepening the kiss until she went soft in his arms. And when Laurel finally pulled away, her face was flushed and her eyes bright. A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, so she was obviously satisfied with his response.

  "Hello," Sean said.

  "Hi. I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here."

  "No." In truth, from the instant his mouth met hers, he hadn't cared why she'd come. The kiss was a good enough reason. Over the past two weeks he'd nearly forgotten what she tasted like, how she felt in his arms. And it hadn't taken much to bring it back. One kiss.

  "No?"

  "Well, maybe," Sean said. "How was Hawaii?"

  "Sunny, warm, beautiful. As the only single woman renting a honeymoon bungalow, I felt a little out of place. But I needed the time away. And it was a nice way to celebrate my twenty-sixth birthday."

  Sean reached out and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. "Happy birthday."

  "Thanks," she said. "Another year older, but not any wiser."

  "Laurel, what are you doing here?"

  "I-I just wanted to see you." She paused, then shook her head. "That's not true. Uncle Sinclair has moved into the mansion for a while. Something about a corn auction in New York. Of course, he'd never think to rent a hotel room when I've got eight empty bedrooms."

  "Have you told him about Edward?"

  She shifted uneasily. "I need a favor. I know I said you'd just have to pose as my groom for a day, but I think I might need you for a little longer. And I was wondering if I could… rent you for a few more weeks?"

  "Rent me?"

  "Hire you. I just need you to be my husband again." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the ladies' room. "There's something I didn't tell you the day of the wedding," Laurel admitted. "I wasn't just worried about the embarrassment. I needed to get married that day."

  Sean's gaze automatically dropped to her belly. "You're pregnant?"

  "No!" Laurel cried. "I had to get married before my twenty-sixth birthday so I could get the five million dollars from my trust fund," she blurted. "My uncle is the administrator of the trust that my father left me when he died. He seems to think I can't handle the money unless I'm married."

  "So this wasn't about humiliation?" Sean asked. "It was about money." The woman he thought he'd "married" disappeared in front of his eyes. He now knew the attraction they'd shared had been nothing more than an act fueled by a mercenary nature.

  "I need that money. Now. If I don't marry, then I have to wait until I'm thirty-one. That's five years from now and I can't wait."

  "Not enough money for designer fashions and expensive jewelry?" Sean asked, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

  "No! That's not it."

  He'd been so captivated by her honesty and now he found that had all been a facade. She wasn't any different than any other woman-only interested in what he could do for her, what he might give her, what she could take. Sean shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans to keep himself from touching her again. He shouldn't have trusted her. He knew better than to trust a woman-even one as beautiful as Laurel Rand. "What are you offering?"

  She seemed taken aback by his question, but Sean didn't regret asking. If this was all about money, then he'd be damned if he was going to offer his services for free.

  "I've thought about that. We'd have to negotiate reasonable compensation. And we can do that later. For now, I need you to get your things and come home with me."

  Sean leaned back against the bathroom door and observed her shrewdly. He'd wondered over the past few weeks whether he'd fallen victim to the Quinn family curse, whether coming to Laurel's rescue that day might cost him his freedom. But he was happy to see that he'd battled the curse and come up the winner. There was no way this scheming woman would ever capture his heart.

  "Not until we come to terms," he said. "How long will my services be required?"

  "At least a month," she said.

  "My day rate is five hundred dollars," he said, padding the figure a bit. "Thirty days at five hundred is fifteen thousand. Of course, expenses are extra."

  "Your day rate? Are you a plumber?"

  "I'm a private investigator," Sean said. "Remember?"

  "Right! That's perfect then. Five hundred a day, plus expenses, limited to an additional five thousand." She held out her hand and he sho
ok it.

  Her fingers were warm and delicate in his hand and, for a moment, Sean didn't want to let go. Cursing inwardly, he pulled his hand away. "It's a deal."

  "Good, then let's go. We'll have to get your things. I told Alistair we'd be back in an hour. That gives us just enough time to get our story straight."

  Sean nodded, then opened the bathroom door, stepping aside to let her pass. As they walked through the pub, he let his hand rest on the small of her back. It was something a husband would do. He'd seen his brothers do the same for the women they loved. Yet when he touched Laurel, it was easy to forget that everything between them was a charade.

  "I'm leaving, Da," Sean shouted. "I won't be back for a few weeks. Give Rudy a call. He'll fill in for me."

  "Yah can't leave me in the lurch!" Seamus shouted.

  "You'll be fine," he murmured.

  Laurel's car was parked in front of the bar. She circled around to the driver's side and Sean followed her, then held out his hand. "What?" she asked.

  "Keys. I'm the husband. The husband always drives."

  "Not in this marriage. My car is very temperamental."

  "Are we going to have our first argument?"

  Grudgingly, she slapped the keys into his hand and walked around to the passenger side. Sean slipped behind the wheel, then reached over to unlock her door. But she didn't open it. "Get in," he said.

  She peered through the window, rapping on it with her knuckles. "Husbands open car doors for their wives."

  Sean groaned. For a guy who wasn't really married, he was already following orders like a henpecked spouse. He crawled back out of the car, jogged around to Laurel's side and yanked open the door. "Make sure you complain about my driving," he suggested. "And give me all the wrong directions. Isn't that what wives do?"

  As he shut her door, Sean suppressed a grin. Maybe this "marriage" would be just what he needed-to convince himself that marriage would never be an option for the only remaining Quinn bachelor.