The One-Night Wife

by Sandra Marton

He kissed her again, still with tenderness even though he wanted more, wanted her with a ferocity that shocked him. He held back with a strength he'd never known he pos­sessed. When her mouth began to soften and cling to his, he nipped lightly at her bottom lip until she sighed. Then, slowly, he eased the tip of his tongue into her mouth. She made that little sound, the one she'd made before, and tried to twist her face away but he wouldn't let her. He held her, kissed her, whispered to her until she began to melt in his arms. She wanted him.

  The knowledge hit him like a thunderbolt. She wanted him.

  Sean murmured her name and bent her back over his arm. He buried his lips in the sweet softness of her throat, cupped the high curve of her breast and caught her lace-covered nipple between his teeth. Savannah moaned his name. And then sanity returned.

  What in hell was he doing? Of course this was an act. The woman in his arms was giving an Oscar-winning per­formance and he was letting himself get sucker-punched all over again.

  He let go of her, shoved her away. She stumbled; her eyes flew open, and for one impossible second he let himself believe that what he saw in their depths was confusion. But she could make him see whatever she wanted. She had, from the minute he'd laid eyes on her.

  Sean snarled an oath as he snatched up her dress and flung it at her. She caught it and clutched it to her breasts.

  "Get out!"

  "But—but I thought—"

  "Yeah. I know what you thought." His mouth twisted. "You thought wrong, sugar. I don't take another man's leavings." He took a step toward her, dug a handful of bills from his pocket and flung them at her feet. "Here's cab fare. Go back to Beaumont and tell him you still owe me. Tell him I'll come around one of these days to teach him a lesson he should have learned the last time we met."

  He strode into the bathroom and slammed the door. When he opened it again, the bills still lay scattered on the carpet.

  Savannah was gone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What did a man do to work off his anger when he couldn't get the woman who was the cause of it out of his head?

  Sean paced like a caged lion. He took a shower so long and cold he risked frostbite. He grabbed the prior day's newspaper and flipped the pages without reading a word.

  And yet, all.he could do was think about Savannah and how she'd scammed him. He was a gambler, for God's sake. He'd seen people pull a thousand cons. Making it seem you were doing one thing while you were really planning an­other was at the heart of the game he played best.

  But he'd never come up against a woman like this before.

  What an ass he'd been. He'd known a lot of beautiful women in his life—too many, probably. He'd always been able to see past the lovely faces, the toned bodies, and figure out what they really wanted.

  Not tonight. Savannah had pushed his buttons and gotten what she wanted.

  And what had he been thinking, that he hadn't collected on their wager? Forget her tears. They'd been as phony as everything else about her. A bet was a bet. If he'd taken her to bed, he wouldn't be so damned angry now. The whole nasty episode would be behind him. He'd be done with that soft mouth. The silken skin. Those rounded breasts and end­less legs. Done with her.

  He flung the newspaper aside.

  The hell he would.

  If he'd had her once, he'd have wanted her again. AH through the night, through the first flush of dawn. Once wouldn't have been enough, not for him, not for her.

  Yes, the weeping, the trembling, had been part of the act. But maybe that little sob of passion, the way she'd melted against him, had been real. Maybe she'd really felt some­thing when he touched her. Maybe...

  Sean cursed in disgust. What pure, unadulterated bull. The lady hadn't felt a thing, except when she was winning. When he was letting her win. That was another reason he was so furious, not just at her but at himself. She'd played him for the worst kind of jerk, he'd let it happen, and she'd done it for Beaumont, the lying, cheating son of a bitch!

  Okay. It was too late to change what had happened, but not too late to get even. Alain Beaumont would pay. So would Savannah. What was that old saying about revenge being a dish best served cold? Sean smiled with grim amusement. The time would come. He'd find a way. Until then, all he had to do was be patient.

  Too bad patience wasn't in his nature.

  He pulled on a pair of trunks, went down to the dark beach and plunged into the surf. He swam out beyond the breakers, swam out farther than any intelligent man would, but then he had no claim on intelligence, not after tonight. Under the cool gaze of the setting moon, he floated on his back in the warm sea until, finally, he felt the tension drain away.

  When he returned to his suite, he fell into a deep, ex­hausted sleep.

  The ring of his cell phone jolted him awake.

  Sean sat up and peered at his watch. It was four-fifteen. Nobody phoned with good news at this hour. Dozens of possibilities ran through his mind but when he heard his older brother say, "Kid, it's me," he knew that the news was the worst it could be.

  "Is it Ma?" he asked hoarsely. "Another heart attack?"

  "No," Keir said, but Sean's relief was short-lived. "A stroke."

  The bed seemed to tilt. Sean swung his feet to the floor. "Is she—is she—"

  "She's still with us, but I won't mince words. The doctors don't know how things are going to go."

  The heart attack had almost killed their mother. If Keir was saying this was worse...

  No. Sean wasn't going there. If Mary Elizabeth was alive, there was still hope.

  "Where is she? Vegas? Same place as last time?"

  "She's in New York. Mount Sinai Hospital, cardiac care ICU. She and Dan were on vacation when it happened."

  "I'm on my way. I'll see you in..." Sean checked the time again and did some quick calculations. "Four hours."

  "Right. Cull's here, and the girls, and—"

  "Keir?"

  "Yeah, kid?"

  "Tell her I'm coming, okay? And that I love her."

  "She doesn't..." Keir cleared his throat. "Sure. Sure, I'll tell her."

  "Will she—do the doctors think—" Sean's voice broke.

  "Just hurry," Keir said, and hung up the phone.

  Sean sat still for a long moment. Then he punched in the number of a company that leased private jets. Forty minutes later, he was on his way to the States.

  Hospitals all smelled the same. Not that Sean had been in many, but you remembered from one time to the next. Antiseptic. Disinfectant. Lots of both, as if they could cover up the stench of pain, despair and death.

  Mary Elizabeth O'Connell-Coyle lay motionless on a bed in the cardiac care ICU. Sean's heart lurched when he saw her. His mother was a beautiful woman. Not now. Her nor­mally ruddy face was white, her eyes were shut and her once-firm mouth was slack. Tubes ran from under the white cotton blanket that covered her to a stand holding bottles that dripped fluids into them. A tangle of thin wires led to a panel of blinking lights on a monitor.

  He couldn't stop watching those lights. They marked his mother's continuing struggle to hang on to life.

  He sat beside her, clutching her hand, talking to her in a soft voice, telling her how much he loved her, how he needed her, how they all needed her. Then he waited, hoped, prayed for a response. Anything. It didn't have to be much. A squeeze of her fingers. A flicker of the eyelid. He'd have settled for that.

  The only things that changed were the nurses who came and went. They checked the tubes, straightened the linen, did things that didn't really mean a damn when what he wanted was someone to come in and announce they'd found a cure for her ailing heart, a magic potionthat would make her young and whole again.

  "Sean?"

  He blinked back his tears and looked up at his brother, Cullen, who put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  "I know you just got here," Cull said, "but—"

  "But everyone else wants to be with her, too." Sean nod­ded and got to his feet. "Sure. I understand."

/>   Of course he understood. They were allowed into the cu­bicle for fifteen minutes each. Multiply those scant quarter hours by a husband and six children. Add two sons-in-law and the same number of daughters-in-law, and you could see that there just wasn't enough time.

  There'd never be enough time.

  His throat constricted as he leaned down and kissed his mother's pallid cheek. He and Cullen exchanged quick em­braces. Then he went into the ICU waiting room and hugged the rest of the O'Conneil clan before settling into an imi­tation leather armchair that looked as worn and weary as the room's occupants.

  All they could dp now was wait.

  In late afternoon, his sisters went to the cafeteria and brought back sandwiches that might or might not have been edible. Nobody knew because nobody could manage more than a bite. Keir bought out all the candy bars in the vending machine; Cullen fed dollar bills into the maw of a contrap­tion that promised coffee but oozed sludge. They all gulped it down, mostly because it gave them something to do. No­body needed the caffeine. Though they hovered on the brink of exhaustion, sleep remained as elusive as good news.

  Their stepfather told them he'd rented a large suite in a nearby hotel. "Get some rest," Dan urged. "What good will any of us be to Mary if we're out on our feet when she awakens?"

  When, not if. They clung to the subtle message, nodded in agreement, but nobody left. After a while, Dan went back into the ICU to be with his wife. Sean watched his sisters, Megan and Fallon, lean against their husbands. He saw Keir put his arm around his wife and smile wearily when she laid her hand against his cheek, saw Cullen press a kiss to his wife's forehead as she whispered to him.

  Only Sean and his kid sister, Briana, were alone.

  Bree must have read his thoughts. She rose from her chair, crossed the room and sat next to him.

  "Only you and me left," she said, with a little smile. "Everyone else got hitched."

  Sean managed a smile in return. "Who'd a thunk it?"

  Bree gave a deep sigh. "Guess it must be nice to have somebody at a time like this, though, don't you think?"

  A face flashed through Sean's mind. A woman with cas­cading hair the colors of gold and caramel, and eyes as green as the sea. The image shook him and he pushed it away.

  "We do have somebody," he said gruffly. "We have each other."

  His sister took his hand and squeezed it. "Sean? You think Ma will be all right?"

  "She'll be fine," he said with more conviction than he felt, and he put his arm around Briana and hugged her tight.

  Hours passed. Daylight faded and it was night again.

  The men gathered in the hall for a whispered consultation. When they stepped into the waiting room, they all had the same determined look.

  Sean nodded toward his two brothers-in-law. "Stefano and Qasim are going to the hotel," he told his sisters. "They're taking you ladies with them."

  There was a blur of protest. The men held fast.

  "No arguments," Cullen said firmly.

  The women rose reluctantly. Sean turned to Dan.

  "Come on," he said to his stepfather, and used Dan's own earlier words. "Ma's going to need you when she re­gains consciousness. You'll have to be here, one hundred percent."

  Again, it was when, not if. They were all taking strength from that. Dan gave a reluctant nod. "I'll do it, but only so I can give your mother my opinion of the hotel. She always likes to know what the competition's doing."

  It was a forlorn attempt at humor but they grabbed it like a lifeline, especially since it was a reminder of Mary Eliza­beth's vitality as head of the Desert Song Hotel in Las Ve-gas. Keir, Cullen and Sean promised to phone if there was the slightest change and yes, of course, they'd take a breather themselves in a few hours.

  When the others had gone, the brothers sat in silence for a while. Then Sean cleared his throat.

  "How did it happen?"

  Cullen and Keir shook their heads. "It just did," Cull said. "Dan and Ma were in Central Park. He says they were walking along, talking..."

  "About what? Was she upset over something?"

  "No, she wasn't upset. She was talking about you and Bree."

  "About Briana and me?"

  "Yeah. The usual thing. You know, how she'd be happy if Bree would find a guy to love, and if you'd get married and settle down."

  "What do you mean, 'the usual thing'?" Sean frowned. "Ma never said—"

  "Well," Cullen said uncomfortably, "she wouldn't. Not to you, but to us, you know, she says she worries about you guys, that you're alone."

  "No," Sean said tightly. "I don't know. And if you're trying to tell me that's why she had—that I'm the reason for—"

  "Settle down, little brother," Keir said quickly. "No­body's even suggesting that. You asked what she was talk­ing about. We're telling you."

  Sean glared at his brothers. Then his face crumpled. "Right. I know that's not why this happened. It's only that—that it's hard to—to—"

  "Yeah," Cullen said, "it is."

  "What about the doctors?"

  "They're doing everything they can."

  "Did you call in a consultant? I know this guy's supposed to be top-notch, but—"

  "He is top-notch," Cullen said quietly. "We flew in Ma's own doctor," Keir added. "He agreed on her treatment."

  Sean sprang to his feet. "Treatment? What treatment? She's lying in that bed. I don't call that treatment, I call that—"

  "They gave her a drug. It's supposed to dissolve the clot that's causing the problem."

  Problem? Sean almost laughed. That was a hell of a way to describe something that might kill their mother.

  "Sean." Keir stood up and put an arm around his younger brother. "We're all going nuts here, but we have to wait. It's all we can do." Sean's shoulders sagged. "You're right. It's just—" He sat down. So did Keir. The three O'Connells were silent for a long time. Then Cullen mouthed an oath. "I hate this place," he growled. "Take a walk," Keir told him. "Get some air. Go around the block."

  "No. No, I want to be here if—when..." Cullen fell si­lent, struggling for self-control. "Hey," he said, his tone as artificial as the flowers on a corner table, "did I tell you guys that Marissa and I drove down from Boston and took Ma and Dan to dinner the other night?"

  He was, Sean knew, trying to change the subject, which was probably a damned fine idea. Okay. He'd do his part. "Smart woman, our mother," he said briskly. "Won't catch her risking ptomaine by having a meal at Big Brother's la-ti-da restaurant in Connecticut."

  Keir forced out a laugh. "Hey, kid. Just because you wouldn't know haute cuisine from hamburger doesn't mean the rest of the family has no taste. Ma and Dan came up for supper with us and stayed the night as soon as they hit the city."

  "Only because Marissa and I didn't get into town until the next day," Cullen said.

  "Yeah," Sean added, "and what's with that crack about my taste buds?''

  "It wasn't a crack," Keir said. "It was the truth. There we were, growing up with room service ready to provide anything from beef Wellington to lobster thermidor, and what did you ask for, night after night? A cheeseburger and fries."

  "Oh, not every night," Cullen said. "Our little brother used to cleanse his palate with an occasional hot dog."

  "They were chili dogs," Sean said, "and did you really just say 'cleanse his palate'?"

  "What can I tell you? I've got a wife who decided she loves to cook. She gets these magazines, you know? And sometimes I leaf through them."

  Sean looked at Keir. "Cullen's learned to read," he said solemnly.

  "Miracles happen," Keir replied.

  Miracles. Would one happen in this hospital tonight? The same thought hit them all and ended their forced attempt at levity. Sean tried to think of something to talk about but came up empty. Keir was the one who made the next try at conversation.

  "So," he said, "where were you when I phoned?"

  Sean looked up. "Emeraude Island. In the Bahamas."

  "Nice
?"

  "Yeah."

  More silence. Cullen cleared his throat. "Marissa and I've been thinking of getting away for a long weekend. What's Emeraude like?"

  "You know. Pink sand beaches. Blue water. Lush moun­tains."

  "And casinos."

  "A couple."

  "How'd you do?"

  Sean stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "Okay."

  "Okay, he says." Cullen raised his eyebrows. "What'd you win this time? A trillion bucks?"

  "No."

  "My God," Keir said, "don't tell me. You lost!"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Well, that's how you made it sound." He smiled. "How much did you win, then?"

  Sean gave a shrug. "A few hundred thousand."

  "And that wasn't enough to make you happy?"

  No, Sean thought in mild surprise, it wasn't.

  "Kid? What's the matter?"

  A muscle knotted in Sean's jaw. "I won something else."

  "Ah. No, don't tell us. Let me guess. A car? A yacht?" Keir grinned at Cullen. "A French chateau?"

  "A woman," Sean said flatly.

  His brothers' jaws dropped. "A what?"

  "You heard me. I won a—"

  "Mr. O'Connell?"

  The O'Connells sprang to their feet. Sean could feel his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest until he saw the smile on the face of the nurse who'd come into the room. They all let out a breath in one big whoosh.

  "Your mother's regained consciousness, gentlemen." Her smile broadened. "And because she won't have it any other way, the doctor's agreed to let her visit with all of you at once."

  Mary Elizabeth was back.

  Maybe not completely. After a week, she was still paler than anyone liked, still looking fragile. Her speech was a little slurred and there were times she had to search for words.

  But her smile was the same as it had always been. Her sense of humor was intact. So was her determination to take charge, even from a hospital bed.

  She insisted Dan had to fly home and oversee things at the Desert Song. She told Cullen and Marissa it was more important they be at home with their baby than here with her, and tried to shoo Keir and Cassie away with the same message. She gave marching orders to Fallon and Stefano, then to Megan and Qasim.