Sean

Chapter 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, trading 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 inexactly 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.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Rand. I hope we'll have a chance to talk again."

Sinclair waved his hand as if to dismiss them both. Laurel decided it was best to make a quick exit before Sean said anything else. When they were out of earshot, she turned to him. "Why did you tell him that? You know you're not going to see him again."

"But he's not supposed to know that. In fact, if I was really Edward, I'd be expecting to see him again, wouldn't I?"

Laurel frowned. "Right," she murmured. "That sounds logical. Good thinking. Come on, we just have to say goodbye and I have to throw my bouquet. Then we're done here."

In truth, Laurel really didn't want the evening to end. Though her shoes were pinching and she'd be glad to get out of her dress, she really wasn't sure what she was going to do after this. She was due to leave for Hawaii early the next morning.

When she got back, she'd drive up to Maine and her uncle would present her with a check for five million. She'd lay low for a few months, then find a way to explain how the marriage had been a mistake. If she laid the blame on Sean-or "Edward"-then maybe her uncle might feel more sympathetic and understand her decision.

But even now, knowing what she knew about Sean, it was difficult to paint him as the horrible husband. Throughout this silly drama, he'd been so kind and supportive, and she'd begun to think of him as more than just a stranger collecting a fee for doing a job. For a brief moment in time he'd been the perfect husband-solid, dependable… and sexy.

She glanced over at him. Maybe she didn't know anything about Sean Quinn. But she did know how he made her feel when he kissed her and touched her. Wild and crazy and… breathless. And Laurel knew those were feelings she might never find again.

Sean sat in the back of the limo, his gaze fixed on the scenery as it passed by. The car had driven south out of Boston to Cohasset and now followed the shore through an exclusive neighborhood of old summer homes and beautiful mansions set near the water. Laurel had offered to drop him at the church first so he could retrieve his car, but he'd insisted that he could wait. He hadn't expected her to live halfway to Cape Cod.

Still, Sean was grateful for the quiet of the limo and a chance to spend a few more minutes with Laurel. Though she'd paid him for one day's work, he wasn't quite ready to call an end to their agreement. When he'd first accepted the check, he thought it might be a chore to go through the charade of a wedding. But the responsibility of spending the afternoon and evening with Laurel had turned from an unpleasant task into an enjoyable time.

He glanced over at her and found her absorbed in her own thoughts. "When does your plane leave?" he asked.

"Early tomorrow morning. I've got to be at the airport at 5:00 a.m. Uncle Sinclair is staying at the house, but I can sneak in, change and get my bags without waking him. The limo will drop you off back at your car. I'll drive myself to the airport." She turned to look at him. "What are you going to do for the rest of the night?"

"My family has a pub in Southie. Quinn's Pub. They're open until two. I'll probably stop there for a pint if it's not too late."

"I want to thank you for helping me out this afternoon," Laurel said.

"No problem," Sean said. Suddenly it had become so difficult to talk to her. He felt like the same old tongue-tied teenager rendered mute by a conversation with a pretty girl. "Hawaii should be nice this time of year." God, he'd sunk as low as the weather for a topic. It couldn't get much worse than that! Maybe he ought to cut his losses while he could and just shut up.

A few moments later the limo pulled into a wide circular drive, then parked in front of a huge stone mansion. "This is where I live," Laurel said.

"Jeez. It's huge."

"I know. It's too large for just one person. But the house was in the family, I grew up here, and Uncle Sinclair refuses to let me sell it, so I live here." Silence descended over them. "I guess this is it," Laurel murmured.

"I'll walk you inside," Sean offered. He pushed open his door and circled around the back of the limo, reaching Laurel just in time to help her out of the car. They walked hand in hand to the front door, her wide skirts rustling on the cobblestone driveway.

Laurel punched in the security code and the door automatically unlocked. She turned to him. "I guess this is it," she murmured.

"Not quite," Sean said. In one quick movement he reached down and scooped her up into his arms, then kicked the door open with his foot.

"What are you doing?" Laurel cried.

"Finishing the job," Sean muttered. He stepped inside the darkened house, then closed the door behind them.

"You don't have to maintain the charade for the limo driver. He doesn't work for the family. I don't think he's going to say anything."

If she thought he was playing a part for the driver, then she was sorely mistaken, Sean mused. He had just managed to come up with an excuse to touch her again and had taken action. Slowly, Sean set her back on her feet, but he let his hands rest on her waist.

He struggled with a sudden impulse, and lost. Throwing all caution to the wind, he kissed her, long and hard and deep. He needed to experience the taste and feel of her lips on his this one last time. Only then could he walk away.

What was it about Laurel Rand that he found so… comfortable? He'd fumbled with conversation for a moment in the limo, but the whole afternoon and evening he'd felt relaxed and easy with her. With other women, he'd always been on edge, unsure of what they wanted from him, suspicious of their motives. The deal he'd struck with Laurel had given him license to enjoy her without the usual games that came with romancing a woman. The instant he'd first touched her, and then when he'd kissed her, he hadn't been forced to think about what to do next. He'd just enjoyed the sensation.

Sean pulled back, but Laurel wrapped her arms around his neck and refused to let go. Slowly he backed her against the wall until her body was trapped against his. He pressed his hips into hers, surprised to find himself growing hard with desire. Where was his self-control? Why was it so simple to want her?

All those old tales of the Mighty Quinns raced through his brain but did nothing to stop him. His hands drifted up her rib cage at the same time his mouth traced a path down to her bare shoulder. If this had been a real wedding night, they'd be making love on the foyer floor before the hour was out. But they were not much more than strangers and this was a stolen moment.

"You should go," Laurel murmured as she furrowed her fingers through his hair.

"I should." He pressed his lips into the curve of her neck.

"We're going to be sorry if we let this go any further."

"We will," he replied.

She inhaled a ragged breath, then pressed her palms against his chest. "You're right."

Sean stared down into her eyes. "Sometimes I'm wrong." All she had to do was to give him the slightest sign and he'd carry her to the nearest bedroom. But he saw only indecision in her eyes. Why make this more complicated? He'd completed his end of their bargain and now it was time to walk away. Besides, he knew he was more suited to be her temporary bridegroom than her permanent lover. It was obvious that Laurel Rand was the marrying type-and he wasn't.

"It was nice being married to you," she whispered with a weak smile. "Thank you for helping me out."

"And thank you for the ten thousand," Sean said. He reached up and ran his fingertips along her cheek. "Have a good time on your honeymoon. I hope you find another husband-a good husband-soon. You deserve that."

Laurel nodded and Sean stepped toward the door. But the sound of her voice made him turn around. "Would you like to-" She paused.

"Would I like to what?"

A tiny frown furrowed her brow and then she shook her head. "Never mind. It was a silly idea. Goodbye, Sean Quinn."

"Goodbye, Laurel Rand."

Quinn's Pub was crowded and noisy when Sean walked in. Saturday nights were always the busiest and now that Quinn's had been written up in a tourist guide as "authentically Irish," business had been booming. Sean hoped he'd find at least one brother in the bar, though with five of the six Quinn brothers now married or engaged, the odds weren't as good as they used to be.

Sean hadn't bothered to go home to change after he'd picked up his car at the church. On the ride over he'd been more preoccupied with thoughts of his short and very sweet "marriage" to Laurel Rand than his choice of wardrobe. There was a spot at the bar between two eager ladies and they smiled at him when he entered. Since the other brothers were off the market, the target on his back had grown much bigger. There was only one Quinn left and the girls who frequented the pub considered him the ultimate challenge.

But there was only one woman who occupied his thoughts tonight-his "bride," Laurel Rand. He strolled through the pub and was surprised to see his twin brother, Brian, behind the bar. His fiancée, Lily Gallagher, sat on a stool, deep in conversation with Brian. The three of them had lived together until the end of August when the newly engaged couple had found a new apartment.

A quick scan found Dylan and Meggie in the rear of the pub, playing pool. Lily saw Sean first and her expression was welcoming, but when Brian turned, he let out an astonished gasp. "What the hell are you wearing?" his brother asked.

"A tuxedo," Sean replied, sliding onto the stool beside Lily.

"I know it's a tuxedo, eedjit. Why are you wearing it?"

"You're not the only one who can wear one of these things. I can be sophisticated."

"So what can I get you, Mr. Bond? A martini, shaken not stirred?"

"Give me a Guinness," Sean said. "And some duct tape for your mouth."

Brian chuckled as he grabbed a pint glass and wandered over to the Guinness tap. Sean slipped out of his jacket, then draped it over the bar. He withdrew a folded paper from the breast pocket and unfolded the agreement that Laurel had written out, his gaze dropping to the delicate scrawl of her signature. Suddenly the paper was snatched from his fingers.

"What's this?" Brian asked.

"Give me that," Sean said, standing to reach out across the bar.

"Brian, give it back," Lily insisted.

But his brother danced away. "Does this have to do with why you're dressed in that tux?" He stared down at the paper and began to read it out loud. "'I, Laurel Rand, promise to pay you, Sean Quinn, the sum of-' Holy shit. Ten thousand dollars?"

With a low curse, Sean braced his hands on the bar and jumped over it. He retrieved the paper from Brian's hand, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt. It had been like this their whole lives, the best of friends and then, a moment later, the worst of enemies. Maybe that's what twins were all about. "Stay out of my business," Sean said.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" Seamus demanded, wandering over to observe the commotion.

"Your sons are about to come to blows," Lily said. "And I'm going to play pool with Dylan and Meggie before I get stuck in the middle." With a little wave, she headed to the back.

Seamus turned to Sean. "Get out from behind my bar. People will mistake this pub for some hoity-toity place if they catch a look at you."

Brian clapped Sean on the shoulder. "I didn't mean to get into your business."

"Yes, you did," Sean said.

"So why did you get all dressed up?"

Sean raked his hand through his hair. "Promise you won't say anything to the brothers?" They'd made the same promise hundreds of times before, a vow between twins who were closer than mere brothers could ever be. From the time Sean had broken the bedroom window and Brian had sworn to Conor that a bird had done it, to the time when Brian had snuck the keys for Dylan's car and taken it for a joyride. His secrets were safe with Brian.

"You know I won't," Brian said.

Sean leaned against the back bar. "I got married earlier this afternoon."

Brian's jaw dropped. He tried to say something, but words wouldn't come. When he finally regained his voice, he shook his head. "You got married? Just like that, without telling the family? I didn't know you were even dating someone. Hell, Sean, we've all accepted the fact that you're a little closemouthed, but this is taking it too far."

"It wasn't a real wedding," he explained.

"And that's just an imaginary tuxedo you're wearing?" Brian asked. He grabbed Sean's arm, dragged him down to the end of the bar, then flipped up the end section and shoved him through. "Go find us a booth," he muttered. "I'll get us something stronger to drink."

Sean found a spot near the front door of the pub, not exactly a quiet spot, but far enough away from prying ears to make conversation private. Brian joined him a few moments later with two shot glasses and a bottle of Irish whiskey. He set the bottle and glasses on the table, then slid into the seat across from Sean. Brian filled both glasses, snatched one up and downed it in one gulp. Sean did the same, then shoved the glass toward the bottle for another pour.

"Not until you tell me," Brian said.

"I've been tracking down a drifter named Eddie 'The Cruiser' Perkins. He romances wealthy women, marries them, then takes off with their money."

"What does he have to do with you getting married?"

"I found him and I was there when the FBI took him away. He asked me to do a favor for him. Gave me a hundred bucks to get a message to a woman named Laurel Rand. I didn't realize the address he gave me was for a church and that Laurel Rand was waiting there in her wedding dress. Waiting for Eddie. She didn't know he was Eddie the Cruiser, she thought he was Edward Garland something-or-other, her groom."

"So you just decided to marry her then and there? Isn't that taking your professional responsibilities a little too far?"

"She offered to pay me." Sean reached into his pants' pocket, withdrew the check and placed it on the table. "Ten thousand dollars to walk down the aisle with her. To pretend I was her groom for the rest of the afternoon and evening."

"But you married her," Sean said.

"Not for real. We didn't have a marriage license. I was pretending to be someone else. It's not legal. Hell, do you think I'd really marry a woman I just met?"

Brian grabbed the bottle and poured them both another shot. "Looking at it objectively, would you say you… rescued her?"

"Yeah," Sean said. "And then I married her. That's it. Don't you see? The curse is broken. I collect my money and it's over. No marriage, no curse. Clean and simple and safe."

Though the Mighty Quinn legends went back centuries, the Quinn family curse was a more recent development. It had begun the day Conor had met Olivia, and since then, every time a Quinn brother rescued a damsel in distress, he promptly fell in love with her. But that wouldn't happen to Sean. He'd neatly maneuvered himself around the curse.

"I don't think it's that simple," Brian said. "So when are you going to see her again?"

Sean looked down into his glass. "I'm not. I did what she asked, she paid me, and now I have enough money to rent an office and buy some office equipment. I won't have to operate my business out of the apartment anymore. Maybe I'll get a better class of clientele. Some corporate clients would be nice."

"I get the sense that you don't want it to end there."

Sean twirled the empty shot glass around in front him. "She was beautiful. I knew I shouldn't have gone along with her plan, that it was tempting fate. But I wanted to help her. And I'm glad I did."

"You know what I think? All those stories Da used to tell about the Mighty Quinns are just a load of crap. And so is this curse. There's a reason all of us fell in love with these women of ours. They were the right women in the right place at the right time."

"What does that have to do with Laurel Rand?"

"Maybe she's your perfect mate," Brian replied. "Maybe this is the right time and you just don't know it yet. Think about it. You've always kept your distance from the opposite sex. You didn't do that with this woman. Maybe there was a reason for that."

"That's a lot of maybes. You're in love and you're talking like a sap."

Brian sighed. "I'm simply saying that maybe you shouldn't write her off so soon. Maybe there's something there."

"Yeah, there's something there," Sean said as he slid out of the booth. He picked up Laurel's check and waved it at Brian. "Ten thousand and a chance to build my business. And that's all."

Sean waved goodbye to his father, then headed toward the door. He'd had a long day and the whiskey he'd downed was making him sleepy. But as he stepped out onto the street, Brian's words still rang in his mind. Maybe. Maybe.

When he reached his car, he slid inside and sat silently, his hands resting on the steering wheel. He couldn't deny he'd been thinking about his future more and more lately. He'd watched each of his brothers fall in love and find a happiness and contentment he'd never been able to imagine for himself.

It was a wonder any of them had found a normal life after their chaotic childhoods. Though he'd never been one to dwell on his choices in life, Sean had come to realize that his childhood had left more scars than he was willing to acknowledge. His feelings about romance and love, his insecurities about relationships and his mistrust of women all came from those formative days.

He deserved a happy future, but he wasn't sure it would happen for him. A niggling fear had been eating at his brain lately, an image of Sean Quinn, Private Investigator. Only he wasn't young anymore. He was old and worn out, looking like Bert Hinshaw, spending his days in a bar and his nights alone in a ratty apartment. Sean didn't want to see his future in that light, didn't want to believe life might pass him by.

How had his brothers found happiness? Had it really just fallen into their laps? Or had they gone looking for it? And once they'd found it, how had they known it was forever? These were questions Sean wanted to ask. But he'd been uneasy talking to his brothers about such subjects. It had been easier just to dismiss their relationships and to refuse to believe they'd last.

Sean knew where his own doubts came from. "Fiona," he murmured. His mother's desertion had created a void in his life that he still hadn't managed to fill. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, then pulled out the photo he'd found as a child. For years he'd thought of his mother as his own personal angel watching over him from heaven. And then, one day, that had all changed. He'd gone down to the local pub to drag his father home. There, he'd found him drunk and blathering to the other patrons about his "dead" wife.

Seamus hadn't known Sean was there and had regaled the patrons seated around him with a story of how he'd found his wife with another man, then kicked her out of his house. The car accident that had killed her a few years later had been divine punishment for her adultery.

Sean remembered running out of the pub, running and running until his lungs burned and he'd gasped for breath. He'd been betrayed and deceived by his angel, as if all the love he'd given her had been a lie. And he'd carried that feeling around with him since then-even after his mother had returned.

Fiona Quinn had come back into their lives nearly two years ago, along with Keely, the sister they'd never known. His brothers had welcomed their return, even forgiven their father for telling the story of Fiona's demise. But Sean couldn't forgive so easily-or trust the love that Fiona seemed so determined to shower on her family.

If he couldn't love his own mother, how was he supposed to love anyone else? The answers didn't come easily-and the questions never seemed to stop.