Sean

Chapter 4

Sean slowly closed the door of Laurel's bedroom and leaned back against it, watching as she walked over to the huge four-poster bed. Her room, like the rest of the mansion, was richly furnished with expensive antiques and beautiful fabrics, a far cry from the tattered furnishings of the house on Kilgore Street or the hodgepodge decor of his flat in Southie.

Again and again, he'd been reminded of the two very different worlds they'd come from. The ten-thousand-dollar check in his wallet represented a fortune to him, a chance to build his business. Yet, to Laurel, it was spare change, payment for a day's work, and there was more where that came from. He couldn't really blame her. Given a chance at five million, Sean probably would have risked more than just money.

As she wandered around the room, his gaze followed her, taking in her slender body and beautiful features. He'd known a lot of women who were pretty, but Laurel's beauty eclipsed them all. She wasn't like the women he usually met. She was… classy. Smart. Sophisticated. And way out of his league.

"I think tonight went well," she murmured, running a finger over a little china rabbit that sat on her bedside table.

"Do you think he suspects?" Sean asked, setting the book he carried on the table near the sofa.

She quickly turned, concern etching her features. "Do you?"

Sean shrugged. Their audience with Uncle Sinclair had been strange at best. The old man didn't appear to be interested in the state of his niece's marriage. He'd barely noticed that Laurel was in the room, so occupied was he with his coins. But Sean knew better. "Your uncle wants you to believe he's not the full shilling."

"Full shilling?" Laurel asked. "Is that a coin joke?"

"It's my da's expression. Sinclair doesn't have all his oars in the water. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He's-"

"I get it," Laurel said. "Maybe he is a little… crazy."

"But he's not crazy. He just wants you to believe he is. I think he's a pretty shrewd old guy."

Laurel fussed with the bedcovers, pulling them back and then smoothing them out until they were perfectly turned down. "I've never been able to figure him out. My mother died when I was ten and my father when I was nineteen, and Uncle Sinclair's been in charge of everything since then. He's the only family I have." Her shoulders rose and dropped. "I'm not even sure how he feels about me."

"Does it make a difference?" Sean asked.

She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hands in her lap, studying her fingernails. Sean fought the urge to cross the room to sit beside her, to take her hands in his. All evening, he'd played the proper husband, touching her every now and then, smiling when she spoke, holding her hand as they talked with her uncle. It had seemed so natural, but now that they were alone, he couldn't bring himself to do the same. Where did the act end and the real desire begin?

"It would be nice to know there's someone in the world who really cares about me," she continued. "You have your family. They must love you very much. That has to make you feel good."

Sean's thoughts turned to his mother. Though he knew he could always count on his father and five brothers, he still hadn't resolved his issues with Fiona Quinn. "I guess so," he murmured.

It would be so easy to trust Laurel, to open up to her and to talk about problems he'd always kept to himself. But Sean had to remember Laurel was a woman and, like Fiona, she couldn't be fully trusted.

"Tell me about your family," Laurel asked.

Sean pushed away from the door and crossed the room. He grabbed up his duffel bag and finished unpacking, laying T-shirts and boxer shorts on a nearby chair. "We don't need to talk," he said.

A long silence fell over the room, Laurel's expression grim. His words caused him a pang of regret and Sean dropped what he was doing and sat next to her. Hesitantly, he reached out and took her fingers, twisting them through his as he spoke. "I'm sorry. I'm just not much for that kind of conversation. Sports, the weather, current events. I can handle that."

"No, you're right. There's no reason for us to discuss personal matters. I have to remember, you're just doing a job."

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Laurel nodded, then snatched her fingers from his and rose. "I'm going to take a shower-or maybe you'd like to use the bathroom first?"

"No, go ahead," Sean said. He glanced around the room. "What are the sleeping arrangements here?"

Laurel's gaze darted to the four-poster. For a moment he thought she might invite him to share the bed with her. Though the prospect was intriguing, he knew better than to tempt fate. He quickly pointed to a small reading alcove near the other side of the room. "I can take the sofa over there."

"No, you can have the bed," she said, grabbing a folded throw from a nearby chair. "That sofa is too small for-"

He took the throw from her hands, then picked up a pillow, as well. "I sleep on my sofa at home all the time. It won't be a problem. If it's uncomfortable, I can always stretch out on the floor."

She grabbed the robe lying across the end of the bed and clutched it to her chest. "All right then, I'm just going to take my shower."

The door to the bathroom closed and Sean let out a tightly held breath. He'd thought this job would be easy, but the tension that had sprung up between them made every minute alone together sheer torture. He almost wanted to return to the library and an audience with Uncle Sinclair.

Sean moved to the door of the bathroom and listened to the sound of running water. A vision of Laurel flashed in his head and he let it linger, imagining her as she undressed and stepped into the shower… as she let the water sluice over her naked body… smoothed her soap-slicked hands over her-

Sean cursed then strode away from the door. This was crazy! Nothing, not even twenty thousand dollars, was worth this kind of punishment. How could she expect him to live with her as her husband and not think about the pleasures that a husband usually shared with his wife?

He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned for the door. He wasn't about to hang around until she came out of the bathroom, her skin still damp from her shower, her robe clinging to her body. He'd find something else to occupy his time until she crawled into bed and turned off the lights.

The hallway was silent as he walked down the sweeping staircase. His footsteps made little noise against the thick Oriental runner. When he reached the door to the kitchen, he shoved it open, then stopped, surprised to see Alistair still up.

The diminutive man looked over his shoulder and smiled at Sean as he walked toward the sink. "I thought you'd gone to bed," he said.

"Strange house," Sean said. "I'm not going to sleep. It will take me a few nights to settle in."

"Perhaps I can prepare something for you. A snack?"

"Do you have any beer?"

Alistair nodded and retrieved two bottles from the huge commercial refrigerator. He popped the caps off with an opener. "Would you like a glass?"

Sean grabbed one of the bottles and took a long swallow, then shook his head. "Nope. I'm fine." He held up the bottle. "Guinness."

Alistair carefully poured his beer into a half-pint glass. "I enjoy a bit of the black stuff every now and then."

"My da has an Irish pub in Southie and-" Sean swallowed the rest of his sentence, realizing too late that he'd blown his cover. "I mean, I've been to a pub in-"

"No need," Alistair said. "I'm aware of your charade."

Sean cursed inwardly, but tried to maintain a calm facade. "Charade? I don't know what you mean."

"You might tell me your name," Alistair said.

"It's Edward. Edward Garland Wilson." The butler raised an eyebrow and Sean knew he was made. "It is." The butler shook his head. "All right. It's Sean Quinn. How did you know?"

"You were nothing like Laurel described. I knew how much pressure her uncle put on her to marry and how desperate she was to get her trust fund. What happened to Edward?"

"He didn't make it to the wedding," he said.

"I wasn't sure that he existed at all. And how did you come to be mixed up in this little drama of Miss Laurel's?"

"She needed a husband. She made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Alistair nodded. "Ah. The Godfather. One of my favorite American films. I suppose you could say that Miss Laurel has decided to go to the mattresses?" He chuckled softly. "I'm not surprised. That is precisely like Miss Laurel."

"I guess she's used to getting her way," Sean murmured.

"Oh, no," Alistair said. "Miss Laurel is quite unspoiled. But she does have a tendency to set her sights on something and then rush headlong into it without thinking about the consequences first. She's headstrong, yes, and single-minded. But not at all selfish." He glanced at Sean over the rim of his glass, then licked the foam off his upper lip. "I can't say that I blame Miss Laurel. Sinclair Rand toys with her as a cat toys with a mouse. She didn't have an easy childhood and Sinclair hasn't made her adulthood much better. It's been a battle of wills between them for years."

"How so?" Sean asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Laurel's mother died when she was ten and her father nine years later. It was very difficult for her, even more so when Sinclair became the authority figure in her life."

"I lost my mother when I was three," Sean said. "That can mess a kid up for a long time."

"Then you understand."

They drank their beer silently, the two of them lost in their thoughts for a few minutes. Alistair seemed to know Laurel better than anyone, even her uncle, and Sean was grateful for any insight into his "wife." "What happened to Laurel's parents?"

"Laurel's father, Stewart Rand, was wealthy and older when he married Miss Louise. She was a dancer and an actress. He and his brother, Sinclair, had made the family fortune and Mr. Stewart was determined to enjoy it in his later years. Sinclair didn't approve of Louise Carpenter. There was twenty-five years difference in age between them and he considered her an unsuitable choice, from a working-class family."

"And she died?"

"Miss Louise died of cancer three days after their twelfth wedding anniversary. Laurel and her mother were so close, they did everything together. Her mother had her in ballet lessons and theater class. They studied painting and sculpting. When most little girls were playing with dolls, Miss Louise took Laurel to museums and operas and symphony concerts. I once thought Laurel was destined for a career on the stage. But after Miss Louise died, that all stopped. Mr. Stewart lost all interest in the child and she was left to fend for herself. Mr. Stewart passed on nine years later. He had a heart attack shortly after Laurel left for college. Perhaps he thought he'd finished raising Laurel and he could finally join his wife."

"And then Sinclair was in charge," Sean commented.

"He looked upon her as if she were a nuisance, an embarrassment, a reminder that his brother had succumbed to his baser instincts. Once Laurel was out of the house, she began to blossom, she began dancing again and painting, she appeared in several plays. But Sinclair insisted that she get a proper degree in something practical. He decided she needed a teaching degree, and if she refused to take the classes, then he'd refuse to pay for her education. Every time she took a step away from him, he'd drag her back."

"I didn't know Laurel was a teacher."

Alistair nodded. "Up until last June, she taught music at a grade school in Dorchester. She loves teaching, loves the children. I thought she'd finally found her place in the world, but then she decided to marry and quit her job. That was quite a surprise."

It took a moment for Sean to absorb the news. He'd just assumed that Laurel lived off her family's money, that she was nothing more than a spoiled rich girl determined to have her way. "Why is it so important for her to get her inheritance?"

Alistair shrugged. "Perhaps the money represents independence for her. She could move out of the house and start a life of her own, make a break from Sinclair. But as much as she wants to break away, he wants to hold on to her. I think, in his own way, he's grown fond of her."

Sean straightened. "Are you going to tell Sinclair about us?"

The butler shook his head. "This is between Miss Laurel and her uncle. You've just managed to get caught in the middle. We'll just have to see how events unfold, won't we?"

Grabbing up his beer, Sean nodded. "We will." He paused, then smiled at Alistair. "It was nice talking to you."

"Good night, Mr. Edward."

As Sean wandered through the dark house, he was forced to admit that his assumptions about Laurel and her motives might have been wrong. That this wasn't about greed at all. He'd been pretty quick to jump to conclusions. For now, he'd give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she was his "wife." It was the least he could do.

Laurel rolled over and punched her pillow, unable to get comfortable. Though she should have been completely exhausted, she felt as if every nerve in her body was on edge. She'd expected Sean to be lying on the sofa when she emerged from the bathroom, but he'd been gone. Frantic, she'd hurried down the stairs only to hear his voice coming from the kitchen.

"Relax," she murmured. "He's not going to run away."

But then, maybe twenty thousand hadn't been enough. She could offer him more, since she really didn't have the twenty thousand anyway. Her only chance to pay him was if her plan succeeded and Sinclair turned over her trust fund. And if that happened, then a few thousand more wouldn't matter one way or the other.

With a groan, she pulled the pillow over her face. A month of nights with Sean Quinn sleeping in her room. A month of days watching him move, listening to his voice, staring into his handsome face. A woman only had so much self-control! Though she hadn't been in love with Edward, she'd liked him enough to marry him. Laurel had convinced herself to be pragmatic about passion.

Since there hadn't been much heat between her and Edward, she hadn't had to worry. In truth, she'd considered their lack of a sex life to be proof that they had a friendship first. And Edward had insisted that they save themselves for marriage, a request she thought chivalrous. Laurel frowned. "That should have made me suspicious," she muttered. "No man in his right mind passes up sex when he has a willing and available woman."

But then, maybe it wasn't Edward. Maybe it was her. Maybe she'd unconsciously been unwilling to release her passionate side. She'd seen how her mother's death had nearly destroyed her father. For nine years, he'd pined after her, unable to recapture his usual zest for life. That kind of love and desire frightened Laurel and she'd wanted no part of it-until now.

She hadn't done much to make Edward want her. And maybe he just wasn't attracted to her in that way. She groaned softly. Suddenly, Sean had awakened all these strange and powerful feelings inside of her and she didn't know what to do with them. For the first time in her life, she felt real desire for a man.

From beneath the pillow, she heard the bedroom door open, then creak as it swung shut. She sat up, clutching the pillow to her lap. "You're back," she said.

In the faint light streaming through the window, she saw him turn toward the bed. "You're awake."

Laurel reached over and switched on the light, then hastily ran her fingers through her tousled hair. "I can't sleep. It's probably jet lag. It's afternoon in Hawaii."

Sean set a bottle of beer on the table near the sofa and slowly drew his sweater over his head. After he'd tossed it aside, he sat and kicked off his shoes and socks. "You've had a busy day."

She nodded. "You were talking to Alistair." At his questioning look, Laurel smiled. "I went looking for you. What were you talking about?"

"Nothing," Sean said.

"I-I thought you'd left. For good."

"We have a deal. I'm not going to back out," Sean said.

Laurel caught herself staring at his chest and when she looked back at his face, he was watching her. "I-I wouldn't blame you if you wanted out. This is a pretty crazy plan."

"It is." He reached for the buttons on his jeans and she scrambled for the light and turned it off. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust again, and by the time they had, he wore only his boxers. Laurel swallowed hard. Maybe she hadn't felt this kind of attraction to Edward because he didn't have the body of a Greek god.

He sat on the sofa, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Maybe you should tell me why this money is so important to you."

"There are things I want to do with my life," she murmured. "And I want to get started now."

"Like what?" he asked as he rose. Sean moved to the bed and sat on the edge. Her pulse quickened as the mattress sank under his weight. "Tell me."

She could barely see him in the dark, but she felt the heat from his body, heard the soft sound of his breathing. He found her hand and slipped his fingers between hers, drawing it up to his mouth.

"I-I have this plan," she said as he pressed a kiss to the tip of one finger. "I'm going to do something good with the money. But I can't talk about it. I'm afraid I'll jinx it."

"You can tell me, Laurel." Sean kissed another finger, his lips soft. She shivered, grateful that she didn't keep any really embarrassing secrets. No secret would be safe once Sean started kissing her. "I found this old building in a neighborhood in Dorchester and I want to open an arts center there. We'd have after-school activities in theater, music, dance, maybe painting." She reached over and turned on the light, suddenly excited to be telling someone about her plans. "You should see the building. It's perfect. It's got all this space and it's right on the bus line. And it's within walking distance of two grade schools."

"That's what you want the money for?"

Laurel nodded. "When I was little, my mother sent me to art lessons and dance class. And in the summer, she took me to acting classes. When she died, I could hardly think about that time in my life, because it was so much a part of my memories of her. It hurt too much. But then when I started teaching music, it all came back to me. Those teachers made a difference in my life."

"It's a great idea," Sean said.

She clutched his hand, pulling it to her. "Do you really think so?"

"Who knows? Something like that might have made a difference for me."

Laurel smiled. "I told you my secrets. Now you have to tell me yours."

"I don't have any secrets," Sean replied.

She took his hand and kissed his fingertips one by one. "I promise, I won't judge." He stared at her for a long moment and Laurel felt a shiver skitter down her spine. Sometimes he looked at her and she saw desire in his eyes, knew that if she just leaned forward, he'd kiss her. Was any of this real between them? Did he fantasize about her in the same way she did about him?

"All right," Sean said. "Shove over."

Laurel shimmied to the other side of the bed and Sean lay down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. This nervous anticipation, the flutter of her heart when Sean moved beside her, the quickening of her pulse when his shoulder bumped against hers-all of it was so exciting.

He leaned back into the pillows and sighed. "My childhood wasn't the best. My da was a commercial fisherman and he was gone all the time. My ma walked out when I was three. And my brothers and I raised ourselves. I grew up… confused. And angry. And rebellious."

"Did you get in trouble?"

"I was well on my way to a career as a criminal."

"And what stopped you?"

Sean shrugged, a response that she'd grown used to already. He shrugged when he needed more time to think, always so careful about what he revealed, so wary of letting someone know him. He was a man of very few words and Laurel had grown to love that about him.

"There were a lot of petty little crimes. And then, one day, I stole a car and spent a night in jail. And I realized I was just one step away from losing control of my life. It took a while for that to sink in all the way. I got fired from a few jobs, got bounced out of the police academy. Then I took a few courses and got my P.I. license."

"And now you break up weddings for a living?" Laurel teased.

Sean chuckled. He didn't laugh often, but the sound was like a tiny victory for her. He trusted her enough to let her in, to show her a side that he didn't reveal often. She'd thought her childhood scars ran deep, but Sean's weren't even scars. The wounds still seemed raw.

"I think I did you a favor." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Laurel's hand rested on his chest and she watched as it rose and fell with his breathing. "I think you did," she murmured. "I think you rescued me."

She stared at him, waiting, hoping, that he'd kiss her. And then he did, a sweet and gentle kiss, the warmth of his mouth sending a wave of wonderful sensation through her body. Laurel wondered if he knew the power he had over her, how just a simple kiss could make her lose all sense of who she was.

He pulled back and gently brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I think you need to sleep," he murmured.

She curled into him, resting her head in the curve of his arm. Suddenly exhaustion overwhelmed her and her eyes grew heavy. "I'm tired."

"I'll be here when you wake up," he said.

She felt his lips on her forehead and Laurel smiled. Maybe this "marriage" wouldn't be so bad after all. If she could just find a way to keep him in her bed, it might be better than she'd ever expected.

Sean opened his eyes slowly and found himself in an unfamiliar bed. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The thought that he'd had too much to drink the previous night drifted through his mind, but he didn't have a headache and his mouth didn't taste like a used gym sock. He slowly pushed up on his elbows and looked around the room.

"Laurel," he murmured before letting himself fall back into the pillow. He rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes. He'd never spent an entire night in a woman's bed. And what time he had spent had involved sex.

Even though they hadn't been intimate, the thought of making love to Laurel hadn't been far from his mind. But she'd said it herself-he'd rescued her. And if he wanted to avoid the Quinn family curse, then he needed to exercise some self-control.

The bathroom door swung open and Laurel stepped out. His face still pressed into the pillow, Sean watched her surreptitiously through one eye. She wore a robe made of loose, flowing fabric that gaped at her breasts and clung to her limbs.

She glanced over at the bed, but from her angle he must have appeared to be sleeping. A moment later, she let the robe drop to the floor, offering him a tempting view of her backside. He held his breath, afraid to move, and watched as she pulled a lacy bra and panties out of her wardrobe.

A groan nearly slipped from his throat as he let his gaze drift from the nape of her neck to her long legs. God, she had a beautiful body, curves in all the right places, and skin that had felt like silk beneath his hands.

His response to the sight of her naked form was involuntary and he felt himself grow hard. Sean knew he ought to look away, or to at least let her know he was watching. But he waited until she'd pulled on a sleeveless blouse and finished buttoning it before he moved. And when he did, she quickly turned.

"Good morning," Laurel said, hurrying to the closet to retrieve a short little flowered skirt. "Are you awake?"

As he sat up, Sean tried to act sleepier than he really was. In truth, his blood was racing so quickly through his veins and his heart was pounding so hard that he could have jumped out of bed and run five miles in record time. "I'm awake," he murmured. More awake than even he wanted to be.

"Get up," she said. "I want to take you somewhere." She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, not bothering to finish dressing. Her long legs were bare and did nothing to alleviate his discomfort.

"Give me a moment," Sean said.

She grabbed his hand and gave it a tug, but he pulled back until she tumbled beside him onto the bed. He wanted to kiss her, to run his hands up and down her gorgeous legs. But Sean knew that doing so wouldn't help his… condition.

Laurel laughed, then sat beside him, crossing her legs in front of her. "I slept so well last night. I thought I'd be jet-lagged but I wasn't. I'm just full of energy. And I'm famished. I think we should go out and get some breakfast."

"I could use some coffee," Sean said. That, and a very cold shower. "Do you think Alistair made some?"

"I take it you're not a morning person?"

"Is it morning?"

"The sun is up. It's nearly nine. We have the whole day in front of us. Come on, we can get coffee on our way," she insisted. "Take a quick shower and then we can go."

Aw, hell. His reaction was only natural, a physiological response that most men experienced in the morning. He rolled off the bed and stood beside it. Her gaze skimmed along his chest, then stopped in the vicinity of his lap, at the obvious bulge in his boxers. Laurel cleared her throat and looked away.

"Maybe I'll go get you some coffee," she said. She quickly tugged on her skirt, then hurried to the door.

The door closed and Sean started toward the bathroom, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of the boxers and shoving them over his hips. But the door opened again and Sean froze. He glanced over his shoulder as she poked her head back inside.

"Oh, sorry," she murmured. She closed the door until it was open just a crack. "Sugar?" she asked, her voice a bit breathless.

"No."

Laurel closed the door behind her and Sean waited. Right on schedule, she opened the door again. If he didn't know Laurel, he might think she was deliberately trying to get a good look at his ass.

"Cream?" she asked.

"A little milk," he said.

When she'd closed the door again, Sean chuckled softly. Considering the effect his naked body had on her, maybe it would be best to walk around this way all the time. She'd certainly keep her distance.

He grabbed his toothbrush from his duffel, then walked to the bathroom. But he stopped a few steps inside and sighed. The room was almost as large as his bedroom at home. A huge tub stood against one wall, and nearby, a spacious shower. The vanity, littered with cosmetics and lotions and pretty bottles of perfume, had two sinks with shiny gold fixtures. Hell, even the toilet looked high-class.

Sean reached inside the shower and turned on the water. Immediately the scent of Laurel's shampoo filled the room. He quickly brushed his teeth, then stepped into the marble-lined stall. A low moan slipped from his throat as he stood beneath the rush of water.

The shower was like everything else in the mansion, functional but in a very luxurious way. He tipped his head back and ran his fingers though his hair, then grabbed a bar of soap in lieu of shampoo. He didn't want to spend the day smelling like Laurel. He had enough trouble keeping his mind-and his hands-off of her.

The shower was too relaxing to leave and he stayed beneath the water until his fingers began to wrinkle. The bathroom was filled with steam as he stepped out and wrapped a plush towel around his waist. When he walked out of the bathroom, he found Laurel waiting, sitting on the bed with a tray filled with food.

"Alistair made us breakfast in bed," she said. "He thinks we're still on our honeymoon"

The impulse to tell her that Alistair knew the truth about their "marriage" was immediate, but he decided against revealing the secret for now. He'd save that news for another time. He wanted the charade to continue a little longer-just to see where it would lead.

Sean readjusted the towel, wondering what would happen if he just let it drop to the floor. Would she run? Or would she pull him onto the bed and explore his body with her hands. He pushed the thoughts aside, unwilling to let himself become aroused again.

He pulled a silver cover off a plate. "French toast."

Laurel pointed to another covered plate as she munched on a croissant. "An egg-white omelette with tomatoes and green peppers. My favorite." She pulled up another cover. "And I don't know who would eat all this for breakfast. Fried eggs, fried mushrooms, fried tomato, bacon, sausage, some kind of potato pancake and canned beans." She winced. "This is a heart attack waiting to happen. I'm surprised Alistair didn't fry the napkin and silverware while he was at it."

Sean grinned. Leave it to Alistair. The man certainly knew how to please. "That's an Irish breakfast," he said. "Everything but the black-and-white pudding."

"Irish people eat pudding for breakfast?"

"Black-and-white pudding is two kinds of sausage made of-" He paused. "Never mind."

She frowned as she stared down at the plate. "Why would Alistair make you-"

"He probably thought I'd enjoy a hearty breakfast. Maybe this is what he eats for breakfast."

She seemed satisfied with the answer and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"There is one thing I'd like," he said.

"What is it? I'll call Alistair. He'll make you whatever you want."

Sean reached out and hooked his finger beneath her chin, then turned her face to his. "This is what I want," he said, leaning forward. He covered her mouth with his, tasting the strawberry jam that she'd smeared on the croissant. He didn't pull back right away, instead lingering, testing and tasting until he was satisfied that he'd sated that particular hunger.

He'd been fighting his impulses for far too long. And now that he'd given in and admitted this powerful attraction he had to Laurel, Sean realized that he'd been silly to deny himself. Just because they kissed and touched, didn't mean that the curse was working. He was just following his natural instincts. Laurel was a beautiful woman, he was a healthy man. And when it came time to walk away, he'd do it.

Turning back to his breakfast, Sean grabbed a fork and speared a crispy brown sausage. "A great way to start the day," he murmured.

"The food?" she asked, her expression still a bit startled.

"No, the kiss." He sent her a grin. "The food is good, too."

As they enjoyed their breakfast, Sean decided that he could get used to a life of luxury. He was making a decent wage and spending time with a beautiful woman. And Alistair was a helluva good cook. Life couldn't get much better.

But as he watched Laurel wrap her kiss-swollen lips around a forkful of omelette, he realized that life could get a whole lot better-and a whole lot more complicated in the process.