Sean

Chapter 6

The sun was high in the sky and the weather warm. Laurel stood at the deep end of the pool and stared into the sparkling water, then sucked in a deep breath. She pushed off the edge and dove cleanly into the water, then stroked toward the shallow end. After two laps, she flipped over onto her back and stared up at the sky.

Her mind rewound to the argument she'd had with Sean earlier that morning. It had been so silly and petty. Maybe she'd been a little tired or felt a little vulnerable, but whatever had caused her response didn't matter. She'd sounded shrewish and ungrateful.

By day, she and Sean were supposed to act like husband and wife. But last night, they'd become lovers. And though she'd paid him for the former, she was getting the later free. If they were lovers, then he had every right to question her motives.

From the start, Laurel knew the growing intimacy they shared was dangerous. The moment he'd stepped into the shower, they'd tossed aside inhibition and hesitation and indulged in a passion that possessed them both. And though she barely knew Sean, she knew enough to want him above anything else.

When he'd looked into her eyes as they'd made love, she'd seen something there-a man she was fast falling in love with. He was passionate and completely irresistible. He was sweet and strong and dependable, the qualities most women would choose in a husband. But he was also flawed, holding himself at a distance when he felt vulnerable.

Laurel knew a troubled childhood had left him wary and distrustful. But when they were together, all of that fell away and he became everything she'd never known she'd wanted. She kicked to the other end of the pool, then braced her arms on the edge.

Caught in some strange limbo, she found herself pulled between a make-believe life that made her happy and a real life that was growing increasingly more complicated. Uncle Sinclair still hadn't mentioned her trust fund, even though, to his eyes, she and "Edward" had been married for more than two weeks.

Still, Laurel hadn't made a point of bringing up the subject herself. She knew as soon as Sinclair turned the money over to her, her time with Sean would come to an end. She didn't want it to be over yet. Perhaps he didn't have a place in her future, but, for now, she needed him in her present-and that was enough.

Laurel kicked beneath the water and sank to the bottom of the pool. When she looked up through the water, she saw a figure standing next to the pool. Sean had left earlier without saying a word to her. He'd told Alistair he'd probably be back for lunch, but Laurel hadn't wanted to question the butler further. Anxious to make amends with her make-believe husband, she pushed off from the bottom of the pool and broke the surface of the water.

But Alistair stood at the edge of the water, holding a stack of thick towels. "May I get you some lunch, Miss Laurel? It's past noon."

Laurel pulled herself up out of the pool and took one of the towels. "I thought I'd wait for Sean-" She paused, then quickly corrected herself. "Edward. I want to wait for Edward."

Alistair smiled. "Mr. Sean called and said he wouldn't be home for lunch. He needed to see his family."

She stared at him, her mouth agape. "You know?"

"There isn't much that goes on in this house that I don't know about," he said. "I know about your ex-fiancé, Edward, and I can't say that I'm upset that he's been arrested. And I know why you were so anxious to get married. I'm not one to offer an opinion about your personal life, but I like Mr. Sean. He's a very dependable man."

Laurel smiled hesitantly. "I like him, too."

"You seem very happy together."

"We are. I didn't expect to like him so much."

"I think he likes you, too," Alistair said.

"Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to say it, Miss Laurel. Mr. Sean is a man of very few words. His actions do most of the talking."

"We had a fight this morning."

"I gathered that."

"It was stupid. I said some things that I didn't mean. I wish I could do something to make it up to him."

"I think he'll forgive you," Alistair said.

She took another towel from his hands and dried her hair, then sat at the edge of the pool. Laurel patted the concrete beside her. "Sit with me," she said. Alistair spread a towel at his feet and sat. "You have to take off your shoes and your socks."

"Miss, I don't think that would be proper."

Laurel rolled her eyes, then reached over and tugged off his gleaming black oxfords. Alistair removed his own socks and carefully rolled up his trousers.

"Put them in," she said, dangling her own legs into the water.

The butler did as she ordered and as soon as his feet dipped into the pool, he smiled. "Well, that's lovely," Alistair said. "Quite refreshing."

"Sinclair would have a fit if he saw you," Laurel teased. "He's such a fuddy-duddy sometimes."

"He loves you very much, Miss Laurel."

She froze. "Sean?"

"No, your uncle."

Laurel forced a laugh, embarrassed by her assumption. "He does not! He enjoys making my life as difficult as possible."

"He's afraid if he gives you the money, you'll leave and he'll never see you again."

"How do you know that?"

"I've worked in this house since before your mother came to live here twenty-seven years ago. I've kept my eyes open."

"And what have you seen?"

Alistair paused before he spoke, as if he was trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal. "I was there the night your father met your mother. Sinclair and Stewart were in New York, and the night before, Sinclair had gone to see a musical play in which your mother was appearing. He was so captivated by her performance, it was all he could talk about."

"Sinclair?" Laurel asked.

Alistair nodded. "The next night, he went back to the theater, only he brought Stewart with him for moral support. Sinclair was determined to introduce himself to your mother. They waited at the stage door and when she appeared, he stepped up and asked her to accompany them to dinner. And at that dinner, your mother fell head over heals in love-with your father."

"Poor Sinclair," Laurel murmured.

"I don't know that he ever stopped loving your mother. All the time she lived here with Stewart, after she gave birth to you, and after she died, Sinclair was always in love with her. But he couldn't say anything. It wouldn't have been proper or prudent."

"And that's why he doesn't like me," Laurel said. "Because I'm Stewart's daughter and-"

"Oh, no, not so," Alistair said. "I think you look so much like your mother that he sees her every time he looks at you. He sees the love he lost. That's why he both pushes you away and keeps you close."

Tears stung the corners of Laurel's eyes. "I thought he hated me," she murmured. "I guess I was wrong."

"If he knew I told you this, he would sack me without a second thought. But I thought it was time you understood why your uncle does what he does."

Laurel stared into the water, sunlight glinting off the surface, the tile mosaic creating a swirl of color below. "And will he ever understand why I do what I do?"

"Give him a chance, Miss Laurel. It may take time, but I believe he'll come around."

Laurel slipped her hands around Alistair's arm and gave it a hug. "Maybe I should go talk to Uncle Sinclair."

"I think you have other fences to mend first… with your husband."

"But if I explain to Uncle Sinclair and-"

"Oh, no," Alistair said, shaking his head. "In my opinion, I think it's best to keep all your options open. Your little charade might just work to your advantage."

Laurel frowned. If Uncle Sinclair truly loved her, then there had to be a way to convince him of her plans for her trust fund. Why would Alistair want her to continue her sham of a marriage? She pushed the question from her mind. Alistair was the only person in the world she could truly trust, so maybe it was best to listen.

"Mr. Sinclair and I are leaving this afternoon for New York," Alistair said. "Perhaps you could prepare a lovely dinner for your husband and smooth things out between you two."

"I'm not a very good cook," Laurel said.

"Ah, but I'm a very good instructor."

Laurel threw her arms around Alistair's neck. "And you're a good friend, too."

He blinked, his eyes growing misty. "Thank you, Miss Laurel. I'm touched."

She got to her feet and held out her hand to help him stand. "I think we better get started in the kitchen. This may be a long afternoon."

The house on Beacon Street was bustling with activity when Sean arrived. His sister, Keely, and her husband, Rafe, had been renovating it for the past month and planned to move in before Thanksgiving. Contractors' vans were parked on the narrow street and equipment and materials had been stacked on the sidewalk outside.

Sean stepped around an electrician who was running a wire to the porch light, and walked in the open door. He strolled through the large foyer and peered up the central staircase. Though the house wasn't as large as the Rand mansion, it promised to be equally luxurious. Rafe Kendrick wouldn't spare any expense for the home he planned to share with his wife and their new baby.

Keely had told the family about her pregnancy at the last get-together, an event that he hadn't attended. The family grapevine had worked well and he'd heard the news on a message that Liam had left on his voice mail. "Anyone home?" Sean called.

"Back here!"

Sean walked toward the rear of the house and found the kitchen. Keely stood in the center of the gutted room, staring at a row of tiles she'd laid out on the floor. He stood at her side and stared down at the tiles.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Are you waiting for them to move?"

Keely giggled and gave him a playful slap. "I'm trying to choose. I need something that isn't too dark but isn't too light."

Sean slipped his arm around her shoulder, then kissed the top of her head. "Congratulations. Liam told me about the baby."

Keely looked up at him, as if surprised by his show of affection. She slipped her arm around his waist. "Thanks. We're pretty excited. Rafe is just obsessed with getting this house done. I want to take a little more time. There are so many choices to make. But he's determined we're going to bring the baby home to this house."

"It's going to be nice," he said.

"It will," Keely agreed. She pulled him over to the French doors that overlooked the backyard. "Why don't you take a look at the garden and I'll get us something to drink. I have to talk to you about something."

Sean opened the door and walked outside. The garden was tiny but beautiful, with an old maple shading the brick patio. A pretty iron table had been placed near a small fountain and he took a seat facing an overgrown flower bed. He couldn't help but wonder why Keely had been so insistent on seeing him. He had his answer a few seconds later.

"Hello, Sean."

He stiffened at the sound of his mother's voice, refusing to turn around. He should have known something was up. Keely was just too anxious to see him and too secretive about why. His jaw tightened and he tried to keep himself from getting up and walking away.

Fiona circled the table and stood in front of him, but he wouldn't look up. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "It's time for you two to talk," Keely said. "This can't go on any longer." She walked back into the house and closed the door.

Fiona set a tray on the table and poured him a glass of pink lemonade. "I asked Keely to call you, so you mustn't blame her. May I sit down?"

"Suit yourself."

Fiona nodded, then took a spot across from him, folding her hands in front of her. "I've been waiting for this moment for such a long time."

Sean glanced at her. He was amazed at how little she'd changed over the years, how much she still looked like the woman in the photo he carried. She was beautiful, and Sean could only imagine how stunning she must have been on the day she married Seamus Quinn.

But he wasn't a stupid kid anymore and she wasn't his angel. She was the woman who had loved him and then walked away. The anger still burned deep inside of him. But one thing he'd noticed lately was that the fire had been fading. Somehow he'd come to realize that if he ever expected to move on with his life, he'd have to sort out his past. And confronting his mother was the first step.

"I know you're angry with me and I don't blame you," Fiona continued. "I walked out of your life and you aren't required to let me in just because I'm your mother."

"You weren't much of a mother," he murmured.

"I know. I made some very bad choices and I accept all the blame you're willing to heap on me. Heap away."

He sat silently for a long time, deciding whether to stay and talk, or whether to walk away. "Tell me why you left," Sean demanded. "Make me understand."

She seemed anxious to answer, sitting up straighter and fixing her gaze on his face. "There were so many reasons and none of them a good excuse. I was worn down. Seamus was drinking and gambling and all we seemed to do was argue. When we came to America, we had such grand dreams. But as time passed, Seamus forgot those dreams. He wasn't able to give me all that he'd promised when he'd married me." Fiona paused. "And I think he was ashamed of himself."

"So you ran away?"

"I tried to make things better. I wanted him to quit fishing and find a job that would keep him home, but he refused. And when I found myself pregnant again, I decided I had to make a break, to show him how precarious it had become between us. I had to show him what he was risking. A few days turned into a week and then a month, and pretty soon it was impossible to come back."

"I know about the other man," Sean said.

She inhaled a sharp breath, a stunned expression on her face. Then she slowly nodded. "There was another man," Fiona admitted. "No one knew about him except your father."

"I knew," Sean said, anger coloring his voice. "And about twenty of Da's buddies at the pub knew. I heard him tell the story one night when he was drunk and didn't know I was listening. He said you'd had an affair."

"No, it was never that!" Fiona said. "He was a friend and I took advantage of his kindness. I told him my problems and he listened and that's all that happened. But he fell in love with me and wanted me to leave Seamus and make a life with him."

"And what about us?"

"He wanted me to bring you boys with me. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry him, so I had no choice but to leave Boston."

"God, Ma, it was the seventies. You could have gotten a divorce. We might have had a normal childhood."

"No, I couldn't get a divorce. I was, and still am, a good Catholic, and when I married your father, I married him for life. I knew if I stayed in Boston, I might break my wedding vows, so I left. I only meant to go for a short time. But the days passed and it never seemed to be the right time to return. Then after I was gone for too long, I was afraid your father wouldn't want me."

"And what about us?"

Fiona shook her head. "I never stopped loving you. And I never stopped loving your father. After all this, I still love him." A smile touched her lips. "He was such a charmer when we first met. From the moment I first saw him, I knew he was the one for me."

"How did you know?" Sean asked. He'd heard his brothers say the exact thing about the women in their lives and he'd felt the same way about Laurel. But the feelings didn't make sense to him. Maybe his mother could explain.

"There was magic in the air that day," she said. "It sounds silly, I know. Even though you don't remember Ireland, it's in your blood, Sean, and someday you'll feel it. You're a Quinn and the magic is always there. You just have to let yourself feel it." She took a sip of her lemonade and waited for his reply.

"I don't believe in magic," he murmured.

"Your father tells me that you got married."

Sean groaned inwardly. The family grapevine was still hard at work. "I'm not married. Just pretending to be."

"And why would you do that?" she asked.

"It's a very long story."

"Tell me about this woman. Is this someone you would like to marry?"

"I'm not the marrying kind," Sean said impatiently. Though he'd once believed the words, the sentiment now rang hollow. How did he know? Didn't he deserve the same happiness that his brothers and sister had found?

"You deserve to be loved," Fiona said, echoing Sean's thoughts. "Everyone deserves to be loved. It's the true joy of life. But if you don't believe in magic, then you'll never see it. Even if it's right in front of your nose." She reached out and covered his hand with hers.

Sean stared down at her fingers and a strange sense of déjà vu came over him. This was the first time she'd touched him since he'd been a very young child, and nothing had changed. Her touch still made him feel safe and warm. Emotion clogged his throat and, for a moment, speech was impossible. "Maybe we can talk again," he finally said, looking into her eyes.

"I'd like that," she said. "Very much."

Sean parked Laurel's car in front of the mansion and stared up at the facade. Since his visit with Fiona, he'd been driving around aimlessly, trying to clear his head of some of the chaos inside. Until a few weeks ago, his life had been pretty simple. He worked, he ate, he slept.

But now he realized that he wasn't really living. He was existing, watching life from the sidelines, standing in a void of emotion. From the moment he'd walked down the aisle with Laurel, his life had been irrevocably changed. He suddenly had crucial choices to make and new emotions to deal with.

His thoughts returned to that morning, to the argument he'd had with Laurel, and then to the night before. Just the thought of her naked in his arms, arching against him in pleasure, sent a current of desire crackling through his body. But after a night made for fantasy, the morning had brought an odd reality. He was still doing a job and she was paying him to do it. And when she didn't need him anymore he'd be sent away. He'd leave much wealthier, but what would the experience cost him?

He walked to the front door and punched in the security code that opened it. The foyer was silent as he stepped inside. The scent of dinner drifted in the air and Sean quietly walked toward the kitchen. He pushed the door open, expecting to find Alistair there. But to his surprise he found Laurel, a kitchen towel wrapped around the waist of her sexy black dress.

Her back to him, she pulled the lid off a pot and peered inside, then picked up a piece of paper and read it out loud. "'The pasta goes in ten minutes before dinner is served,'" she murmured.

She picked up a glass of wine that sat on the counter beside her and took a sip, then slowly turned, her gaze meeting his.

"Hi," Sean said.

"You're home," she countered, a smile touching the corners of her lips.

It was a nice illusion, that this was indeed his home. But Sean knew the truth. The home belonged to Laurel. He was no more than a visitor-or, like Alistair, an employee. "I'm home," he said.

"I've made dinner. We're having filet of beef, and pasta with a wild mushroom sauce. And a salad of spring greens. And for dessert, a rich chocolate mousse. I made it myself." A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Actually, Alistair helped."

"Where is Alistair?"

"He and Uncle Sinclair left for New York earlier this evening. The coin auction is tomorrow. So we're all alone."

"Laurel, I think we should-"

"Talk about this morning," she completed. "I want to apologize. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm sorry, but with Eddie showing up and everything else going on, I just got a little overwhelmed."

"I shouldn't have voiced my opinion. It wasn't my place."

"No," Laurel cried, crossing the kitchen. She reached out and took his hand, and Sean felt his pulse leap at her touch. His mind flashed an image of the previous night, her naked body above his as they made love, her hair tumbled around her face, and the look of wonder in her eyes as she reached her release. He fought the impulse to yank her into his arms and to carry her up to the bedroom and make it all happen again. Now was not the time to give in to desire.

"Yes," he said. "I'm doing a job here."

"Is that what it is to you?" she asked.

"You tell me," he said. "We made a deal. Was last night part of the job?"

She gasped. "Do you think I need to pay someone to make love to me?" Laurel turned on her heel and stalked over to the stove. She dumped a box of pasta into a huge pot, then gave it a stir. "I didn't command you into my shower. I didn't even invite you. You came willingly, as I recall."

"You didn't turn me away." Sean cursed softly. He'd walked in the door fully intending to mend the rift between them. But now it only seemed to be widening. "I don't want to argue."

"What do you want? Tell me."

Sean shook his head. "I can't want anything from this."

"That's not an answer," she said. "Why can't you just say what you feel for once in your life?"

"I don't know what I feel." Sean paced the width of the kitchen. "I care about you. I want to see you happy. But I'm not your husband. And you're not my wife." He took a deep breath. "Since Sinclair is gone, maybe it would be best for me to spend the night at my place."

In truth, he needed to put some distance between them. If he had the time to think, time to put aside thoughts of her beautiful face and incredible body, thoughts that clouded his perceptions, maybe he could figure out what he felt Feeling anything for a woman was a strange experience and whatever this was that he felt for Laurel was too confusing to sort out in a night.

"No," Laurel said.

"No?"

"I'm paying you to be here and I want you to stay. I've spent most of the afternoon making this dinner and you're required to enjoy it." She grabbed up the bottle of wine and poured a glass, then pushed it at him. "Here, have a drink." A moment later, she retrieved a plate from the refrigerator. "Hors d'oeuvre?"

He plucked a cracker off the tray and popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, very good."

"Are you saying it's good because it is? Or because I'm paying you to say it is?"

"It's good," Sean said.

She seemed pleased and set the plate down on the counter beside him. "I'll just finish dinner. I thought we could eat on the terrace. I've set up the table out there. Why don't you take the wine and salad out and I'll finish cooking the pasta."

He took the salad bowl she offered, tucked the wine in the crook of his arm and walked outside. Considering her mood, dinner promised to be tense. But oddly, her mood didn't bother him as much as he thought it should. She was still the most beautiful, exciting and perplexing woman he'd ever met.

The table was set with crystal and silver and gleaming china. Sean noticed the candles in the center and picked up a book of matches to light them. The setting looked decidedly romantic, the table placed near the edge of the terrace overlooking the gardens and pool.

The candles flickered in the night, a gentle breeze stirring up the air. He poured a glass of wine for himself and wandered over to the low wall that surrounded the terrace. There were so many things he wanted to say to Laurel, but he wasn't sure how to say them. Words didn't come easily to him; less so, expressions of emotion. But he did feel something for her and it ran deep.

Sean glanced up and saw her struggling with a tray as she stepped through the door. He jogged over to her and took the tray, then offered a smile to soothe her temper. "It smells good," he murmured.

They sat and Laurel pulled the covers off the plates. Sean was impressed with the meal, but politely waited for her to take the first bite. She picked up her fork but before she could, he impulsively raised his wineglass. "Maybe we should have a toast," he murmured.

"To what?" she asked.

"How about to friendship?"

She hesitated, then raised her glass and touched it to his. "All right. To friendship." A tentative smile touched her lips and she took a sip.

Their dinner began in silence, but as they started on the main course, Laurel ventured a comment. "Alistair helped me with the meal. He knows about us, that we're not really married."

"I know he knows," Sean said, wondering if she'd be angry.

"You didn't tell me?"

"You had a lot on your mind."

She nodded. "Alistair said you went to see your family today."

"I talked to my mother-for the first time in my life that I can remember."

"I thought your mother left the family when you were young," she said.

Sean was surprised she remembered the conversation they'd had. "She did. She came back to Boston a year ago last January with my sister, Keely, who was born after my mother left. I haven't been able to talk to her since she returned."

"Why not?"

He'd kept the feelings bottled up inside for so long that he wasn't sure he could express them in words. But as he looked at Laurel, he knew she'd be the one to understand. "I don't know. I was angry at her. I didn't trust her. When I was little, I used to believe she was my angel, watching over me from heaven. My father had told us she'd died in a car wreck."

"And she hadn't?" Laurel said, her expression filled with sympathy. "That must have been very confusing for you."

He picked up his wineglass and took a gulp of the wine. "I went to fetch my da from the pub one night," he began, measuring each word. "And he was boasting to his buddies that he'd sent my ma packing because she'd been with another man. That's when I started to hate her. I blamed her for all the bad things that happened to us. But I never told anyone about what I'd heard."

"That's a pretty big secret for a kid to carry around."

"It was like weight that dragged me down. I didn't let myself feel anything. And today I found out that I was wrong. She didn't break her marriage vows. I'm not sure what to do with that revelation."

"Let it go," Laurel said. "After my mother died, I carried around an anger for her that I couldn't understand, I was ten and she'd left me and I blamed her because she didn't fight harder. If she loved me, she could have beaten the cancer." She paused, as if her emotions were about to overflow. "And then, one day, I just let it go. And memories of the good times came back and I could love her again."

"I don't have any memories," Sean said.

"Then make some new ones," Laurel urged. "Spend some time with your mother, take her out to lunch, find out who she is. At least you have that chance. Don't waste it."

Sean reached across the table and slipped his hand around her nape, gently pulling her toward him. The kiss began as simple gratitude, but then, after a few moments, it became more-an apology, a promise, an invitation. They both stumbled to their feet, the table still between them.

He stepped around it, his mouth locked on hers, then pulled Laurel into his arms. All the anger had faded, replaced by need, stronger than anything he'd felt the night before. He wanted to make love to her right then, to reassure himself that she truly did care for him. He needed Laurel more than he'd ever needed a woman in his life.

Sean cupped her face in his hands and stared down into her eyes. "How did you get so smart?" He kissed her again, letting his hands drift over her body, taking in the soft curves and sweet angles as if they belonged solely to him.

He was tempted to drag her up to bed, to show her how much he needed her. But last night's encounter had left them both anxious and confused, ripe for the argument they'd had. They needed time to sort out these feelings, time to let them grow naturally. He groaned inwardly. Every instinct told him to enjoy her while he could. But Sean wasn't interested in short-term pleasure. If there was something real between him and Laurel, he needed to know, and this was the only way to find out.

Sean gently set her back from him and smiled. "Dinner is getting cold."

She swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Right. Dinner."

They passed the rest of the evening in easy conversation, Sean surprised at how good it felt to discuss his childhood with her. She listened and offered her thoughts, then questioned him, prompting him to reveal more. But through it all, the kiss they'd shared hung between them like a ticking alarm clock just waiting to go off. With every minute that passed, Sean wondered how much longer he could resist touching her.

He managed to make it through dessert and then helped her clear the table and do the dishes. As they worked, they finished the bottle of wine, both of them relaxing into each other. And when the dishes were finished and the kitchen cleaned, the next step was obvious.

It would be so easy to walk up the stairs with her and to make love to her for the rest of the night. But for the first time since he'd met her, he believed that there was something special between them, something that needed to be treated with greater care-something that just might last.

Laurel wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, then carefully folded it and set it aside. "It's late," she said, glancing up at the clock. "Nearly midnight."

Sean slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her near. His lips found hers again and he kissed her, gently exploring her mouth. When he stepped back, her eyes were still closed. "Time for bed."

Laurel opened her eyes and he caught a flicker of apprehension there. "Right. I am tired. And you've had a busy day."

"And since Sinclair isn't here, I think it would be better if I found another place to sleep."

A look of surprise suffused her pretty features. She opened her mouth, as if ready to protest, then suddenly snapped it shut. "You don't want to sleep with me?"

"Of course I do," Sean said. "But I think we need to be a little more careful, don't you?"

"Careful?" She paused as if trying to come to grips with his reasoning. "You're right." Laurel cleared her throat. "So, I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks for dinner," Sean said, smoothing his hand over her cheek. "It was very nice." He kissed her once more, doing his best to keep his desires in check. And then she walked out, his gaze following her until the kitchen door swung shut.

Sean inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He waited a few minutes, then followed her up the stairs. As he passed her bedroom door, Sean stopped, fighting the temptation to go inside and to lose himself in her incredible body. He imagined her slipping out of the sexy black dress she'd worn, then discarding the lacy scraps of underwear. He imagined himself running his hands over her naked body and gently laying her down on the bed.

A soft moan slipped from his lips and he turned from the door. If he planned to get any sleep at all, he'd have to find a room as far away from Laurel's as possible. "It's going to be a long night," he murmured.

But he couldn't wait for tomorrow. The way he felt now, anything was possible.