The Mighty Quinns: Sean. Kate Hoffmann
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don’t cry,” he murmured. He gently rubbed her arms, as if to soothe her. But the moment he wrapped his arms around her, all thoughts of Edward and her ruined wedding fled from her mind. Instead, Laurel was taken by his kindness and his strength…and his incredibly muscular chest.
She sucked in a sharp breath, then stepped back. If she had any questions about the depth of her feelings for Edward, they were answered now. She hadn’t loved him. He was out of her life barely ten minutes and she was in the arms of another man!
Laurel walked across the room, determined to observe Sean Quinn from a safe distance. His eyes weren’t the only part of him that she found attractive. His hair was dark, almost black, and brushed the collar of his leather jacket. He was handsome, but there was something else, an air of indifference about him that made him seem aloof, untouchable.
“What was he arrested for?” Laurel asked.
Sean cleared his throat. “Ah…bigamy.”
Laurel gasped. “Bigamy? He has a wife already?”
“Actually, he has nine. You’d have been number ten.”
Laurel groaned, a flush of humiliation warming her face. “I guess this is what I deserve.” She smiled weakly. “I should have suspected something was up. I wanted him to meet my friends, but he always had some excuse, some business meeting that he had to attend. And when I asked about his family, he changed the subject. And then he couldn’t make the wedding rehearsal last night. He said he had a business meeting.”
“He was with another woman,” Sean said. “But if it makes you feel better, he said he really did love you.”
Laurel laughed. Love. She was far too practical to believe in that particular emotion. She and Edward were compatible, and she’d thought he came from a good family, so she’d decided to accept his proposal when he’d asked. After all, it had fit right in with her own plans. She would marry Edward, collect her trust fund from her uncle, and make all her dreams come true. And now, everything was ruined.
Or was it?
“Tell me something,” Laurel said, lifting her gaze to Sean and sending him a smile. “Are you married?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Do you have a girlfriend or a fiancée?”
He cleared his throat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “I better be going now. You have a lot to take care of. You probably can’t return the wedding dress, but maybe your guests will let you keep the gifts—once they realize this wasn’t really your fault.”
“What size jacket do you wear?” Laurel quickly turned and retrieved a garment bag from a hook on the back of the standing mirror. “I’m pretty sure this will fit,” she murmured as she unzipped the bag and glanced down at his shoes. She could still salvage something from this mess. “I doubt if we’d be so lucky that the shoes would fit, too. Edward had really big feet.”
“No way. I’m not getting all dressed up so I can tell your guests you’re not getting married,” Sean said. “I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m leaving.”
“I don’t want you to tell the guests,” Laurel said. “I do plan to get married this afternoon.”
“Eddie is in jail. I don’t think they’re going to let him out,” Sean replied.
“Oh, I’m not going to marry Edward. I’m going to marry you.”
Laurel waited, the silence in the room deafening. His jaw slowly dropped and he stared at her as if she’d just sprouted horns and a tail. Maybe the suggestion was a little rash, but she was desperate. “Before you say no,” she murmured, “I want you to listen to my proposal.”
He backed away from her, his hands up. “I don’t need you to propose, lady. I’m not walking down the aisle. Not with you, not with any woman.”
“And I have no intention of calling off my wedding. Now, as I see it, this is entirely your fault. You’re the one responsible for Edward getting arrested and—”
“He was a damn bigamist!” Sean shouted. “He was breaking the law. And you should be grateful I saved you from him.”
“I would be, if there wasn’t so much riding on this wedding. There are guests and gifts and a huge reception planned. The embarrassment would be…” She let her words drift off. She felt a bit guilty for manipulating him, but the wedding was important. Once she got married, she’d get her inheritance. Once she got her inheritance, she could rent her building. She had it all picked out, an old brick storefront with lots of light and high ceilings.
The idea had come to her several years ago when she’d started teaching music at a grade school in Dorchester. After college, she’d bounced around from job to job, trying to find her place in the world. She’d joined the Peace Corps on a whim, only to find herself with a chronic case of dysentery. They’d sent her home after four months. A few months later she’d taken a job teaching dance on a cruise ship. But the exotic locales didn’t make up for the cramped quarters and the sea-sickness. Her career as a flight attendant ended when she’d realized she had a paralyzing fear of flying.
But this time she’d found something she might actually be good at. There were plenty of after-school programs for kids who were interested in academics or athletics, but very few available for children with talent in the arts. So she had decided that once she got her hands on her five-million-dollar trust fund, she’d open an after-school center that focused on theater and dance and music, and maybe even the visual arts. She already had a picture of it in her mind. And she would call it the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts, after her mother, who had passed down her love of the arts to Laurel.
If her uncle Sinclair hadn’t been such a miser, she might not have had to go to such extremes. But he controlled the Rand family trust, doling out money as he saw fit. And since he’d been named the administrator of her trust fund after both her parents had died, he held the purse strings. Sinclair had laid out the conditions. The trust fund provided her with a small monthly income. If she married before her twenty-sixth birthday, she would be entitled to her inheritance of five million. If she remained single, she’d have to wait until her thirty-first birthday for the money.
In truth, Sinclair Rand was nothing more than an old chauvinist. In his mind, no woman could handle that amount of money without a man to supervise. He hadn’t cared who she married, he hadn’t even bothered to meet Edward. As long as her husband had a penis, then Uncle Sinclair figured he had the brains to handle her finances, and that was enough for him. Uncle Sinclair claimed his ideas were in keeping with how Laurel’s father, Stewart Rand, would have wanted things. But she also knew if her parents were alive, they’d support her idea for the arts center.
But two could play at her uncle’s little game. “You mentioned you were a private investigator. I suppose you’re accustomed to being paid for your time. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars to put on this tuxedo and walk down the aisle with me.”
He gasped. “Ten thousand dollars? You’re crazy.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. It wouldn’t be legal. We don’t have a marriage license. All I’m asking is that you walk through the ceremony with me.” She paused. “And the reception. You just have to pretend to be Edward. Think of it as playacting. And once we’re in the limo and on our way to the honeymoon, that’s it. Your part is over.”
It would be a way of buying herself some time, Laurel mused. Sooner or later her uncle would have to see that his insistence on marriage was antiquated and untenable. After all, she’d nearly married a criminal to get her hands on her inheritance. Pretending to marry a handsome private investigator wasn’t nearly so serious. Once her uncle saw how far she was willing to go to build her dream, he’d have to relent.
“All this just to save you a little embarrassment?” Sean asked, leveling her with a suspicious gaze.
“Yes,” she lied.