Kate Hoffmann - Sean

"I've taken the liberty of preparing a light meal for you," Alistair said, following them both up the stairs. "Sandwiches, a roasted vegetable salad and a fresh blueberry crumble. I've put it in your bedroom. Mr. Sinclair would like you to join him for brandy in the library after you've settled in."

He opened the door to Laurel's bedroom and walked inside, switching on a lamp next to the small sofa. "Would you like me to unpack for you?" Alistair asked Sean.

"No, I can take care of that." Sean reached for his wallet, but Laurel grabbed his arm to stop him.

"We'll be fine," she said. "Let Uncle know that we'll be down in twenty minutes. Thank you, Alistair."

When the butler had left the room, she heard Sean release a tightly held breath. "I was going to tip him," he said. "That wasn't right?"

"No, Alistair is an employee of my uncle Sinclair. But he takes care of me-and you now-because he wants to. Not because he has to."

She crossed the room to the small sofa set in an alcove. Alistair had set out the tray on a tea table beside it. She picked up one of Alistair's famous cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches and took a bite. "Are you hungry? Alistair is a really good cook."

"No," he said. He stood in the center of the room as if he wasn't sure what he should do.

Laurel moved to the dresser, pulled open the top drawer, then scooped out all her underwear. "You can use this for your clothes. I'll clean out another drawer if you need it. And there's plenty of room in the closet." She looked down at her underwear, then walked over to the wardrobe, pulled open the door and tossed the lingerie inside. "The bathroom is through there." Laurel pointed to the door. "You'll need to change before we go downstairs."

Sean looked down at the clothes he was wearing. "What's wrong with what I have on?"

Laurel let her gaze drift down from his handsome face to his long, lean body. He wore a T-shirt and jeans like no other man could; the T-shirt stretched tight over his muscled chest, the black jeans riding low on his hips. "Uncle insists that everyone dress for the evening."

"We're having a drink."

"It's after six. It's one of his rules. Now, what did you bring along?"

"Jeans, T-shirts." Sean strode over to the bed and rummaged through his duffel. He pulled out a black sweater and held it up. "How about this?"

"You don't have a jacket and tie?"

"I don't own a jacket and tie," Sean said. "Whenever I need to dress up, I borrow something from my brother Brian."

"We'll have to shop tomorrow." She crossed to the closet. "I think Edward may have left something here."

"I'm not wearing his clothes." He grabbed his duffel and crossed the room to the dresser. But before he put his clothes inside, he held out a stray piece of her lingerie. A lacy red bra.

A blush warming her cheeks, Laurel grabbed it from his hand. She took his sweater, as well, and smoothed her hand over the fine silk knit. The designer label was a surprise.

"My sister-in-law gave it to me for Christmas. I've never worn it."

"This will be fine. We'll buy you some new things when we get a chance."

He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. It happened so quickly that Laurel didn't have a chance to prepare, or to find something else to occupy her eyes. Her gaze fell to his chest, smooth and finely muscled. He was lean and hard, yet Laurel suspected it didn't come from working out at a health club. He just didn't seem the type.

She swallowed hard, then handed him the sweater. "We… we need to get our story straight about the honeymoon. I think you should let me do most of the talking. Add a few details here and there, but don't say too much."

"I never do," Sean replied.

"And we need to discuss public displays of affection. We have to appear… comfortable with each other. Uncle Sinclair needs to see that we're in love, but we shouldn't hang all over each other. Uncle has very old-fashioned ideas about decorum and propriety."

"Tell me what to do," Sean said.

"Well, we can hold hands," she suggested.

He reached out and took her hand, then wove his fingers through hers. His touch sent a current through her body, so strong that she had to fight the impulse to pull away.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Good. And you can touch me in other ways. Put your arm around me."

He slipped his other arm around her waist. "Like this?" he asked as he pulled her close, her hand pinned behind her back.

"And… and then, you could…"

"Kiss you?" he asked, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"Yes."

He moved to her neck and a wave of sensation washed through her as he bit softly. "How about here?"

A ragged breath slipped from her throat. "I think that would be a little… too… oh, that feels good."

He suddenly pulled away, as if the contact hadn't fazed him at all. "Maybe that's going too far." Laurel blinked, then nodded. "You're right. Touching is fine. A kiss on the cheek occasionally. But nothing else." She stepped away from him and sat on the sofa, pressing her hands between her knees to keep them from trembling. "If Uncle asks you strange questions, just go along. Answer as best you can. He never stays on one subject for too long."

"He shouldn't be hard to trick. When do you think he'll give you your money?"

"I don't want to trick him. The money is mine. My father left it to me. He just made the mistake of naming Uncle Sinclair as administrator of the trust, so Sinclair makes up the rules about when I can have the money. I need it now."

"Why do you need it now?"

"I just do," Laurel said. She'd never told anyone about her plans for the arts center. Until now, it had been a dream. She'd filled notebooks with her ideas, everything from curriculum to design of the classrooms to the teachers she'd try to hire. But she was almost superstitious about telling anyone, worried that any negative comment might ruin her perfect dream. "My reasons are my own," she said. "And they're none of your business."

Sean shrugged. "Just curious." He slipped the sweater over his head, then raked his hands through his hair. "I think we're ready."

Laurel strode to the door. "All right, Edward. Uncle Sinclair gets impatient when he's kept waiting."

As she walked down the wide staircase, Laurel tried to calm her frustration. She'd thought it would be easy to carry out the charade. Once Sinclair was certain she and "Edward" had married for the right reasons, he'd turn over her money. He wouldn't dare make her give it back once the marriage failed.

She didn't like to lie, but the deception was necessary and it was for a good cause. She could have waited for another man to come along. But who knows when that might have happened? And how was she supposed to trust her own judgment, especially after the mistake she'd made with Edward? She certainly didn't want to wait another five years for the money.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Laurel waited. Sean joined her a few seconds later. He reached out and took her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. "Lead on," he said.

They found Sinclair sitting in the huge leather wing chair in the library. Alistair had set out the brandy on a small side table and now stood silently in the shadows. As they entered, Laurel's uncle didn't bother to acknowledge them. Instead he kept his nose buried in a book.

Laurel sat on the leather sofa and motioned Sean to sit beside her. Alistair fetched them both a brandy, then resumed his place. After five minutes Sinclair finally glanced up, as if surprised that she and Sean were in the room. "Here you are then," he said, staring at Laurel. "I hope you used sunscreen."

"The weather was beautiful in Hawaii, Uncle."

"Beautiful," Sean repeated.

"Did you see any birds?"

"There were lots of birds there," Laurel said. "You would have found some new species to put on your list, Uncle. Uncle is only interested in American birds, Edward. But Hawaii is a state, so all those birds count."