Kate Hoffmann - Sean

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.

Dust motes swirled in the air as Sean and Laurel walked through the old storefront. Tall windows, covered with a wire mesh outside, were cracked and broken and grimy with dirt-a sign that the building had been vacant for some time. And with outside temperatures nearing eighty, the air inside was stale and musty, heavy with the heat of the early September afternoon.

"What do you think?" Laurel asked.

Sean glanced around. She'd been so excited to show him this place, he was afraid to admit that he'd expected something a little nicer. "I think you have a lot of work to do."

"I know," she said, excitement filling her voice. "But I think it would make a great children's center. And I can probably get some matching grants from local foundations and maybe even from the government to do the renovations. The first thing I'm going to do is hire someone who is really good at fund-raising. Five million won't last long if we don't bring money in."

"What if your uncle doesn't give you the five million?"

"I'm thinking positively. He has to give me the money," she said, a desperate edge invading her cheerful voice. "I can't lose this place. It's too perfect."

Sean didn't see it as perfect. In truth, it was about as far from perfect as a building could get. But he couldn't deny Laurel's enthusiasm. "How can you be so sure this is what you want to do?"

Laurel slowly turned, taking in the entire room. "I just am. It's as if my past is connected now with my present. There were times when I felt like I was… drifting. When my father died, my last tether to who I was, was cut. This place makes me feel like I have my feet back on the ground."

"It must be nice to be sure," Sean said.

"Aren't you?"

In truth Sean had never been sure of anything in his life. He'd always waited for the next bad thing to happen, for the next disaster to come knocking at the door. There was only one person he could truly trust and depend on in the world-himself. "Yeah," he lied.

"I'm going to name this place the Louise Carpenter Rand Center for the Arts," she said. "After my mother."

"What if your uncle asks for proof before he hands over the money? What if he wants to see a marriage certificate?"

"I'll deal with that then," she said. "My father never realized what it would be like for me, living under Sinclair's thumb. If he'd known, he wouldn't have put my uncle in charge of my trust. And if he were alive, I know he'd support this idea. My mother would have loved it, too. I'm thinking positively." She turned to face the room. "Now, this is going to be the dance studio. We'll put mirrors on that wall and put in a new floor." She did a fancy little ballet step around him. "And over here, I'd like to have an art studio. And behind that wall would be storage for materials and supplies. And downstairs in the front part of the building, I want a small gallery and performance space, so people in the neighborhood can visit and see what we're doing here."

She danced by and Sean grabbed her around the waist and stopped her. "You could talk to Sinclair about your idea, lay out your plan. He might decide to support it."

"You don't know him," she said, shaking her head. "He formed his ideas about the opposite sex back in the Neanderthal ages. He thinks the only future for me is marriage and children and a nice little three-bedroom cave. His idea of the perfect husband has nothing at all to do with love. If the guy can keep track of my money, then he's a perfect candidate."

He stared down into her gaze and Laurel grew still. "Did you love Eddie?" Sean asked. He didn't want to know the answer, but he had to.

"Edward," she corrected. Laurel considered his question for a moment. "No. But he was the only one asking me to marry him. And I thought he was the kind of man I could live with. That was enough for me."

"You sell yourself short," Sean said. He released her and walked across the room to examine a broken door. Why couldn't she see how wonderful she was? She was beautiful and sexy and smart, and the kind of woman any man would want. Why would she settle for a guy like Eddie the Cruiser?

Laurel followed him. "And how would you know? Do you think I should give up my dreams while I wait for a man to ride to my rescue? I want to do something with my life. I want to make a difference, and I can't do that if Sinclair won't give me my money."

"Find it somewhere else," he said, his voice tight.

"Who is going to give me five million dollars?"

"Like you said. Foundations. The government. Have you tried?"

Anger suffused her expression. "You don't think I can do this, do you? You're just like Uncle Sinclair!"

"Laurel, that's not true. I'm just-"

A sudden movement above their head startled Laurel and she screamed as a pigeon swooped in between them. A moment later she was in his arms, her breath coming in tiny gasps.