Kate Hoffmann - Sean

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."