clothes into the machine next to her, a damp spot seeping through the front of his jeans.
“You could take those off,” Eden suggested, “and toss them in the wash.”
“Don’t you think we’ve gone far enough for your first visit to the Laundromat?”
“You’re right. I’m completely satisfied with the experience,” she said. “How about you?”
He chuckled softly. “The evidence of that is all over your fingers.” He grabbed a towel from the pile and took her hand to wipe it dry. When he was finished, he held up the towel. “Warm water. Towels and sheets go in warm water. Unless they’re white-then they go in hot.”
“Interesting,” Eden said. “Why?”
Marcus opened his mouth, then paused. “I’m not sure. Because it says so on the detergent bottle.” He picked up her bra. “I think this is what they refer to as a delicate. I don’t have any delicates of my own, but they go in cold.”
“Good to know,” Eden said. She watched him fill three washers with clothes, add detergent, then select the proper temperature for each. As far as Eden could tell, she could have learned how to do laundry by reading the detergent bottle. There wasn’t much to it. But the sex was great.
“Now you just put the quarters into the slots and the machines will start.” He shoved his hand in his jeans pocket and winced again.
“Need some help?” Eden teased.
“I think you’ve done enough in there already,” he said.
Eden giggled, then picked up the copy of
“What’s wrong?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
Marcus slowly pulled the magazine from her hand and looked at the picture. “It’s you,” he said, “with some guy.”
Eden nodded. “His name is Andreas. He’s-”
“He’s got his hand on your ass,” Marcus said.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she finished.
Marcus glanced back down at the photo, scowling. “You have a boyfriend?”
“I did,” Eden said. “Up until the time I took off. I didn’t want to face him once everything hit the press. His family is very…well, they’re old European money. His father is a baron and his mother is a Greek princess. They weren’t fond of me, but Andreas loved me.”
“Maybe he still does,” Marcus said.
“I can’t see how.” Eden took the magazine from his hands and studied the photo. “That was such a great party,” she said. “That was Cannes. The film festival. We drank so much champagne, and then a bunch of us went down to the beach and ripped off all our clothes and jumped into the sea.”
“Sounds like fun,” Marcus said, his voice flat.
“I’m having more fun doing the laundry,” she offered. But her words didn’t seem to pacify him. “I don’t miss him.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t. He was my boyfriend, but it wasn’t like it is with you.”
“You weren’t sleeping with him?” Marcus asked.
“No, I was. But we didn’t…we weren’t-” She cursed softly. “It just wasn’t the same as it is with you.”
He nodded, distractedly rummaging through the pile of laundry. Frowning, he straightened. “I forgot fabric softener,” he said. “I’m just going to run and get some.”
Without another word, he turned and strode to the door. Eden watched through the plate-glass window of the Laundromat as he disappeared down the sidewalk. He’d never seemed squeamish about her past before. Why was he so touchy now?
Eden put her sunglasses back on and picked up the magazine, turning to the photo. She tried to recall the details of that night. It had been fun, but nothing about it had been memorable. In contrast, she remembered all the little details of her time with Marcus: what he’d worn that night on the beach, the sound of his voice when he’d first said her name, the color of his eyes when he’d looked out at the water. Every sensation of every caress was burned into her brain so deeply that it had become a part of her.
No, she wasn’t falling in love with him. From the very start she’d decided that their relationship would be just about sex and nothing more. And until now it had been. She glanced down at the photo again, then closed her eyes, imagining Marcus standing beside her, smiling for the cameras.
Eden’s eyes snapped open and she shook her head. Of all the fantasies that she’d imagined with Marcus, that one was the least likely to come true.
THE NOONDAY SUN WAS high overhead, beating down on Marcus’s back. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, then grabbed the crowbar from his father’s hand.
“Your ma says you’ve found yourself a new lady,” Paddy said, watching him over the top of the crate.
Marcus worked the nails that held the crate closed. They’d returned from the Laundromat a few hours before. He’d left Eden upstairs with the employment section of the Providence newspaper, determined to help his father. “What else does she say?”
“That she has a name that ties the tongue in knots and that she’s quite fetching.” Paddy raised his eyebrow.
Marcus chuckled. “Fetching?”
“Pretty,” Paddy amended.
“She is,” Marcus agreed. He levered the crowbar against the corner of the crate and popped the top off. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Do you want to hear more?” Paddy asked.
He turned and faced his father, bracing his hands on the edge of the crate. “Not really.”
Paddy shrugged. “There it is. Enough said.”
They continued to work in silence for a few more minutes, Marcus’s mind swirling with a question he’d been anxious to ask. He took a deep breath. “How did you know with Ma? What was it that made you realize you were in love?”
Paddy seemed as surprised by the question as Marcus was that he’d asked it. It was no wonder. Marcus and his father had rarely talked of personal matters. The three youngest Quinn boys had run their lives on their own for so long that Paddy had been left on the sidelines. And Marcus had always taken his questions and concerns to Ian and Dec. But they were in no position to offer advice on this subject. And he was in no position to ask them.
“I-I knew the minute I met her,” Paddy said.
“Come on.” Marcus shook his head. “How is that possible?”
“She walked in the room and I gave my mate a nudge and said, ‘There’s the girl I’m to marry.’ And that’s what came to pass.”
“But how did you know? You must have had some doubts. Weren’t you afraid you were just caught up in the moment?”
“No,” Paddy replied. “I felt it in my gut.” He patted his stomach. “Whenever she wasn’t around, I had this ache, like I’d eaten too many turnips.”
“Did you tell her?” Marcus asked.
“I may have been in love, boyo, but I wasn’t a bleedin’ eedjit. Of course I didn’t tell her. Not straight off, anyway. I would have sent her runnin’ for the hills. She had no interest in me. At least that’s what I thought. I come to learn later that wasn’t the case. She shouldn’t have loved me, but she did.”
“Why shouldn’t she have loved you?” Marcus asked.
“Her ma, your Nana Callahan, didn’t approve. She’d just learned that your mother had inherited that big house in Ireland and a fair bit of money, as well. She was determined to take your mother back there and marry her off to some rich Irishman, not a scrappy fisherman.”
“How did you get her to stay?”
“One night I screwed up my courage and I told her how I felt. I knew she might laugh at me, but I had one chance to convince her, so I tried. And she didn’t laugh.” He grinned. “She cried. Buckets of tears. Scared the shite out of me. She turned over that house and all the money to your grandmother and stayed with me. Even though it caused a terrible row between them, she chose me. Later on, when we could have used that money to pay for her
