Sean

warm. Emotion clogged his throat and, for a moment, speech was impossible. 'Maybe we can talk again,' he finally said, looking into her eyes.

'I'd like that,' she said. 'Very much.'

* * *

Sean parked Laurel's car in front of the mansion and stared up at the facade. Since his visit with Fiona, he'd been driving around aimlessly, trying to clear his head of some of the chaos inside. Until a few weeks ago, his life had been pretty simple. He worked, he ate, he slept.

But now he realized that he wasn't really living. He was existing, watching life from the sidelines, standing in a void of emotion. From the moment he'd walked down the aisle with Laurel, his life had been irrevocably changed. He suddenly had crucial choices to make and new emotions to deal with.

His thoughts returned to that morning, to the argument he'd had with Laurel, and then to the night before. Just the thought of her naked in his arms, arching against him in pleasure, sent a current of desire crackling through his body. But after a night made for fantasy, the morning had brought an odd reality. He was still doing a job and she was paying him to do it. And when she didn't need him anymore he'd be sent away. He'd leave much wealthier, but what would the experience cost him?

He walked to the front door and punched in the security code that opened it. The foyer was silent as he stepped inside. The scent of dinner drifted in the air and Sean quietly walked toward the kitchen. He pushed the door open, expecting to find Alistair there. But to his surprise he found Laurel, a kitchen towel wrapped around the waist of her sexy black dress.

Her back to him, she pulled the lid off a pot and peered inside, then picked up a piece of paper and read it out loud. ''The pasta goes in ten minutes before dinner is served,'' she murmured.

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.'