“My baby’s so beautiful,” Mary whispered.
Dan smiled. “She is, indeed.”
Another muffled sob. Dan reached into his pocket and took out a big white handkerchief. “Here you go, countess,” he said, and his use of his wife’s nickname set off another round of tears.
“I love you, Dan Coyle,” Mary whispered, “and isn’t it a perfect day?”
A perfect day, Sean thought, watching the festivities with a slightly jaded eye.
Well, sure. If you liked that kind of thing, it probably was, but why on earth would a man want to give up his freedom? Women were wonderful creatures, and it was a damned fine thing two of his sisters had found men who’d worship them, damned fine, too, that his brothers had found women they adored.
They were happy, the lot of them. He was happy for them.
But this brand of happiness wasn’t for him.
Hell, he thought, running a finger inside the collar of his starched shirt, never him.
Give up the life he loved? The footloose, drop-everything-and-go freedom of it? Forego the thrill of the next toss of the dice, the next turn of the cards for the same four walls every night? A nine-to-five job?
Most of all, definitely most of all, give up the excitement of seeing a beautiful woman, the hot anticipation that came of catching her eye and knowing you’d be bedding her soon? That you’d enjoy her, and she’d enjoy you, until it began to get a little dull?
The chase was everything.
For him, anyway. And it would never change.
Sean turned his attention back to his sister. Megan was looking at Caz as if he were the center of her universe. He was looking at her the same way. Sean felt like a cultural anthropologist at a tribal ceremony, watching the natives go through a ritual he couldn’t possibly comprehend.
The judge smiled at the bride and groom. “It is my pleasure,” he said, “to pronounce you man and wife.”
Everybody applauded, including Sean.
He was applauding his sister’s happiness, of course.
And if he was also applauding his own independence, that was nobody’s business but his own.