The One-Night Wife

"Leave it alone."

"All I meant was, what kind of woman would—"

"I said, leave it alone, Cull."

Keir and Cullen looked at each other again. Sean sat stiff and silent, trying to figure out why he'd almost made an ass of himself defending a woman who was not much better than Cull's description of her.

He was returning to Emeraude to deal with Alain Beau­mont. It had nothing to do with Savannah. With the way she came to him in his dreams so that he'd lived that same moment a thousand times, her suddenly trembling in his arms, returning his kiss, sighing against his mouth... "So," he said briskly, "Ma really does seem fine." His brothers nodded, both of them grateful for the change in conversation.

"Absolutely." Cullen grinned. "Did you hear her chew out the nurse who insisted she had to leave the hospital in a wheelchair?"

The brothers chuckled, then took long pulls at their mugs of ale. Keir circled the wet rim of his glass with the tip of his index finger.

"That birthday party is gonna be some kind of event." "Nice of the girls to offer to plan it," Sean said. Cullen gave a dramatic shudder. "Whatever you do, don't let 'em catch you calling them 'girls.' Besides, 'nice' has nothing to do with it. They just don't trust Dan or us to get it right." He motioned to the waitress for another round. "Either of you have any idea what you're going to give Ma as a gift?"

"Cassie thought maybe a cruise to Hawaii." "Marissa's thinking along the same lines. She suggested a week in Paris."

"Not bad. Hawaii this winter, Paris come summer... Sean? Want to toss in a spring vacation?"

Sean shifted uneasily in his seat.' 'I've got a problem with that."

"What? With giving her a trip?" "With what to give Ma. She won't want a trip. Not from me.

"How do you know that?"

Sean took a few peanuts from the bowl and rolled them in his hand. "Idiot that I am, I asked her what she wanted."

"And?"

"And she told me."

Cullen and Keir looked at each other. "Well?" Cullen said. "You gonna keep us in suspense?"

"She wants..." Sean hesitated. Even now, it sounded impossible. "She said she wants me to get married."

There were a few seconds of silence. Then Keir laughed. "Trust Mary Elizabeth to get straight to the point."

"It's what she wants."

"Sure it is, but she'll settle for a trip to... What?"

Sean took a deep breath, then let it out. "I promised."

His brothers stared at him. ' 'You what?''

"Don't look at me that way! How was I to know she'd ask for something so crazy?''

"Right. And Ma won't expect you to keep a crazy prom­ise. She'll understand."

"Exactly. It's like when you're joking around and some­body says, you know what I'd really like? And you say tell me what it is and I'll do it, but both of you know it's just..." Cullen's words drifted to silence. "You really promised?"

"I really promised." Sean looked up. "I'd do anything for Ma. But this..."

"Do you even know a. woman you'd want to marry?" Keir asked, and sighed with resignation when Sean laughed. "Well, you could always hire an actress."

"Yeah," Sean said glumly. "Too bad Greta Garbo's dead."

The brothers all chuckled. After a while, the topic turned to the latest baseball trade and everybody but Sean forgot all about it.

Ma won't expect you to keep a crazy promise. She'll un­derstand.

Sean turned off the reading lamp above his seat in Trans Carib's first-class cabin. That was the trouble. His mother would understand. She'd look at him and sigh, and give that little smile that meant he'd failed her again.

He'd always failed her.

Cullen won every athletic award in high school. Keir won every academic honor. They'd both finished college, gone to grad school and made places for themselves in the world.

What had he ever done besides cause trouble?

He'd been suspended more times than he wanted to re­member in high school, mostly because he hated sitting in a classroom. He'd loved hockey and he'd been good at it. Great, maybe, until the day a puck damned near took his eye out because he'd been a smart-ass who wouldn't wear a helmet with a visor. Yeah, he'd finished college but he'd floated through, all the time just yearning for graduation so he could bum around the world with a backpack.

Sean frowned at his reflection in the window.

That was then. This was now. He'd made a fortune. The backpack had turned into handmade leather luggage, he stayed in five-star hotels instead of hostels, and if he didn't have a permanent base, it was because he preferred it that way. He'd changed. He'd found success. He was the luckiest O'Connell brother. The one with nothing holding him down, nobody holding him back...

He was the brother who had nobody.

The universe seemed to hold its breath. A chasm, dark and deep, yawned at Sean's feet.

"Mr. O'Connell?" The flight attendant smiled. "Your dinner, sir."

"I'm not..." Sean hesitated, forced a smile. "Great. Thank you."

The girl set down his tray, poured his wine. Alone again, Sean ignored the filet mignon and reached for the burgundy. His mother's brush with death must have affected him more than he'd realized. Funny, how easily a man's perspective could get skewed.

He had everything. He was living a life he loved. Sean raised his glass and saw his reflection. Not everybody could say that, he thought, and suddenly, the face he saw in the glass wasn't his.

Savannah looked back at him.

Was scamming strangers a life she loved? Coming on to men to ensure a win? Did having Alain Beaumont put his hands on her make her happy?

What was with him tonight? What did he care what made Savannah McRae happy? How come he couldn't get it through his head that the tears she'd shed, the way she'd melted in his arms, had all been part of the act?

Sean tilted the glass to his lips and drank. He was going to stop thinking about Savannah. She didn't mean a thing to him. And he was going to take his brothers' advice and tell his mother the truth.

Ma, he'd say, / never should have made you a promise I can't possibly keep.

But before he did that, he'd confront Beaumont and his mistress. They owed him, and he was damned well going to collect.

Ivory moonlight dappled the dark waters of the Caribbean where the Lorelei lay at anchor. The night was warm and still. Savannah, alone in her stateroom, was counting the minutes until Alain left to go ashore.

Only then would she feel safe.

A tremor raced through her. Despite the heat, she felt chilled. She reached for a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her thin cotton T-shirt.

Ten days had passed since the night she'd ruined every­thing. Ten days, but it felt like an eternity. Alain alternated between rage and deadly silence. Of the two, she'd begun to think his silence was the worst.

He was planning something. She knew it. He had been, ever since...

She had to stop thinking about that terrible night, but how could she? Alain was going to do something to punish her for what had happened. Wondering what and when was kill­ing her.

It had taken her a very long time to get back to the harbor that night. She'd left the hotel by a back door, walked down the hill, then along the road. At dawn, an old man with a donkey cart gave her a lift. He hadn't asked her any ques­tions. Maybe women with tear-stained faces, limping along in evening wear, were standard issue here.

The tender had been waiting at the dock; for one wild minute, she'd imagined turning around and running away. Then she'd thought of Missy, and she'd stepped into the boat and let the crewman take her to the Lorelei.

Alain was waiting in the yacht's salon, his face white, his mouth twisted into a narrow line. One look, and she knew he'd already heard the story.

Not all of it, of course. Not what had happened in O'Connell's bedroom, how the realization of what came next had suddenly become real.

All Alain knew was that she'd lost. It was enough.

"Alain," she'd said quickly, "I'm sorry. I did everything I could and it almost worked, but—"

He grabbed her so hard that she'd borne the marks of his fingers on her arms for days. Grabbed her and shaken her like a rag doll.

"You stupid putain!"

Even now, she shuddered, remembering the venom in his voice.

"How could you do this to me?" he'd roared.

"I told you," she whispered, "I don't know what hap­pened. He was losing. And then—and then—"

Alain slapped her, hard enough to whip her head back. "Do you know what you cost me tonight?"

"Yes. Yes, I know. Almost five hundred thou—"

"Almost half a million dollars. How will you pay it back?"

"I'll win it at cards. I promise."

"How? By playing with my money? Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"It's—it's the best I can—"

"Shut up!" His spittle flew into her face as he leaned toward her. ' 'Did you think I was joking? About wanting you to make O'Connell look like a fool?"

"No. No, of course not. But—"

"You didn't make a fool of him. He made a fool of you!"

"Alain, you must believe me. I was winning. I don't know what happened, only that suddenly—''

"When did you tell him you know me?"

"I never—"

"Don't lie to me! You told him. And that's who you made a fool of, you brainless creature. Me. Me! O'Connell's probably still laughing."

"No, He didn't laugh. Not at you!"

"I told you not to lie to me." Alain flung her from him. "And I told you the price you'd pay," he snarled and reached for the phone.