It was a wonder she had been able to get through the dinner at all. First there had been the toasts and then the obligatory kisses for the crowd. After their kiss in the church, Laurel didn’t think it could get much better. But every time Sean’s mouth touched hers, it was different, the sensations more acute, the taste of him more addictive. The last kiss they’d shared was on the dance floor and it had left Laurel dizzy and breathless and longing to drag him off into a dark corner.
She pressed her palm to her chest and took a deep breath. She just had to get past one more hurdle before the night could be called a success. Her uncle Sinclair would put in an appearance at the reception and she’d have the task of introducing him to Sean. Though Uncle Sinclair was over eighty, he was still as shrewd as he’d been when he and Laurel’s father had made their first million together.
She looked out to the dance floor and watched as Sean swept one of her bridesmaids around. He hadn’t been much of a dancer early on in the evening, but he had a natural athleticism that allowed him to pick up the steps with ease. And he didn’t look bad in a tux, either. Any woman would be attracted to a man like…
Laurel frowned. Nan Salinger, her maid of honor and co-worker from West Elementary, looked like she was enjoying Sean just a bit too much. An unbidden surge of jealousy rushed over her and Laurel hitched up her skirt and headed to the dance floor. When she reached them, she tapped Nan on the shoulder. “I need to borrow my husband for a moment,” she said. “It’s time to cut the cake.”
“Right,” Sean said. “No problem.” As if he were following orders, he immediately let go of Nan and walked off the dance floor toward the cake, leaving Nan alone with Laurel.
“I think you’ve found yourself a real prince,” Nan said, staring after him with a dreamy gaze. “Why can’t I find a man like that?”
“Like what?” Laurel asked, curious to hear what her girlfriend thought about her groom.
“Oh, I don’t know. A manly man. You know, the strong, silent, sexy type. Broad shoulders, nice butt. He doesn’t say much, does he? But that just makes him more intriguing. Does he have any single brothers at home? Because if he does, I want to meet them.”
Laurel frowned. Nice butt? She didn’t need to listen to this on her wedding day! “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I mean I’ll let you know.” She spun away, anxious to avoid more questions.
In truth, she didn’t know anything at all about Sean’s family…or Sean. She didn’t know what he liked to eat or what he did in his spare time. She didn’t know his favorite color or what kind of car he drove. And as she thought about everything she didn’t know, Laurel realized that she’d never learn more. After tonight, Sean Quinn would walk out of her life and she’d never see him again.
“Miss Laurel?”
Laurel spun around to find her uncle’s man, Alistair Winfield, trailing behind her. Her uncle never went anywhere without his man. Alistair served as butler, valet, personal chef and business manager to Sinclair. He also served as messenger boy. He’d been the one to tell Laurel that her reclusive uncle wouldn’t attend the wedding ceremony. He’d been the one to sign the card with the wedding gift. And he’d made sure there was plenty of money in Laurel’s checking account to pay for the wedding expenses.
“Hello, Alistair.”
“You look very lovely tonight, Miss Laurel.” The diminutive, balding man smiled warmly. “I’m truly sorry I wasn’t able to see you walk down the aisle, but Mr. Sinclair had a very important meeting at the Numismatic Society. There was a discussion about a new Indian Princess pattern dime that was recently sold at auction.”
As if her uncle didn’t have enough money, he collected it, as well. He planned to leave all his money to the Numismatic Society of Greater New England. Laurel knew she could find better things to do with Sinclair’s fortune than give it to a bunch of old guys who collected money, but that was his choice. She wanted to make her own choices about her inheritance, too. “Well, I’m glad he was able to make it to the reception,” she said.
“He’d like to meet your new husband now.”
“Where is Uncle Sinclair?” Laurel asked. “I didn’t see him come in.”
“He’s waiting outside in the hall,” Alistair said. “You know how he feels about crowds.” He smiled weakly. “And women in strange hats. Plus if there are any flowers in the room, he’ll demand that they be removed. You know about his fear of roses.”
“I made sure to ask the florist to avoid roses,” she said. “And we were just about to cut the cake, so as soon as we finish with that, I’ll bring him a piece and introduce him to Edward.”
“It’s not chocolate cake, is it? Because you know how your uncle feels about chocolate.”
Laurel winced. “I forgot about the chocolate. Sorry.”
“Not to worry,” Alistair said. “We’ll be waiting. But only for seventeen minutes. Your uncle never waits more than seventeen minutes.”
“I’ll be there in five,” Laurel said. She grabbed her skirt and hurried over to where Sean was waiting.
He stood with the knife clutched in his hand. “I have no idea how to cut this thing,” he said, staring up at the four-tiered cake. “Should I start at the bottom or the top?” He glanced around the room. “Looks like we’ll need about a hundred pieces.”
“We only have to cut a piece for each other,” Laurel explained with a smile. “The photographer takes a few photos and then the caterer cuts the rest of the cake. I thought you said you’ve been to a wedding.”
“I spent most of my time at the bar,” he murmured. “They don’t keep the cake at the bar.”
Laurel grabbed the knife. “Put your hand over mine and smile,” she said. The photographer snapped three photos before Laurel sliced into the cake. She took a small piece and held it up to him. “Here, eat this. And smile.” He did as he was told. “And now, you feed me a little piece.”
Sean frowned as he picked up a piece of cake and held it out to her. Laurel leaned closer and opened her mouth. But the moment her lips touched the cake, Sean let it go and most of the piece fell down the front of her dress. The small crowd that had gathered around the table laughed and clapped, urging Sean to retrieve the cake. He leaned closer and peered down her bodice.
“Don’t you dare,” Laurel muttered, her lips just inches from his ear.
Sean quickly stepped back and Laurel turned away from the guests to get the cake herself. When she’d restored her composure, she pasted a smile on her face and slipped her arm through Sean’s. “Now, my uncle Sinclair is waiting to meet you. He’s eighty years old, he’s a little eccentric and he’s going to ask you a lot of really weird questions. He’ll probably want to see your fingernails. He has this thing about clean fingernails. Try to humor him as best you can, and if you don’t know what to say, just squeeze my hand and I’ll answer. Remember, your name is Edward Garland Wilson, you’re from West Palm Beach, Florida, and your family is in international banking. Beyond that, he doesn’t know anything about you.”
“Why hasn’t your uncle met Edward by now?” he asked as they strolled across the dance floor.
“Sinclair is a bit of a recluse. He lives in the Rand family summer home on Deer Island in Maine. He likes collecting coins and stamps and watching birds. He’ll only eat green vegetables and he has seven pairs of shoes in exactly the same style and color. Oh, and he believes that aliens are living among us. But, please, don’t get him started on that.”
“He sounds a little crazy,” Sean said.
“He’s a multimillionaire,” Laurel said, licking a bit of frosting off her finger, “so he’s not crazy, he’s eccentric.” When they reached the door to the foyer, she took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over