well to find a wife. He needs someone to shake up his life, someone bright and outgoing, like you. He keeps to himself far too much.”
Eden wasn’t sure how his mother would feel if she knew the truth. Would she be so eager to marry off her son to a notorious party girl who was the star of her very own sex tape? Emma Quinn might be looking for a daughter-in-law, but Eden knew she wouldn’t be on the short list.
The teakettle began to squeal, and Marcus’s mother hopped off the stool and fetched it, filling both mugs with water. “Do you take sugar or milk?”
“Just plain,” Eden said. She wrapped her hands around the mug. “Tell me about your family.”
“I married Paddy Quinn when I was twenty-four. He’d grown up in Ireland and came over here to fish on a long-liner—a swordfishing boat. He came from a family of fishermen. I grew up here. My mother was Irish. My true father died before I was born. He was killed in the war, and my mother married an American G.I. who sent her off to Boston to live with his family.”
“How did you meet your husband?”
“We were introduced by friends. A blind date, you might say. We fell in love, but my mother didn’t want me to marry him. She wanted me to return to Ireland with her after my stepfather died, but I refused.”
“How did you know you loved him?” Eden asked.
“I didn’t at first. But every day, in little ways, he showed me that my happiness was the most important thing to him, more important than his own. He made me feel …” She smiled. “Safe. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it was to me. And later on it was all I needed.”
“No,” Eden murmured. “It sounds wonderful. I know exactly what you mean.”
“And then we had Rory and Eddie and Mary Grace and Jane. And then Ian and Declan and finally Marcus. Would you like children?”
Her question took Eden aback. She’d never thought about having a family of her own. She hadn’t exactly had a good example to follow. The quick answer would have been no, but the thoughtful answer was much more surprising. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’d like to believe that someday I might have a family of my very own.”
Eden sipped her tea as Emma Quinn busied herself around the kitchen. They chatted about Marcus and his talents as a boatbuilder and wood-carver. And gradually Eden began to realize that the man she believed Marcus to be—quiet, solid, tenderhearted—was the man that his family knew, as well.
For the first time in her life she’d judged a man correctly. But was she the woman that Marcus believed her to be? Or had she simply been convinced she could be something more?
Suddenly Eden felt a frantic need to protect her reputation. She’d get the tape and destroy it before Emma Quinn and the rest of Marcus’s family found out who she really was. Eden sipped at her tea and tried to calm her nerves.
She’d never really cared what people thought of her. Why had that suddenly changed?
MARCUS SAT ON A LOW bench and stared out at the harbor. Sailboats bobbed at their moorings, the rigging clanking as they rocked. It seemed like months since he and Eden had been on board Victorious, but it had only been little more than a day. In that time, so much had changed.
On the boat they’d been swept away by their physical attraction to each other. But now she was sleeping in his bed and living in his loft. He’d grown used to having her with him, and though the sex was incredible, he found himself enjoying the small, quiet moments they spent outside of their passion for each other. It was becoming more difficult to imagine a day without seeing her—or touching her.
Was it just the sex? The notion wasn’t that farfetched. He’d never enjoyed such an intense relationship with a woman, nor one that required so little commitment. Eden didn’t ask anything of him beyond his willing participation in their bedroom activities.
But he couldn’t help but feel as if they were biding their time. To believe that they could continue on like this was foolish. Though he’d insisted that she call her parents, he’d done nothing to remind her of her promise. For now, she belonged entirely to him, dependent on him for his protection. There was a pleasant security in that. But if he let things go on as they had been, he might never be able to let her go.
He chuckled to himself. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice? He’d thrown himself into a purely physical relationship only to come out on the other side wanting more. Would he become one of those daft wankers who spent years pining after a woman they could never have? He shook his head. Hell, no. When Eden finally left, he wouldn’t look back.
He stood and walked toward the boatyard, his hands shoved in his pockets, his thoughts occupied with the odd turn in his feelings. When it came to women, he’d never looked beyond the next night in bed. But with Eden, he’d let himself see a future. Though it was hazy and dim, it was there, just beyond his reach.
Marcus clenched his fists. Would he grab for it or would he let it evaporate before his eyes? He stopped at the entrance to the boatyard and stared up at the sprawling building that held a retail store, the repair shop and a sail loft. How could he ever believe that he had anything to offer Eden? Sure, the sex was fantastic, but even Marcus knew that a real relationship couldn’t be built on only that.
He was a regular guy. He made his living with his hands, and it wasn’t much of a living at that. He’d never questioned his financial success until now. But Eden deserved more than a crudely furnished loft above a shabby boatyard. His mind flashed an image of the Ross compound on the bay, the sprawling white clapboard house and the beautiful grounds, the garages filled with fancy cars, and servants who waited on the family hand and foot.
And what did they have in common? What would they share if the passion ever wore off? They’d led completely different lives on opposite ends of the spectrum. Even if Marcus dedicated the rest of his life to making her happy, he’d be doomed to fail.
When he turned into the parking lot for Quinn’s Boat Works, Marcus noticed his father in front of the service bay door, surrounded by crates, a crowbar clutched in his hand.
“Da,” Marcus called. “What do you have there?”
Paddy Quinn stood staring at the job at hand. His gray hair was mussed by the breeze and his cheeks were ruddy. Though he’d celebrated his sixtieth birthday last year, he didn’t show his age. His body was trim and his arms were muscled and the deep wrinkles brought on by years on the water only added character to his face. “New outboards,” he said. “We had to unload them here. The forklift is busted.”
Though Marcus’s Irish accent had all but disappeared, his father’s brogue was still thick. Paddy had lived the first twenty-two years of his life in Ireland. Marcus’s mother, who’d been born in America, had adopted her accent from her own mother, Nana Callahan, the very same grandmother who had cared for the boys in Ireland.
“It’s Sunday, Da. Leave it for tomorrow.”
“It’s a holiday weekend. The store will be busy,” Paddy said. “By the way, your mam’s looking for you.”
“Is she in the store?”
“Nah, she walked over to the boathouse.”
“When?” Marcus asked, turning toward the loft.
Paddy
