Monahan's Gamble
And right at the top of that pile were the Monahan brothers—all five of them. Five of them, she marveled now as she gazed anxiously at Sean. As if one wouldn’t have been overwhelming enough for the universe—or, at the very least, for Autumn Pulaski. Each one of them had piercing blue eyes and dark, silky hair and finely chiseled features. Each one was a piece of Greek-god artwork just waiting to be worshipped. Each one was handsome. Each one was charming. Each one was eligible.
Damn. Just her luck.
“Hello,” she said to Sean now, trying not to notice his piercing blue eyes or his dark, silky hair or his finely chiseled features.
But doing that left her nothing to focus on except for his Greek-god-artwork physique, and that was no help at all. Clad in lovingly faded, form-fitting Levi’s and an equally faded and form-fitting black T-shirt, his entire body fairly rippled with muscle and sinew and, oh, my stars, it was just too much for Autumn this early in the day, before she’d even had her second cup of coffee. Looking at Sean Monahan was making her feel sluggish and indolent and warm, and very much in the mood to return to her bed. Except…not alone. And…not for sleeping.
“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as sluggish and indolent and warm as it—and the rest of her—felt.
Belatedly she realized she probably shouldn’t have asked the question at all. Not only did it offer him an opportunity to say something flirtatious—and everyone in Marigold knew that flirtatious was Sean Monahan’s natural state—but there was nothing for her to help him with. The store wasn’t open yet. There was no bread to sell. Then again, knowing what she did of Sean Monahan, which was surprisingly a lot, considering the fact that she’d never met him formally—or even casually—he probably wasn’t interested in her bread, anyway.
But before she could make clear the fact that she had nothing to offer him—nothing of the bread persuasion, at any rate—Sean smiled at her, and her entire body went zing. Truly. Zing. She’d had no idea that the human body could, in fact, go zing, until now. But that was exactly what Sean’s smile did to her. Because it was the kind of smile a man really shouldn’t smile at a woman unless they were extremely well—nay, intimately—acquainted.
“I just wanted to get a big, strapping cup of coffee,” he said, cranking up the wattage on his smile to a near-blinding setting.
Oh, Autumn really wished he hadn’t said the words big and strapping, because, inevitably, they drove her thoughts—and her gaze, dammit—right back to that Greek-god-artwork body of his.
“My coffeemaker went belly-up on me this morning,” he continued.
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word belly.
“And I have to make a long drive today—”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word long.
“—and no place else is open this early.”
Oh, she really wished he hadn’t said the word open.
Stop it, Autumn, she berated herself. Not one word the man had uttered had been in any way suggestive, but as he’d spoken, somehow Sean Monahan made her feel as if he’d just dragged a slow, sensuous finger along the inside of her thigh. How did he do it?
“We, uh…” Autumn began eloquently. She swallowed with some difficulty, and tried not to notice just how incredibly handsome, charming and eligible he was. “We, ah…we’re not ope— Um, I mean…we’re, ah…we’re closed, too,” she managed to say—eventually—still struggling over the word open, because that was exactly what she wanted to do at the moment. Open herself. To Sean Monahan. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, sexually. That was always her immediate response to handsome, charming, eligible men. Which was why it was so important that she avoid them at all costs.
He met her gaze levelly as he jacked up the power on his smile a bit more—Autumn had to bite back a wince at just how dazzling he was—then jutted a thumb over his shoulder, toward the front door. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying not to notice how the muscles in his abdomen fairly danced as he completed the gesture.
“Your front door’s open,” he pointed out.
It certainly is, Autumn thought before she could stop herself. And why don’t you just come on right inside?
Immediately she snapped her eyes open and pushed the thought away. This was, without question, the very last thing she needed, today or any day. She swallowed with some difficulty, her mouth going dry when the chorus line that was his torso synchronized as he dropped his hand back to his side.
“Yes, well, the door may be open, but the shop isn’t,” she told him, proud of herself for not stumbling once over the proclamation.
“I smell coffee brewing,” he said.
“That’s not for sale, it’s for the workers,” she replied. “We’re a bakery, Mr. Monahan, not a beanery.”
His blue eyes, so clear and limitless, reflected laughter and good humor, and something else upon which she told herself she absolutely should not speculate. “You know my name,” he said softly.
Oops. “Well, I know you’re a Monahan. It is a small town. And you Monahan boys all look alike,” she lied. “I just don’t know which Monahan boy you are.”
Oh, my. Two falsehoods before dawn. Autumn was definitely going to create some bad karma with that. And why on earth was she referring to him as a “boy”? Sean Monahan was quite undeniably a man, and probably five or six years her senior, to boot.
He took a few steps forward, his shoes scuffing softly over the terra-cotta tiles as he came, his mouth quirked into that sleepy, sexy smile—the one that made him look as if he’d just made sweet, sensational love to its recipient, successfully and repeatedly. He only stopped moving because the counter hindered his progress, but he still leaned forward and folded his arms over the glass top, right in front of where Autumn was standing. He was so close she could see the dark shadow of his freshly shaved beard, could smell the clean, soapy scent of him, could fairly feel the warmth of his body creeping over the counter to mingle with her own.
Instinct told her to take a giant step backward…and then run like the wind as far as she could. Instead she stood firm, waiting to see what he would do next. And as was always the case when it came to handsome, charming, eligible men, that was Autumn’s fatal mistake.
Because Sean Monahan’s piercing blue eyes pierced her right down to her soul, warming a place inside her she had forgotten could feel warmth. And then, “I really was hoping for a cup of coffee,” he said softly. “But you know, Autumn, now that you mention it, there is something else you can do for me, too.”
Two
Surprisingly, Sean had never actually stood this close to Autumn Pulaski before now, and he couldn’t help but wonder why not. Normally he gravitated toward attractive, single women faster than the planets spun through space, yet this one had somehow eluded him until he’d made this very assertive, very specific, foray into her life. It was especially odd considering the fact that she’d lived in Marigold for more than two years now—he could vaguely recall the grand opening of her bakery three springtimes ago. And his apartment was, quite literally, just around the corner, something else that made astonishing the fact that he had never before been in such close quarters with the elusive Ms. Pulaski. Either his timing had really suffered over the last couple of years—which was laughably unlikely—or Ms. Pulaski went out of her way to make sure their paths had never crossed.
In a word, Hmm.
At any rate, Sean had never realized until now just how strikingly beautiful she really was. And he hadn’t realized she smelled so good, either, like apple tarts and cinnamon buns, and something strangely exotic and spicy that blended perfectly with the homey aroma of freshly baked bread. It threw him for a momentary loop, and for the first time in his life he had no idea what to say.
Which was odd, because when he’d entered the bakery only moments ago, he’d known exactly what he wanted to say. In fact, he’d practiced his speech last night until the words had flowed fluidly and confidently and not a little seductively, if he did say so himself, even though he had pretty much decided to avoid the seduction thing—for now. At the moment, though, for the life of him Sean could remember none of what he had rehearsed. All he could do was gaze into Autumn’s whisky-gold eyes, inhale deeply her cinnamon scent, absorb the way her peasant blouse dipped pleasantly above the swells of her very generous breasts and battle the urge to go much, much faster in his seduction than he had initially planned.
Wait a minute. Back up. Think again, Monahan.
It wasn’t seduction he was planning, he reminded himself again. Not necessarily, at any rate. Not specifically. Not yet. He just wanted to last more than four weeks with the enigmatic Ms. Pulaski, right? In fact, he had to make it through not one, but two, lunar months, if Sean was going to win the dare that Finn had challenged him to complete last weekend.
He was still ticked off at himself for having set himself up for, not to mention having succumbed so easily to, that dare. He should have known better than to boast about anything in front of Finn, even something at which he was more than confident he could succeed. Finn jumped on a dare faster than you could say “Prove it, little brother,” especially when Sean was on the receiving end of it. They’d competed in such a way since they were boys. And invariably, dammit, Finn always came out the victor.
Well, not this time, Sean promised himself. If Finn had challenged him to make it through two lunar months with Autumn Pulaski, then by God, Sean would do it. Of course, that did give him ample time for seduction, he told himself, should such a thing come up—to put it crassly. Then again, he didn’t necessarily want to seduce Autumn, did he? Then again, he was Sean Monahan, the downfall of many a woman both here and abroad. Well, maybe not abroad. But as far away as Bloomington, which was more than a lot of guys in Marigold could say. So if seduction just sort of happened, that would be okay. Sean wouldn’t go looking for it, but he would certainly leave himself open to the possibility.
His current avenue of thoughts, although certainly pleasant, gave Sean no fuel whatsoever in the What-do-I-say-next? department, so he did what he always did whenever he was at a loss for words—which, granted, hadn’t really happened before. But doing what he did next seemed a logical reaction. He smiled his most seductive, suggestive smile and cocked a dark brow in just such a way as to make women the world over—or at least as far away as Bloomington—swoon with delight. Autumn Pulaski, however, he noted right away, was very good at hiding her feelings. Because, amazingly enough, not only did she not swoon with delight, she didn’t even seem to notice the change in his expression.
Damn, she was good.
“And what is it I might do for you, Mr. Monahan?” she asked in as businesslike a voice as Sean had ever heard, jarring him back to the matter at hand.
“Well, first off,” he said, “you can stop addressing me as Mr. Monahan and start calling me Sean.”
She offered no outward indication that she had even heard him, but inquired again, “And what is it I might do for you, Mr. Monahan?”
He blew out a faintly impatient breath, cocked his eyebrow yet again and tried that seductive-suggestive-smile thing one more time. “Well, for one thing,” he began smoothly, “I noticed there’s a new moon next week.”
She didn’t seem to think that significant at all, though, because she only continued to stare at him with a vaguely curious expression. When he said nothing further, she replied, with just the slightest hint of impatience, “I believe you’re right. There is indeed a new moon next week. On Wednesday, if memory serves.”
He nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, it is on Wednesday. And I think that’s very…interesting. Don’t you?”
She sighed heavily, as if resigned to some great task. “I suppose one might find it interesting,” she agreed, “were one studying astronomy or astrology or astrophysics or Zoroastrianism or one of those other astro-sciences.”
“Actually,” Sean said, “I don’t think Zoroastrianism is an astro-science, per se, but rather a philosophical outlook that’s really quite fascina—”
“In any case,” she interjected smoothly, folding her elbow on the counter. She cupped her chin in one hand and studied Sean with some intent. “I was under the impression, Mr. Monahan, that you designed computer software for a living. Some of those fantasy-driven games with monsters and caves and large-breasted women, the kind that might be created by someone who was reluctant to leave his childhood behind.”
Oh, now this was getting interesting, Sean thought. He folded his arm to cup his chin in his hand, mimicking her posture…and bringing their faces within inches of each other. The mingling scents of cinnamon and apples and bread that surrounded her suddenly enveloped him, too, very nearly overwhelming him. And much to Sean’s surprise, he realized he wanted nothing more in life than to lean forward a bit more so that he could…nibble her. He was suddenly anxious to know if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
He bit back a sigh of his own, one that, had he released it, would have no doubt been filled with much satisfaction. “I thought you said you didn’t know which Monahan I was,” he murmured in as smooth a voice as he could manage. “But it sounds like you know me pretty well. Autumn.”
She gazed back at him in silence for a moment, with an expression he could only define as…inscrutable. Then, very suddenly, very quickly, “It was a cup of coffee you said you wanted, wasn’t it, Mr. Monahan?” she piped up brightly.
Before he had a chance to respond—not that she seemed to want him to respond—she straightened and spun around on her heel. She marched straight through a door Sean deduced must lead to the kitchen, her russet-colored, waist-length braid swaying rhythmically—and not a little seductively, he thought—above luscious-looking hips. Within seconds she returned with a cardboard cup—a really big cardboard cup, like the kind for which no sane person would ever ask a refill—and thrust it toward him. Fortunately, there was a lid on the cup, so none of it sloshed out to make a mess on the counter…or burn off a layer of her skin. Unfortunately, however, at least for Autumn, that wasn’t the main thing Sean had come in to ask for.
“What are you doing Wednesday night?” he asked, ignoring the cup she extended toward him.
Her expression went from inscrutable to…well, quite scrutable…in a nanosecond. Mostly, Sean thought, she looked really confused and not a little panicky. “I—I’m working,” she said, thrusting the cup toward him again, more insistently this time.
And again Sean ignored it. “How late?” he asked.
She gaped faintly for a moment, gazing at him as if he had just asked her to come with him to the Casbah, where they could make beautiful music together. Then she shook her head quickly, once, as if to clear it of a muzzying fog…and extended the cup of coffee forward, very insistently, again. But her conviction seemed to be wavering some as she told him, “I, um, till nine.”
He nodded his approval…and continued to ignore the cup of coffee. “Nine,” he repeated with interest. “Right about when the sun will be almost down and the new moon will be visible.”
She eyed him now with something akin to intrigue and absently licked her lips. Sean considered the simple gesture to be highly erotic. “Actually, Mr. Monahan, new moons aren’t visible,” she said. “Hence the term ‘new.”’
Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sean thought. Whatever. “A minor technicality,” he assured her aloud. “It’ll be a nice night for…” He paused meaningfully. At least, he hoped she considered it a meaningful pause. God knew he sure intended for it to be meaningful. “A lot of things,” he finally concluded, likewise meaningfully. “How about we make a night of it, just the two of us?”
Autumn gazed back at Sean Monahan in frank disbelief, trying to tamp down the heat that swirled unhampered in her midsection, trying to assure herself he was not doing what he seemed to be doing. He was not coming on to her. He was not asking her out. He was not trying to tell her, with all his discussion of the new moon, that he wanted to be the next man in line to…to…to…
To date her.
Was he?
Oh, surely not. Not Sean Monahan. He, of all men in Marigold, was to be steadfastly avoided. That was why she had so steadfastly avoided him ever since coming to town. Of all the Monahans—and certainly all of them were to be steadfastly avoided—Sean posed the greatest threat. Because although each of the Monahan brothers was handsome and charming and eligible, Sean Monahan was the most handsome, the most charming and, indeed, the most eligible. Where one or two of his brothers did show potential for being the marrying kind—it was widely known that Finn, for example, carried a massive torch for one Violet Demarest, whom Autumn had never met, because Violet no longer lived in Marigold, even if her rather bad reputation did—Sean had never made any secret of his confirmed bachelorhood. On the contrary, Sean seemed to go out of his way to drive home his very absolute intention of remaining single for the rest of his life.
Which, now that Autumn thought a bit more about it, might actually be just the thing she needed in a…date. Someone who wouldn’t have expectations of anything lasting. Someone with whom she could just have a casual, easy, fun time of it for a few—or four—weeks. Someone who wouldn’t drop to his knees at the end of that four weeks and beg for just one more lunar month, please, for God’s sake, just one. Someone who didn’t crave permanence, so would never propose marriage and, consequently, would never leave her waiting at the altar, filled with humiliation and horror and self-doubt for the third time in a row.
No, no, no, no, no, a little voice piped up inside her. It wasn’t just Sean whom Autumn had to worry about. She had to think about herself, too. Because as troubling as it was to have men falling for her—even though she knew whatever those men felt was only temporary and would soon go away—there was always that chance that Autumn might fall for one of them. Just because that hadn’t happened since she’d come to Marigold didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a first time. Yes, her lunar-month deadline did pretty much prevent any potentially long-lasting feelings. But she did believe that love could happen much more quickly than that. It wasn’t likely, of course, but it was possible.
Not that she thought Sean would fall in love with her, because, clearly, he wasn’t capable of such a deep, abiding emotion. Otherwise the man would have been married a long time ago, because there was no shortage of women in town who would like to have reeled him in. Women did talk, after all, especially when they were waiting in line to buy something. Something like, oh, say…bread, for instance. Over the past two years, Autumn had heard more than her fair share of gossip about the local citizenry. And Marigold’s gossip was unusual in that A, it was seldom malicious and B, it was seldom inaccurate.
Yes, Autumn knew a lot about Sean Monahan. She knew a lot about all of the Monahans, in fact. For instance, she knew that Sean’s little sister, Tess, who taught first grade over at Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic School, was, at this very moment, pregnant by a man who’d been forced to go into the Witness Protection Program. Such talk had been rampant in the bakery over the last month or so. And in addition to Finn Monahan’s torch bearing on behalf of Violet Demarest, Autumn also knew that Miriam Thornbury, the local librarian, had a major thing for Rory Monahan, even though Rory didn’t know she existed. But then, Rory didn’t really know anyone existed outside of history books, so that wasn’t exactly surprising.
So Autumn had learned much over the past two years through the snippets of information she’d picked up at work. And the one thing that was most evident, above all else, was the fact that Sean Monahan was Marigold’s confirmed bachelor, a man who would still be single and womanizing upon his centennial.
Which would make him the perfect candidate for dating, provided Autumn could be assured that she would be embracing the same kind of lifestyle herself at that age. But she’d learned a long time ago that she wasn’t the kind of person who thrived on solitude and independence. No, what she craved was a partnership of the most traditional kind, and a dependence on someone who depended on her in return. She wanted a loving, lasting union with another human being, because she just didn’t like being alone. She wanted a wedding. She wanted a husband. She knew that wasn’t exactly fashionable for women her age, but there it was all the same. She was naturally gregarious and socially outgoing. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone.
Unfortunately, alone was exactly how she would be spending her life. Because as much as Autumn wished she could find the perfect partner, she simply could not trust her instincts when it came to judging men. Twice, now, she had been certain she’d found Mr. Right. Twice she had put her lifelong trust in a man she had been sure would love her forever. Twice she had been fully prepared to promise herself to a man for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death did them part. And twice she had been egregiously mistaken.
It was so unfair, she thought. The fact that she wanted to be married had caused her to get much too involved with men she shouldn’t have, so she couldn’t get too involved with men, which meant she would never marry. As much as Autumn yearned for a permanent relationship with someone of the opposite sex, on each of the occasions that she’d attempted one, everything had blown up in her face. She didn’t want to suffer the pain of humiliation and loss again. So she suffered the pain of solitude and loneliness instead.
In the past she’d thought about advertising for a roommate, nurturing a friendship with another woman who had the same likes and dislikes she had herself. But deep down, Autumn knew that wasn’t the kind of company she really wanted or needed. What she wanted, what she needed, was romance. Not the temporary kind. The permanent kind. The kind that started off breathless and lawless and tumultuous and concluded with two arthritic hands and bifocaled gazes locked in easy, comfortable companionship.
Unfortunately, life experience had taught her that there simply was no such thing. Oh, certainly some people did still find that kind of love, but, clearly, she was not destined for it herself. Two times she had thought she’d found it. Two times she had made the leap. Two times she had enjoyed the breathless and lawless and tumultuous, only to watch it fade to nothing at all. She wasn’t likely to make the leap again. Certainly not with a man like Sean Monahan, who was so clearly determined not to make a commitment.
“I’m sorry, but I’m busy Wednesday night after work,” she said, injecting more conviction into her voice than she felt in her heart.
Sean Monahan’s smile fell some, and the light in his eyes dimmed. “Busy?” he echoed, as if he was unfamiliar with the word. Then, to further the image, he added, “I don’t understand.”
Autumn nibbled her lip thoughtfully and wondered how to verbalize all the troubling, unstructured thoughts that had been tumbling through her brain since she’d found Sean Monahan standing in her shop. Then she noticed how very focused he was on the fact that she was nibbling her lip in thought, so she stopped. When she did, his gaze lifted from her mouth to her eyes, and the look he gave her could have made a glacier spontaneously combust.
Oh. Dear.
“Mr. Monahan—”
“I should go.”
They started speaking at the same time and ended at the same time, and something about that—both that and the incandescent sizzle in the air that seemed to arc between them then—made Autumn feel as if their destinies, which until today had never crossed, had suddenly gotten tangled up in a way that would be very difficult to unravel.