She was impossible to resist
And Conor was tired of making the effort. Hed been alone for so long, and for the first time in his life hed found someone who could make him forget all the barriers hed built up around his heart.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a little voicehis cop voicetold him that spending the night in the same bed with Olivia broke all the rules. And making love to her would end his career. But at the moment he didnt care. I want to stop, but I cant, he murmured, dropping kisses along her jaw.
Olivia sighed. Im sure there are rules against this, she whispered. Her tongue teased his nipple. She trailed lower, nipping and biting, and driving him mad with need. And against this she teased, her fingers trailing down his belly, causing a flood of heat to rush to his lap.
He couldnt take it any longer. Grabbing her wrists, he lowered her to the bed and covered her body with his. I think its time we started making up our own rules, he growled. And rule number one he said, raising himself above her, is that there will be no more rules.
Dear Reader,
The offer was intriguing. My editors at Harlequin asked if I was interested in writing a trilogy about an Irish-American family. Id just returned from a trip to Ireland and my mind was still filled with images of emerald-green hills, stone cottages and quaint pubs. So I had no problem at all coming up with the three sexy Irish-born heroes of my booksConor, Dylan and Brendan, the Mighty Quinns.
Each one touched in a very different way by their harsh childhood, the Quinns have grown up without any feminine influence in their lives. So when they fall in love, they fall hard. Conor Quinn is the first to succumb. Always the responsible one, he turned to police work after raising his five younger brothers. But when hes asked to protect beautiful antiques dealer Olivia Farrell, his usual self-control vanishes and he finds himself caught up in a passion that may cost him more than just his job.
Watch for Dylans story next month, and Brendans the month after that. And for more news about my upcoming releases, visit my new Web site at www.katehoffmann.com.
Happy reading,
Kate Hoffmann
The Mighty Quinns: Conor
Kate Hoffmann
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Karin Vander Schaaf, Who knew the answers to my Boston questions before I even asked.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Prologue
THE WIND HOWLED and the rain raged outside the tiny house on Kilgore Street in South Boston. The noreaster had battered the working-class neighborhood for nearly two days, the pleasant autumn sunshine giving way to the first sting of winter.
Conor Quinn tugged the threadbare blanket around his youngest brothers, sleeping three to a bed. The twins, Sean and Brian, were already half-asleep, their eyes glazed with exhaustion. And the baby, three-year-old Liam, lay curled between them, his breathing gone soft and even, his dark lashes feathered over chubby cheeks.
But Dylan and Brendan were still wide awake, the two of them perched on the end of their bed, listening raptly as their father, Seamus Quinn, spun another tale. It was well past eleven and the boys should have been asleep. While his father was away, Conor made sure bedtime was strictly adhered to on school nights. But Seamus, a swordfisherman by profession, stayed in port only a week or two before heading out to sea for months at a time. And with winter coming, his father and the crew of The Mighty Quinn would be heading farther south, following the swordfish into the warmer waters of the Caribbean.
This is a story of your long-ago ancestor, Eamon Quinn. Eamon was a clever laddie, so clever he could build a nest in your ear.
Conor listened with half an ear to Seamuss colorful tale, wondering whether hed ever find a proper time to bring up Dylans failures in math class, or Brendans habit of pinching candy from the local market, or the immunizations that Brian and Sean still needed for school. But one subject had to be discussed, a problem his father refused to acknowledge.
Mrs. Smalley, their neighbor and regular baby-sitter, was up to a quart of vodka a day. Concerned for the safety of his three youngest brothers, Conor had been anxious to find another person to watch the little ones while he and Dylan and Brendan were at school. Social Services had already paid a surprise visit and hed managed to hustle them off with an elaborate excuse about Mrs. Smalleys allergies. But if the social workers realized he cared for his five brothers almost entirely on his own, theyd declare neglect and send them all to an orphanage.
One fine day, Eamon was fishing off the Isle of Shadows. As he passed by a rocky shore, he saw a beautiful lass standing near the waters edge, her long hair blowing in the breeze. His heart swelled and his face shone, for Eamon had never seen a more lovely creature.
Conor had every confidence that he could keep his family together. Though he was only ten years old, hed been both mother and father to the boys for over two years. As Mrs. Smalleys drinking problem escalated, hed learned to do the laundry and shop for food and help his brothers with their schoolwork. They had a simple life, complicated only by Mrs. Smalleys binges and infrequent visits from Seamus.
Whatever time Seamus didnt spend with his sons was spent at the local pub where he frittered away his take from the catch, buying drinks for strangers and gambling against huge odds. By the end of the week, he usually handed Conor just barely enough to pay household expenses for the coming months, until he and The Mighty Quinn chugged back into port with another holdful of swordfish. A few days ago, they were dining on week-old bread and soup from dented cans. Tonight, theyd enjoyed bulging bags of takeout from McDonalds and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Eamon talked to the lass and, before long, he was enchanted. All the village said that it was time for Eamon to take a bride, but he had never found a woman to loveuntil now. He brought his boat ashore, but as Eamon set foot on land, the lass turned into a wild beast, as fierce as a lion with breath of fire and a thorny tail. She snatched Eamon between her great jaws, splintering his boat into a thousand pieces with her giant claws.
Though Seamus Quinn wasnt much of a parent or a fisherman, he did have one talent. Conors father could spin a beguiling yarnrich Irish tales filled with action and adventure. Though Seamus always substituted a Quinn ancestor in the heros role and often combined elements of two or three stories, Conor had come to recognize the bits of Irish myths and legends from books hed sought out at the public library.
Conor preferred the stories of the supernaturalfairies and banshees and pixies and ghosts. Eight-yearold Dylan liked tales of heroic deeds. And Brendan, a year younger than Dylan, hoped for a story of adventure in a far-off land. And the five-year-old twins, Brian and Sean, and baby Liam, really didnt care what tale Seamus spun; they only cared that their da was home and their tummies would be full for a while.
Conor sat down beside Dylan and watched his father in the feeble light from the bedside lamp. At times, listening to his fathers thick brogue, he could picture Ireland in his mindthe misty sky, the emerald green fields lined with stone fences, the pony his grandfather had given him for his birthday, and the tiny whitewashed cottage near the water. Theyd all been born there, save Liam, in that cottage on Bantry Bay. Life had been perfect then, because theyd had their da and their ma.
Eamon knew it would take all his brains to trick the dragon. Many fishermen had been captured by this very dragon and held prisoner in a great cave on the Isle of Shadows, but Eamon would not be one of them.
The letter from America had been the start of the bad times. Seamuss brother had emigrated to Boston as a teenager. With grit and determination, Uncle Padriac had saved enough money crewing on a longliner to buy his own swordfish boat. Hed offered Seamus a partnership in The Mighty Quinn, a way out of the hardscrabble life that Ireland promised. So theyd moved half a world away, Seamus, his pretty wife Fiona, pregnant with Liam, and the five boys.
From the start, Conor had hated South Boston. Though half the population was of Irish descent, he was teased mercilessly for his accent. Within a month, hed learned to speak in the flat tones and grating vowels of his peers and the occasional teasing resulted in a black eye or cut lip for the teaser. School became tolerable, but life at home was deteriorating with every passing day.
He remembered the fights at home the most, the simmering anger, the long silences between Fiona and Seamusand his mothers devastating loneliness at his fathers endless absences. The soft sobs he heard late at night behind her bedroom door cut him to the quick and he wanted to go to her, to make everything all right. But whenever he approached, her tears magically dried and all was well.
One day she was there, smiling at him, and the next day, she was gone. Conor expected her to come home by morning, as did Seamus when he stumbled in from the pub just as the sun was rising. But his mother never returned. And from that day on, Seamus would not speak her name. Questions were met with stony silence and when they persisted, hed told the boys shed moved back to Ireland. A few months later, he finally told them shed died in an auto wreck. But Conor suspected that this was only a lie to end the questions, just revenge for his mothers betrayal.
Conor had vowed never to forget her. At night, hed imagined her soft, dark hair and her warm smile, the way she touched him when she spoke and the pride he saw in her eyes when he did well in school. The twins and Liam had just vague memories of her. And Dylan and Brendans memories were distorted by their loss, making her seem unreal, like some fairy princess dressed in spun gold.
So this you must remember, his father said in a warning tone, interrupting Conors daydream. Like the clever Eamon Quinn who drove the dragon off the cliffs and saved many fishermen from a fate worse than death, a mans strength and power is lost if he gives in to a weakness of the heart. Love for a woman is the only thing that can bring a Mighty Quinn down.
Im a Mighty Quinn! Brendan cried, pounding on his chest. And Im never going to let a girl kiss me!
Shhh! Conor hissed. Youll wake Liam.
Seamus chuckled and patted Brendans knee. Thats right, boyo. You listen to your da on this. Women are trouble for the likes of us Quinns.
Da, its time for us to get to bed, Conor said, weary of the same old cautionary tale. We have school.
Dylan and Brendan both moaned and rolled their eyes, but Seamus wagged his finger. Conor is right. Besides, Ive got a powerful thirst that only a pint of Guinness can quench. He ruffled their hair, then pushed off the bed and headed toward the front door.
Conor hurried after him. Da, we need to talk. Cant you stay in tonight?
His father waved him off. You sound like an old woman, Con. Dont be a nag. We can talk in the morning. With that, Seamus grabbed his jacket and slipped out into the storm, leaving his son with nothing more than a cold draft and an uneasy shiver. Defeated, Conor turned and walked back to the bedroom. Dylan and Brendan had already climbed into their bunk beds. Conor turned off the lights and flopped down on the mattress in the corner, drawing the blankets up to his chin to ward off the chill.
He was almost asleep when a small voice came out of the darkness. What was she like, Con? Brendan asked, repeating a question hed been asking nearly every night for the past few months.
Tell us again, Dylan pleaded. Tell us about Ma.
Conor wasnt sure why they suddenly needed to hear. Maybe they sensed how fragile their life had become, how easily it could all fall apart. She was a fine and beautiful woman, Conor said. Her hair was dark, nearly black like ours. And she had eyes the color of the sea, green and blue put together.
I remember the necklace, Dylan murmured. She always wore a beautiful necklace that had jewels that sparkled in the light.
Tell us about her laugh, Brendan said. I like that story.
Tell the story about the soda bread, when you fed it to Mrs. Smalleys wee dog and Ma caught you. I like that one.
So Conor spun his tale, lulling his brothers to sleep with visions of their mother, the beautiful Fiona Quinn. But unlike his fathers stories, Conor didnt have to embellish. Every word he spoke was pure truth. And though Conor knew that love for a woman was a sign of weakness and trouble for any Quinn, he didnt heed his fathers warning. For, in a secret corner of his heart, hed always love his mother and that would make him strong.
1
THE SHOT CAME out of nowhere, shattering the plate-glass window of Ford-Farrell Antiques into thousands of pieces. At first, Olivia Farrell thought one of the display cases had fallen over, or a crystal vase had tipped off a shelf. But then a second shot rang out, the bullet whizzing by her head and embedding itself into the wall with a soft hiss and thud. Frantic, she glanced up to find shards of glass tumbling into the window display around a Federal-era breakfront.
Her first impulse was to throw herself over the breakfront, a rare piece valued at over $60,000. After all, the multipaned doors still contained all original glass! And the piece would be virtually worthless to her discerning clientele if it contained any scratches on the exquisitely preserved marquetry. But then, common sense took over and she dove for cover behind a rather overblown chaise longue in the Victorian style, a piece that might actually benefit from a few bullet holes.
Oh, damn, she murmured, not sure what to do next. Should she run? Should she hide? She certainly couldnt shoot back since she didnt own a gun. She thought about locking the front door, but then whoever was shooting could just walk through the gaping hole in her plate-glass window. Why didnt I listen? Why did I sneak out?
Pushing up from the floor, she gauged the distance between her location and the back door of the gallery. But what if they were waiting for her in the alley? Since she wasnt familiar with wiseguy protocol, she had no idea whether her unseen assassins were determined to kill her at all costs or whether theyd regroup and try again later. Then again, theyd missed. Maybe theyd just meant to scare her.
Phone, she murmured, reaching into her jacket pocket to pull out the sleek little cell phone she always carried. Nine-one-one. She punched in the number and immediately began to pray. Perhaps she should just play dead, in case they burst into the shop, guns blazing.