The Mighty Quinns: Marcus, Ian & Declan: The Mighty Quinns: Marcus / The Mighty Quinns: Ian / The Mighty Quinns: Declan

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THE SCENT OF FRESHLY brewed coffee wafted through Eden’s stateroom, teasing her awake. She smiled and sighed, then opened her eyes, hoping to find Marcus in bed beside her. But the opposite side of the bed was cold and empty.

Her smile faded to a frown and Eden sat up, brushing the hair from her eyes. She still wore the gauzy cotton sundress she’d put on the previous afternoon, but she didn’t need a reminder that she and Marcus hadn’t completed the seduction begun yesterday evening.

A tiny shiver skittered down her spine as she recalled the sensations his touch had sent spiraling through her body. All the sexual experiences she’d had in her life seemed to blur together behind that single moment with Marcus. Her desire had been undeniable, so strong that it had obliterated the past. And their shared release had been so strangely intimate that it teased constantly at her thoughts.

Eden sighed as she toyed with the hem of her dress. He had no right to be so good at it, she mused. After all, Marcus Quinn was just a regular guy. A man with such a great talent for seduction ought to be famous—or at least have a publicist.

She giggled and flopped back into the pillows. For the first time in weeks she felt happy … relaxed … and safe. The outside world didn’t exist when she was on this boat. And with Marcus occupying her thoughts, she had no time for reflection on her past indiscretions.

“Today is a new day,” Eden murmured. Her confidence bolstered, she climbed out of bed and shimmied out of her sundress. A quick search of her cabin turned up a pale blue bikini, one of her more conservative choices in swimwear. She stepped into the bottoms and pulled them up, then slipped into the top. She could go topless, but it would be much more fun to let Marcus fantasize about what was beneath the tiny scraps of fabric—and then let him undress her later.

She wandered through the cabin, listening for Marcus, but the boat was quiet, the clanging of the rigging the only sound. A quick check of the deck turned up nothing. She saw the note on the chalkboard when she stopped in the galley for coffee. “Went to town,” she read. “Be back before lunch. Call me if you need something.” He’d written his cell phone number on the bottom of the note, signing it with an M.

She stared down at his handwriting, running her fingers across the casual scrawl. A fleeting sense of loneliness settled in her heart and Eden brushed it aside. So she’d grown used to having him around. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at and he had a certain masculine charm that she found appealing. But it wouldn’t do to get too attached to him. After all, they moved in different circles and lived in different worlds.

Eden sat down on the sofa, impatient for her day to begin. She didn’t like being alone. When she was alone, her mind wandered to all her troubles, to the horrible stories that were probably being told in the media, to the anger and frustration that her father was no doubt feeling right now. But then, maybe the story hadn’t reached the States.

With a soft curse, Eden stood up and strode to the crew cabin at the bow of the boat, standing outside Marcus’s berth for a long moment before opening the door. She couldn’t help but be curious. He wasn’t much for conversation, so there would probably be very little forthcoming from him. Maybe there were a few clues to the man hidden amongst his belongings. Hesitantly Eden stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

The cabin was small, about a quarter the size of the stateroom she’d taken in the aft section of the yacht. His clothes were scattered all over, draped from the upper bunk and tossed into half-open drawers. Eden grabbed a shirt she recognized and pressed it to her nose. She breathed in a scent of his soap mixed with the fresh smell of salt air.

Twisting the shirt in her hands, she moved to the small cabinet next to the berth and picked through his selection of bedtime reading: a dog-eared paperback by Tom Clancy, two Horatio Hornblower books that she recognized from the ship’s library and a book on antique tools. Beneath the books, Eden found a stack of magazines and flipped through them. “Wooden Boat, Science Digest, The New Yorker,” she read, happy to see there were no girlie magazines. But when she reached the bottom of the pile, Eden froze. “The National Inquisitor.”

Her heart twisted in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. The headline was splashed across the top half of the cover. “Eden’s Sexcapade Caught on Tape.” Below the headline was the horribly grainy photo of her and Ricardo locked in a steamy embrace, the same photo that had appeared in the European magazines. She knew it was her. The Cartier watch was a dead giveaway.

Strange how she’d reached the level of celebrity where she’d become known by her first name only. There was no mistaking who they were talking about. There was only one Eden stupid enough to get herself mixed up in such a mess.

She slowly sat down on the edge of the bunk. What was Marcus doing with this? Had he picked it up at the grocery store yesterday? If he had, then that meant her father probably knew all about it by now. Tears of humiliation pressed at the corners of her eyes.

She’d come looking for clues about him and instead found everything he needed to pass judgment on her, all the sordid little details of her past, regurgitated once again for the public to savor. A sob welled up in her throat and she hurried out of the cabin, his shirt and the tabloid still clutched in her hands.

“Why the hell did he have to be here?” she muttered as she strode back to her stateroom. She’d wanted to spend some time alone, to figure out how to deal with the mess she’d made of her life. And now, because Marcus Quinn was here, she’d be forced to explain it all to him—a complete stranger!

Well, she certainly didn’t owe him any explanations. And if he came looking for them, then she just wouldn’t be here to make them. Eden grabbed her bags from beneath the berth and tossed them onto the bed. She didn’t bother to fold her clothes. The sooner she got off the boat, the better.

But as she stuffed her underwear into the suitcase, Eden realized that she couldn’t get off the boat with her belongings unless she threw her suitcases overboard and floated them back to the dock. Marcus had taken the dinghy.

She wasn’t about to ruin a custom-made set of Goyard. She loved her luggage. Over the past few years, it had been the only constant in her life, and balanced against the humiliation of seeing Marcus again, she’d definitely choose to save the luggage rather than save face.

Eden grabbed a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt and tugged them on. It was always best to dress down when she traveled. With sunglasses, a hat and a wrinkled linen jacket, she had about a twenty-percent chance of going unnoticed. She would head back to Manhattan, get a suite at the Belleville and hide out for a few days until she figured out her next move.

It wasn’t the Ritz or the Four Seasons or the Peninsula, but she’d be safe there. The staff at the trendy Hotel Belleville were perfectly discreet, and she loved the Frette bathrobes and the French breakfasts and the handsome Italian concierge who always did his best to make her laugh. And the hotel was usually off the tabloid radar.

Once she was dressed and packed, Eden dragged her luggage up to the cockpit. She was nearly finished when she heard the dinghy approach. Marcus waved at her, but Eden didn’t respond, watching him from behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. He tied the dinghy behind the boat and crawled up the swim ladder, swinging a gallon of varnish up onto the deck.

He saw her luggage and stopped, a frown creasing his brow. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked, stepping into the cockpit.

Eden avoided his gaze. In fact, she avoided looking at him at all, avoided his broad shoulders and his narrow hips, his thick hair curled at the nape of his neck and his deep blue eyes. Even now, in the midst of her hurt and humiliation, she ached to touch him.

“I’m leaving,” she murmured. “I was just waiting for you to get back with the dinghy.”

“Life on board gotten a little too boring for you?” he asked.

She heard the sarcasm in his voice and it cut deep. Of course that’s what he’d think. He’d assume she was ready to jet back to Europe and throw herself into the middle of another scandal. “It’s just time to leave,” she said.

“Does this have anything to do with what happened last night?” Marcus asked. “Because I realize it didn’t mean anything to you. And that’s all right. We were just … scratching an itch.”

“It’s nice to know that you think of me as an itch,” she said. “It’s better than a slut or a whore.”

He blinked, taken aback by her candor. “What are you talking about? I never—”

“Oh, be honest, Barney. You can tell me what you really think of me. Everyone else seems to have an opinion. I bet the clerk at the grocery store thinks she knows me well enough to comment. And the guy at the gas station, I’m sure he has a few choice words.” Eden reached down and grabbed the copy of the Inquisitor from the front pocket of her tote, then tossed it at him. “I found that in your cabin. I’m sure it was much more entertaining than the Tom Clancy novel.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you spent money on that. I would have told you the truth for free had you asked.”

“I didn’t buy that,” he said.

“Oh, are they giving them away on every street corner? I shouldn’t be surprised. Hometown girl gone bad. Makes an interesting story.” Eden grabbed her bags and hauled them to the stern of the boat, then struggled to crawl down the swim ladder to the dinghy. But the weight of her suitcase set her off balance and she nearly lost her grip on the ladder. An instant later, Marcus grabbed the bag and pulled it back on board.

“Give me my suitcase,” she said. “I want to leave.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said.

Eden stared up at him for a long moment. In truth, she didn’t want to go for so many reasons. The prospect of facing the public was terrifying to her. The photographers would hound her twenty-four hours a day. People would stare and point and laugh—and then they’d have the nerve to ask her for an autograph or a photo. Eden wasn’t sure she possessed the energy to get through it without falling apart at the seams.

But the prospect of staying with Marcus was even more difficult to bear. He’d look at her differently now. He’d wonder whether what they shared was something she’d shared with other men. He’d question her motives every time she touched him. And in the end, distrust and jealousy would set in and everything good would be ruined.

“Give me my luggage,” she said.

Marcus shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Fine. Then I’ll leave without it. Once I get settled, I’ll send for it.” She jumped off the bottom of the ladder into the dinghy, then sat down in the back of the little fiberglass boat and stared at the outboard. She’d ridden in the dinghy in the past, but someone else had always ferried her back and forth to the ketch.

She reached for the starter cord and gave it a yank, but it snapped back and nearly pulled her shoulder out of joint in the process. She pulled again, but the same thing happened. Tears threatened and Eden swallowed them back. She stood up, prepared to swim back to shore, but his voice stopped her.

“It doesn’t make any difference,” he said.

Eden drew a shaky breath and looked up at him.

“What?”

“What I read in that tabloid. I know that’s not you, Eden. At least not all of it. And maybe the rest is what was you, last week or last month or last year.”

“Three years ago,” she said.

He nodded. “That’s a long time ago.”

“You don’t know me,” she said.