His lips flattened as he thought about it. The respect he’d lost for her in the showdown with Marjorie had been totally restored, hard-won by her patience and kindness during the weeks he’d turned her away. “Shunned you, huh?” he said with a one-sided smile.
“Yes,” she whispered. “So if you’re willing to love me more, I’m willing to be more patient.”
“If I’m willing?” he asked, sarcasm coating his tone.
She looked up with the glow of love in her face. “Are you? Willing to love me again?”
He studied the woman he loved more than life, the body he craved more than sleep, and tugged the tie from his neck, giving her a heated look as his fingers slowly moved down the buttons of his shirt. Stripping it off, he hurled it away, eyes burning with an intensity that conveyed both his love and intent. He kicked his shoes onto the floor and gave her a dangerous smile. “I don’t know, Charity. Give me a second to think about it.”
With a toss of her honey hair, she gave him a saucy smile while she slowly slid the strap of her gown off of one creamy shoulder, revealing the deep cleft of her breasts.
His mouth went dry.
“As a birthday present, then?” she whispered, ever the vamp.
He reached for his belt, and then for the light, his laugh low as he kicked off his trousers and slipped in their bed. “You bet, little girl . . . ,” he whispered, her skin warm against his mouth. With a slow caress of fingers, he fondled the other satin strap of her gown while trailing her shoulder with lingering kisses. “As long as I get to unwrap the presents . . .”
18
Sean opened the box jam-packed with candy bars and shot Bert a wide grin. “Are you in league with my dentist, Mrs. Adriani? This is more Snickers than I’ve seen in a lifetime.”
“Liar,” Bert said with a roll of her dark eyes. “It’s just shy of a week’s supply, and you know it.” She folded her arms and perched on the edge of Sean’s desk, shooting Emma a wink.
Sunset cast a pink glow as the laughter of his colleagues filled his cozy office, giving Sean a warm feeling that was truly bittersweet. He glanced up at the group of people he’d grown to love and wondered if he’d ever be as happy working anywhere else. Bert made a crack about his departure saving her money since he wouldn’t pilfer lemon drops anymore, and more hilarity filled the room where he’d spent some of the happiest hours of his life. His eyes strayed to Emma. Wonderful hours with a woman who now claimed his job as well as his heart.
“So, Sean, any chance we can steal you away from St. Stephen’s for odd jobs here and there?” Michelle tilted her head with a playful flutter of lashes she always reserved just for him. “Seems a shame to waste all those handyman skills on the nuns when we’re in dire need here.”
“Some of us more than others,” Bert mumbled.
Michelle ignored her and smoothed her sleek blond tresses with a hopeful smile. “But I warn you—I have lots of ideas for the spring display.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet you do,” Bert said under her breath.
With a warning squeeze of Bert’s shoulder, Emma placed a plate of fudge brownies and Bert’s famous pound cake in the middle of Sean’s desk. “No more talk about work, please,” she said with a smile. “This is the man’s last day—let’s bury our sorrow in sweets.”
Sean patted his stomach, firm from weeks of no appetite and muscles taut with stress. “That’s one thing I won’t miss—extra pounds from all the desserts you ladies forced me to eat.”
“Forced?” Alli said with a giggle. Her innocent gaze flitted from Emma to Bert. “I don’t recall seeing his arm in a sling from any arm-twisting, do you?”
“Very funny, Miss Moser.” He took the knife from Emma and waggled it at Bert. “You’re a bad influence on this young woman, Mrs. Adriani, you know that?”
Bert huffed out a sigh. “Heaven knows I try. Cut the cake,” she snapped with a scowl.
“Any job prospects yet, Sean, besides helping out at the church?” Horace’s smile was kind as he pushed his eyeglasses back up to the bridge of his nose. A soft-spoken man well into his forties, the dock manager was slight of stature but big in heart, garnering everyone’s respect. Everyone but Bert’s, that is, who tended to pick on Horace because of his size.
Slicing the pound cake into thick slices, Sean glanced up, offering Horace a half smile. “Nope, not yet, but I’ve got a few irons in the fire, so I expect to hear something any day now.” He slapped a piece onto a salvaged china plate and handed it to the middle-aged man.
“I sure hope so,” Mr. Wilkins said. Dennehy’s longtime shoe manager reached for the plate Sean handed him with a crimp in his snow-white brows. “Even though everyone knows the job market’s as flat as fallen arches on a 300-pound man.” He squinted, weathered lips curved in a jest. “But that shouldn’t keep a young whippersnapper like you down for long, I suspect.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. O’Connor,” Livvie asked, nibbling on her cake. The salesclerk Sean had rescued from Mrs. Bennett on more than one occasion cocked her head with a squint. “If you don’t have another job, then why are you leaving?”
Sean paused, plate frozen midair as his eyes unwittingly flicked to Emma and then away. His neck grew warm as he handed cake to another clerk. “Well, Livvie, my tenure at Dennehy’s was to be temporary all along. I was only hired to help out during a particularly busy season.”
The young woman blinked. “But our busiest season is Thanksgiving through New Year’s, Mr. O’Connor. Why would you leave before that?”
“Because I’m kicking him out, Livvie,” Emma responded with a tight smile. She quickly plopped brownies and pound cake on the rest of the plates and commenced handing them out. “I discovered that Mr. O’Connor turned down a very lucrative job because of us, and I’m not about to let that happen again.” She brushed her hands with a lift of her chin, addressing the small group at large. “This man is too talented and too valuable not to be managing his own store.” She pushed a plate of pound cake at Sean before taking one for herself. “And entirely too kindhearted to do anything about it.” She took a bite and stared him down. “So we are.”
“Well, I know I speak for the rest of us, Mr. O’Connor, when I say you will be sorely missed.” James returned his empty plate to the desk and held out his hand. “You’ve been an inspiration to me, sir, with the number of hats you wear around this store.”
Sean rose to his feet and shook his hand. “Thanks, James, but Mrs. Malloy is the real inspiration here, as you’ll discover firsthand with the career path she has in mind for you.”
James nodded, a spark of gratitude in serious brown eyes as he glanced from Sean to Emma. “Thank you, sir, and you too, ma’am, for your confidence in me.”
“You’ve worked hard, James,” Emma said with a kind smile, “and Horace can’t sing your praises highly enough, so I’m happy to promote good people from within whenever I can.”
Michelle laid her empty plate on the desk. “Well, break’s over, I guess, and I’ve got a register to close out.” She rounded the desk to give Sean a hug tight enough to make his collar feel three sizes too small. “Don’t be a stranger, Sean O’Connor, you hear? Come by and see us when you can.” Cupping his face in her hands, she shocked him with a wet kiss smack dab on his lips. Eyes sparkling, she pulled away and patted his arm. “Been wanting to do that for as long as I can remember.” She bounded out the door with a wave of her hand.
Bert rose with a grunt, scowling as she fished a handkerchief from her pocket. She tossed it at Sean. “Here, wipe your mouth, will ya? Before you catch something.”
“Good luck to you.” With a shake of Sean’s hand, Horace filed out along with James while Livvie and several other salesclerks lingered to wish him well. When everyone had left except Bert, Alli, and Emma, Sean dropped back into his chair with a groan, giving them a pathetic smile. “This is a little harder than I thought it would be.”
“For you, maybe,” Bert said with a bored pat of her hair. “For
me, it’s a piece of cake.” Her lips shifted. “Pound cake, to be exact.”
Sean gave her a wink. “Thanks for making this easier, Mrs. Adriani. Gotta feeling I’m gonna miss your mouth almost as much as your cake.”
“Then you best drop in now and then,” Bert said with a thin smile. She gave a curt nod at Alli and Emma. “Can’t sharpen my tongue on these two, or it’ll be dull as a butter knife.”
With a latch of hands to his neck, Sean winked. “There’s always Horace, you know.”
A wicked smile lifted the corner of Bert’s scarlet lips. “Mmm . . . that’s right. Thank heavens for ‘small’ favors, and I use the term literally.”
“Especially,” Sean said with a grin, “now that you’ll be doing inventory with him.”
Her razor-sharp look could have cut a cast-iron cake. She moseyed to the door and shot a lidded gaze over her broad shoulder. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
She sauntered into the outer office with a sassy sway of hips, and Emma shook her head. “She’s going to miss you more than anybody, mark my words.”
“Not more than me,” Alli said with a watery gaze. A smile trembled on her lips as she circled Sean’s desk with a sharp heave, hugging him with all her might.
“Aw, Alli, I’m gonna miss you too,” he said with a lump in his throat. He rose to tuck her against his chest in a fond embrace. “But I’ll be back to visit soon, I promise. In the meantime, Emma can keep me informed at Thanksgiving on all the latest developments with a certain assistant dock manager.” He pulled away, hands clutched to her arms. “In fact, why don’t you come for Thanksgiving too? I know Katie would love to see you again, and so would I.”
“I wish I could, Sean, but Mrs. Tunny already invited us—Emma and me.”
Sean glanced at Emma, a knot wedged in his throat as tight as a turkey bone. “You won’t be at Thanksgiving?” he whispered, never believing for a moment that his departure from Dennehy’s also meant Emma’s departure from his life.
She lowered her head, eyes focused on the task of cleaning up while a haze of rose tinted her cheeks. “When I found out Mrs. Tunny has six grandchildren to feed in addition to Alli, her daughter, and son-in-law, well, I just felt like I needed to help.”
“Emma.” He said it softly, but his inflection bore a hint of a scold.
“Yes?” Her eyes remained fixed, never wavering from the task at hand.
“Look at me, please,” he whispered, waiting until her eyes met his. “The woman has a cook, and you’ve never missed a holiday with us in eleven years.”
She hesitated, her gaze flitting to Alli and back. “Mrs. Tunny gave her cook Thanksgiving off, Sean, because she wants to fix the meal herself. And I just thought this might work best with all the extra mouths your mother has to feed.”
“Are you going to do this every holiday?” he asked, his voice too sharp.
Her lips parted as if she intended to speak, but then a knock sounded at the door.
“Miss Emma, there’s a gentleman to see you, so I took him to your office.” Michelle hurried in, breathless, while Bert carefully closed the door.
Sean glanced at his watch with a scowl. “It’s almost closing, for pity’s sake—couldn’t he come back tomorrow? Who is he and why’d you bring him up?”
“She brought him up,” Bert said with a tight-lipped nod at Michelle, arms crossed to her chest. “Everybody knows she’s a sucker for a pretty face, and apparently he sweet-talked her.”
“He claims to owe Miss Emma an apology,” Michelle explained before propping her hands on her hips to glare at Bert. “And as if you weren’t salivating when I brought him in.”
“Wipe your mouth, Michelle,” Bert said with a sneer, “ya got drool all over your chin—”
“Okay, okay, wait a minute, you two.” Emma ducked her head, brows arched in question. “Do either of you happen to know just who this person is? A customer, maybe? A salesman?”
Michelle sighed. “Didn’t get his name, Miss Emma, but I’ll tell you what, if that man’s selling anything, I’m first in line.”
Emma squinted at Bert. “You haven’t seen him before either? He’s not that salesman from Schiaparelli that you swore looked like Valentino last year, is he?”
“Nope,” Bert said with the closest thing to a sultry look Sean had ever seen on the woman’s face. “Trust me, if I’d ever laid eyes on this guy, I would have remembered.”
Emma frowned. “Well, I guess I can’t keep him waiting, so tell him I’ll be right in.”
“My pleasure,” Bert said, her smug look obviously intended for Michelle.
“Wait . . .” Emma looked up, her face suddenly as pale as the stack of china saucers in her hands. “What’s he look like?” she whispered, voice quivering more than the dishes.
Michelle pressed a hand to her heart. “Well, let’s put it this way, Miss Emma, if you look in the dictionary, you’d find him under tall, dark, and handsome. Nigh to six foot four, curly black hair, light blue eyes a girl could get lost in, and dimples so deep they go clear back to his jaw.”
The dishes dropped to Sean’s desk with a loud clatter. Emma’s fingers trembled to her chest. “Johnny,” she whispered.
The very name unleashed a flash of fury that scorched through Sean’s body. He started for the door, his voice an angry hiss. “I’ll take care of this.”
“No!” Emma’s shriek halted him with his hand on the knob. She rushed over, her voice as shaky as the palm gripped to his arm. “I will handle this, Sean, I don’t want you involved.”
“I’m already involved,” he rasped, his fingers itching for revenge. “I’m not letting you face him alone, Emma, so don’t argue.”
“All right, but promise me . . .” Her voice trembled from bloodless lips. “Promise you won’t touch him. Violence is not the answer and I . . . I couldn’t bear to see that in you again.”
He stared, drawing in a harsh breath before exhaling it slowly. He nodded, then dropped his hands to his sides and looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Emma turned. “Tell him I’ll be right in, Bert, then go home. Michelle, tell James and Horace to come up because we may need them, then you head out as soon as you can. Alli, if you would be kind enough to clean up quickly, I’d be most grateful, then you need to go too. Understood?”
Alli nodded, eyes wide and face ashen while she, Bert, and Michelle filed out, leaving Emma to stare after them, her cheeks as pale as chalk. Sean braced an arm to her back, and her eyelids flickered closed for a moment while she wavered on her feet. He squeezed her shoulder. “Ready?”
She didn’t move, simply stared straight ahead, feet rooted to the faded hardwood floor.
Apparently not, he thought with a grim press of his lips, wishing he’d never promised to leave the lowlife alone. With a weary exhale, he took her hand. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Ready?”
Her gaze flicked to his, and his stomach clenched at the flash of fear in her eyes. But then just as quickly as it had come, it left with a firm lift of her chin. Arms to her waist, she nodded and followed behind as he walked into her office, his tall frame blocking her view. “What do you want?” he asked the man who stood to his feet, his tone none too kind.
“To speak with Mrs. Malloy.” The voice was polite with the barest hint of a brogue.
Sean assessed him, noting the fedora in his hands and a scar over his lip. Pale blue eyes stared back from a chiseled face framed by an unruly crop of black curls, badly in need of a trim.
“Who are you?” Sean asked, a hand to Emma’s elbow to bring her into view.
Dimples made way for a slow smile as the man nodded at Emma. “Mrs. Malloy . . .”
With a jagged catch of her breath, Emma stiffened, then slid to the floor in a dead faint.
“Emma!” Sean swept her limp body up in his arms and carried her to her chair, repeating her name while stroking her cheek. She stirred with a moan, and he spun around, turning on the man with a fury. “Who are you
and what the devil do you want?”
Bowing slightly with hat to his chest, the man’s troubled gaze lighted first on Emma, and then on Sean, his manner anything but coy. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he said, his smile as tight as the line of Sean’s jaw, “but the name would be Rory Malloy.”
———
It was the strangest feeling—her body numb while she sat in the chair, hands politely folded on her desk as if interviewing just another supplier with a bill of goods she “couldn’t do without.” She stared at her estranged husband, her eyes no longer glazed with shock, but serene and cool, giving no evidence whatsoever that her heart was in her throat. He spoke in the same soft, lilting brogue that had once turned her head, fluttered her pulse, lured her into sin, but this time the words were laced with regret, repentance, and the promise of hope. She was painfully aware of Sean’s presence behind her, perched on the windowsill, muscled arms braced to his chest like a silent threat. The wings of an angel sheltering her from evil.
Evil. Oddly enough, that was the last thing she felt as she studied the man before her, her face stiff in the professional mode reserved for salesmen she didn’t trust. Suspicion, yes, and anxiety, certainly, but the evil that had destroyed her life and mutilated the very beauty that had drawn him in the first place was no longer present. In its stead she discovered a gentler man with a humility that was as foreign to the old Rory as a woman’s refusal, with piercing blue eyes that begged her forgiveness. And perhaps that was the very reason the evil appeared to be gone—she had forgiven it a long, long time ago.
“You didn’t answer my letters,” he said softly. “That’s not like you.”
She licked her lips, pulse pounding. “It’s not like you to write them,” she whispered.
He drew in a deep breath, finally leaning back in the chair with an answering smile. “No, no it’s not, Emma, and I don’t blame you.” His lips tilted in that crooked way she had fallen in love with, that endearing grin that had sealed her fate. “I wouldn’t have answered me either,” he said, reminding her of just how much she had loved him before the bottle had ruined their lives. The smile faded into the worn look of a man who’d been broken. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Emma, but it’s your kindness that brings me to see you today . . . to ask your forgiveness.”