The Mighty Quinns: Brendan

She turned toward the hatch, but Brendan grabbed her arm. He picked up his jacket and held it out to her. “Take this. It’s cold outside.”

She shook her head, her pale hair tumbling around her face. “No, I’m fine.” She hesitated then gave him a quick smile, the only smile she’d cast his way since they’d met. “Thanks. For the jacket. And for coming to my rescue.”

With that she was gone, disappearing into the cold December night and returning to a world to which she didn’t seem to belong. Brendan almost went after her, curious to know her name and her story, wondering what had brought her to work at the Longliner. Was she the girlfriend of a fisherman? Had she grown up in Gloucester? And why did her eyes remind him of the sky on a perfect spring day?

He backed away from the hatch and shook his head. He’d had his doubts about carrying her out of the bar. That had been his first mistake. It would be stupid to compound the error by going after her. She was out of his life, no harm, no foul. He should be happy he’d gotten away so cleanly.

Yet as he made himself a pot of coffee and settled down to work at his laptop computer, Brendan’s thoughts returned to her again and again, to that winsome smile and that spark of mischief in her eyes. To the curious air of mystery that seemed to surround her. And to the way he felt the instant he touched her, as if they’d made some strange, magnetic connection.

Brendan shook his head and refocussed on his work. She was gone and he was better off for it. Though Conor and Dylan had fallen into lifelong commitment and everlasting love, Brendan was pragmatic enough to know that he wasn’t meant to do the same. His work required the freedom to come and go at will and he had to protect that freedom at all costs.

Even if it meant walking away from the most intriguing woman he’d met in years.

“YOU CAN’T FIRE ME! It wasn’t my fault.”

Amelia Aldrich Sloane stood outside the Longliner, staring up at the second floor above the bar. The owner of the bar was silhouetted in the window of her tiny room. He tossed out a garbage bag stuffed with her belongings and it landed with a “whoof” at her feet.

“I warned you the last time,” he said, leaning out the window. “One more fight and you were through. Do you know how much damage you caused?”

“It’s not my fault,” Amy repeated.

“The hell it isn’t,” he shouted back.

“How is it my fault?” she demanded.

“You’re too damn pretty,” he said tossing her suitcase out the window. “You’re like catnip to a bunch of tomcats. Men can’t seem to keep their hands off you and that starts fights. And fights cost me money, sweetheart. Much more than you’re worth as a waitress.”

“But I need this job,” Amy cried, running to grab her suitcase as it hit the ground and burst open.

“I hear Buddy’s House of Crabs is hiring. Get a job there.” With that he slammed the window shut, leaving Amy to stand on the silent street. She cursed softly then grabbed her jacket from the heap and slipped it on. “Well, I wanted adventure in my life,” she muttered, gathering her things. “I guess I should be careful what I wish for.”

It was half past two in the morning and she’d just lost her room and her job all in one fell swoop. She should have known something was wrong when she had returned to the bar and the other waitresses had refused to talk to her. The owner had been summoned by the police and when he finally got the full story, he’d pulled Amy aside and told her to clear out.

At first, she thought he was kidding. But when he climbed the stairs to her room and started tossing her belongings out onto the street, she had no choice. She’d raced outside to collect what she could before the bar patrons stumbling home after closing time were able to grab a souvenir or two. As it was, they all got a nice round of chuckles from her predicament.

“Now what am I supposed to do?” she murmured. Working at the Longliner had been the perfect setup. She needed to stay below the radar and seeing as she worked for tips only, the owner had no need for proof of her identity or her social security number. But the wandering hands of a customer and her rather indignant response had put an end to what she’d hoped would be a long-term job.

She hadn’t had much of a plan when she’d left her life back in Boston, only that she was determined to get as far away from her old life as possible—away from her dictatorial father and her socialite mother, away from their powerful influence over her life. And most of all, far away from her scheming fiancé, the man who’d grown to love the Aldrich money more than he loved Amy.

Her life had been planned for her from the moment she was born, the only child of Avery Aldrich Sloane and his beautiful wife Dinah. And for most of her life, she’d dutifully followed the plan. But then one day, just a week before her big society wedding to Craig Atkinson Talbot, she’d come to the realization that if she stayed, she would never really live her own life.

She had been on the run for nearly six months, lucky enough to keep just one step ahead of the private detectives her father had hired. She’d lived in Salem, in Worcester and in Cambridge, picking up odd waitressing jobs and calling on old friends to put her up on their sofas. She figured if she could just keep out of sight for another six months, then she was in the clear. The trust fund her grandmother had set up for her would be all hers, no strings attached. The day she turned twenty-six years old, she’d become a comfortably wealthy woman, a woman free to experience all the things she’d missed in life, free to search for adventure and excitement.

As she arranged her belongings neatly on a bench in front of the bait shop, she thought about what the money would mean. She’d always rejected her parents’ obsession with financial matters, thinking their avaricious nature somehow unseemly. But since she’d been trying to live on her own, Amy had realized that money, at least a small amount of it, came in pretty handy.

Though she’d been brought up in the lap of luxury, Amy had always wanted to test her parents’ boundaries. She’d argued for public school, but was forced to attend an exclusive private prep school. When she’d insisted on a public university, a big college where she could get lost in the crowd, her parents gave her a choice of Sarah Lawrence or Vassar. That time she won a small victory, choosing Columbia University in New York.

It was at graduate school at Columbia where she’d met her fiancé, a wonderful man from a good Boston family who was studying law, hoping to open a community law office. When she’d first introduced him to her parents, they’d been pleased with his family connections but worried over his career prospects. He was the perfect man for her next rebellious step.

But that soon changed once Craig fell under the spell of her father’s money and influence. It wasn’t long before he was working for Aldrich Industries as a corporate lawyer. A few months before their wedding, he was promoted to Executive Corporate Counsel, a powerful position that came with a six-figure salary and stock options. It was then that Amy realized his dream of a community law office had been put aside and that the man she’d fallen in love with was not the man she was about to marry.

So she ran. Just a week before she was scheduled to walk down the aisle, she packed a bag in the middle of the night, drove her car to the train station and hopped the last train out of town. She’d cleaned out her checking account the day before, giving her enough cash to live on for three months. That cash was long gone.

Amy reached into her pocket and withdrew a wad of bills she’d collected as tips. By the light from the streetlamp, she began to count it, wondering if she’d have enough for a room for the night. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps, quickly hiding the money in her jacket pocket. But then she recognized the man who approached. It was the guy who’d started the fight in the bar, the man responsible for her predicament.

It was as if he appeared from nowhere again to rescue her, her hero with the dark windblown hair and the chiseled features. Amy swallowed hard. A shiver of attraction raced through her but she refused to acknowledge it. She was cold. She’d been sitting outside for fifteen minutes and she was simply cold, that’s what caused the shiver. “What are you doing here?” she asked when he stopped in front of the bench.

“I was just taking a walk to clear my head,” he said. “What are you doing sitting out here? You shouldn’t be here all alone. Are you waiting for a ride home?”

“Actually, that was home,” she said, pointing back to the Longliner. “I lived above the bar…until about fifteen minutes ago. Until you got me booted out of my job and my place to stay.”

“Me?”

“You heard me,” Amy said. “Because of you, I lost my job and my place to stay, not to mention two decent, though incredibly greasy, meals a day. I told you I could take care of that guy.”

“He had his hands all over you.”

Amy laughed softly. “You don’t hang out much at the Longliner, do you? That’s par for the course. Besides, a little grope here and there makes the tips better. I know my own limits and I know how to enforce them.”

He shook his head. “The owner couldn’t have fired you just because of one fight—a fight that really wasn’t your fault. Let me go talk to him. I’ll—”

“This was my third fight, if you must know. I guess he was getting a little sick of paying for shattered glasses and broken tables.”

He sat down next to her, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You must have friends or family you could call.”

Amy shook her head, warmed by his concern. “No. My family lives on the west coast,” she lied. “Besides, we don’t talk much. And I haven’t been here long enough to make friends.”

“Well, where are you going to go?”

Amy shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll figure out something.”

He cursed beneath his breath. “I suppose you don’t have money for a motel room?”

She heard the concern in his voice, caught the trace of guilt in his expression. He did believe this was his responsibility, even though Amy knew it really wasn’t. She reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out the cash she’d made on tips—barely thirty dollars. “It’s your fault, you know. I was handling the problem. If you wouldn’t have butted in, I could have stopped the fight. But as soon as you pulled me out of there, all hell broke loose.”

“If you had stayed, you would have gotten hurt,” he said.

“We’ll never know, will we.”

They sat on the bench for a long time, staring out at the harbor, their breath clouding in front of their faces. Then he stood up and grabbed the garbage bag and her leather suitcase. “Come on, then,” he muttered.

Amy stood up and snatched the bag from his hand. “Come on where?”

“You can stay with me. There’s a crew cabin on my boat. It’s clean and warm. You can spend the night and tomorrow you can find a new job and a new place to live.”

Amy gasped, completely taken aback by his offer. She’d expected a few extra dollars for a motel room, maybe an offer of a ride. “Stay with you? I don’t even know your name. How do I know you’re not some psychopathic serial killer?”

“I guess you don’t,” he said.

“What’s your name?”

“Brendan Quinn,” he replied. “What’s yours?”

“Amy Aldrich.” She stared at him for a long moment. “Brendan Quinn. I suppose that doesn’t sound like a serial killer’s name.”

“I told you, I’m a writer.”

She motioned him closer. Reaching out, she touched his chin and tipped his head up to the light. “You look like you have an honest face. I’m very intuitive and I’m sure I’ll be safe with you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Brendan replied. He held out his hand and she hesitantly placed her fingers in his. “It’s nice to meet you, Amy Aldrich.”

They started off back down the dock, Amy glancing over at him every now and then. He really was quite handsome. She’d noticed that the moment he’d walked up to her in the bar. His dark hair was just a bit too long, brushing the collar of his leather jacket, and his face was covered with the dark stubble of a day-old beard. But it was his eyes that captured her attention. They were an odd mixture of green and gold, not exactly hazel, something much more intriguing.

When they reached his boat, he tossed her belongings onboard then helped her on deck. She lugged her suitcase toward the hatch and then dragged it down the steps. As she took in the cozy interior, she sighed in relief. Although she’d be sleeping in a strange place, Amy somehow knew that she’d be safe here. In truth, this would be the perfect spot to stay for the next few months.

“Can I make you anything to eat?” he asked.

Amy nodded, looking around the cabin, searching the place for more clues about the man she was entrusting with her safety. He lived comfortably. Though the interior of the cabin wasn’t luxurious, it was functional. And tidy. The shelves of books and the laptop computer proved his claim to be a writer.

“Where do I stay?” she asked.

He pointed forward. “First door on your right. There should be an empty bunk.”

“Where’s the head?” she asked.

He paused and looked at her. “You know boats?”

Amy shrugged and started forward. “My dad had a small boat.” She stepped inside the crew cabin. In truth, her father had a huge boat, a yacht on which she and her mother had spent summer vacations cruising the Mediterranean while her father stayed in Boston. She tossed her things on one of the lower berths, then rummaged through a bag for clean clothes. What she wore smelled of smoke and stale beer.

When she emerged from the bathroom with a freshly scrubbed face and clean clothes, she found him waiting for her at the table. She sat down next to him and picked up the glass of milk he’d poured for her then took a slow sip. “I really appreciate this,” she said, setting the milk down and licking her upper lip.

“No problem,” he murmured, his gaze fixed for a moment on her mouth.

To distract his attention, she took a bite of the ham sandwich he’d prepared. She’d been so used to eating bar food for every meal that a simple ham sandwich tasted like gourmet fare. “Why did you jump into the middle of that fight?” Amy asked. “I was in a roomful of men and you were the only one who came to my aid. Why was that?”

“I don’t know,” Brendan said. “You just looked like you needed me.”

“The same way I needed you outside the bar?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, maybe.” Brendan chuckled.

“But why?”

He shrugged. “When I was a kid my Da used to tell us stories about our ancestors. The Mighty Quinns. They were always the heroes, brave and strong, chivalrous. I guess the stories stuck.”

Amy smiled, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad they did,” she murmured. She picked up her sandwich and her milk and pushed away from the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When she reached the safety of her cabin, Amy shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, clutching the milk and her ham sandwich to her chest. She smiled, then took a bite of the sandwich. It was nice to have a hero, someone who cared more about her than the Aldrich money. But how far would this stranger— would Brendan Quinn—go to help her?

Amy sighed. There was an even bigger question out there. How long would she be able to resist such a handsome and charming protector?

2

HE WASN’T completely asleep when he heard the knock on the door of his cabin. At first, Brendan thought it was his imagination, part of a dream he had briefly slipped into before drifting off. But the knock came again and he pushed up on his elbow and rubbed his eyes. There could be only one person on the other side and considering his earlier reaction to Amy Aldrich, Brendan wasn’t sure that a late-night visit was in his best interest. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

She knocked again, this time more insistently. With a soft curse, he reached out and turned on the light beside his berth. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened a crack and Amy peered inside. “I’m sorry to wake you,” she said in a low whisper. “But my cabin is freezing. Do you have another blanket?”

Brendan groaned inwardly. He wasn’t really set up for guests on The Mighty Quinn. When one of his brothers stayed overnight, they usually didn’t require much in terms of amenities. The only other blanket he had was the down comforter that he was sleeping beneath and if he gave that up, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. “Put on another layer of clothes,” he suggested.

She opened the door wider and in the dim light, he could see that she’d already done that. She looked like a refugee from some bizarre slumber party, layers of clothing and pajamas turning her pretty figure into one that resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy. Topping it all off, she wore a hooded sweatshirt with the hood tied tightly around her face. He could hear her teeth chattering from across the room. If he had any worries about his attraction to her, they ended with the red wool gloves she wore on her hands and the fuzzy slippers on her feet.

“I’m going to die of hypothermia,” Amy said. “And it’s going to be all your fault.”

Brendan groaned and flopped back on the bed, his arm over his eyes. “Why is it that everything bad that happens to you is my fault?”

She walked across his cabin and sat down on the edge of his berth, tugging the edge of down comforter over her shoulders. “Because it is,” she murmured. “You could give me this blanket.”

Though Amy didn’t look as sexy as she potentially could, the notion of her sitting on his berth in the middle of the night was a bit disconcerting for him. He’d never brought a woman home to The Mighty Quinn before. The boat was his own personal space and Brendan had always felt that inviting someone here, especially for the purposes of pleasure, would be a violation of his privacy. Sure, Olivia had been on his boat and so had Meggie. Olivia had even slept in his bed—with Conor. And now that Amy Aldrich was here, he wasn’t even sure why he was so concerned. She was simply a guest, after all, not a lover.

But that changed the instant Amy lay down beside him. Pulling the down comforter over top of her and wriggling up against him, she settled in. He became acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing anything but the comforter and an uneasy smile, not that she could tell through the five layers of clothes she wore. “What the hell are you doing?” Brendan asked.

“I’m just going to lie here until I warm up. Then I’ll go back to my cabin,” she murmured. “You know, it’s really not the cold. It’s the damp. It just goes right to the bone.”

Brendan sat up and jammed the coverlet between their bodies. He didn’t mean to act like a prude, but this was totally unacceptable. “You’re not going to sleep in here,” he said. “This is my cabin.”

Amy turned over. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like anything is going to happen. I’m just trying to get warm.”

“Go back to your own cabin, Amy,” he said through clenched teeth.

“No,” she replied, tugging the comforter more tightly around her. “I want to stay here.” She watched him warily. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to attack you while you sleep. I’m not even attracted to you. You’re just a warm body.” With a frustrated sigh, she pulled one of the pillows from beneath his head. “You do have a huge ego. As if I couldn’t resist you. Please. You’re not that cute.” She laughed, then turned her back to him.

Well, he had his answer. If he thought there was even a flicker of attraction between them, he now knew it was strictly one-sided. She had no reservations about spending the night in his bed. Never mind that he was naked and in a state of tightly checked arousal. All she wanted was a warm place to sleep and he could provide that for her. But at what cost?

Brendan stared at her long and hard, then reached out and impatiently flicked a strand of her silken hair off of his pillow. “You stay on your side of the berth and I’ll stay on mine,” he warned. “Or you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

“All right,” she murmured, snuggling more deeply beneath the comforter.

But the barrier between them was very thin indeed. His berth was barely bigger than a twin-size bed and even jammed up against the wall, her backside came dangerously close to his lap. Brendan lay frozen in place, afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe.

Though it had been a long time since he’d slept with a woman, he’d never expected his next time to be like this. Sharing a bed with a woman usually meant a night of passion and excitement, culminating in an exquisite release. Instead, he was here with Nanook of the North, whose only interest in him was in how much body heat he might provide.

Brendan wasn’t sure how long he lay like that, only that it was long after Amy had fallen asleep. She’d managed to wiggle up against him until his body cradled hers, until her hair tickled his face and her slow, even breathing was the only sound in the cabin. He tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, unbidden fantasies swirled in his head. He imagined himself undressing her, tossing aside all those layers of clothes and pulling her body against his, skin meeting skin, the exchange of heat tantalizing and exciting, not a matter of practicality at all.

A cramp clutched at his leg and he groaned softly. The only way to stretch was to throw his leg over her hip. He did and the pain immediately eased. But a moment later, he realized what the action had cost him. He was now fully pressed against her backside and unable to quell a flood of arousal. With a low curse, Brendan backed away, but there was no more room on his side of the bed.

There was only one thing to do and the mere thought of it irritated him to no end. He scrambled over top of her and jumped out of the berth then snatched up a pair of jeans from a nearby chair and tugged them on.

He stood in the cabin and stared down at his guest, sleeping so peacefully, her body tucked into his bed. Any thought of sleep would be impossible as long as she was here. He considered carrying her back to her own cabin, but wasn’t prepared for the protest that would certainly ensue. Instead, Brendan slipped out the door, walked into Amy’s cabin and crawled beneath the rough wool blankets of her berth. The crew berths weren’t really meant for comfort. They made efficient use of a small amount of space, allowing no room to stretch out, especially for anyone over six feet tall.

Brendan folded his hands over his chest and stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him. What in the world had ever possessed him to invite her to spend the night? From the very start, he knew she was trouble. She said whatever was on her mind, even if it was insulting. She acted as if he was the cause of all of her troubles, dishing up the guilt until he had no choice but to respond. And then she had the audacity to crawl into bed with him as if her behavior wasn’t at all out of the ordinary!

Amy Aldrich definitely wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met before. She lived her life by a whole different set of rules and standards. Or maybe it was the complete lack of rules in her life that made her different. Either way, Brendan found himself completely intrigued, captivated by her beauty but even more caught by the woman behind that luminous skin and those tantalizing blue eyes.

Tomorrow he’d get up early and find a place for her to stay. Even if he had to pay for a week or two at some local motel, it would be well worth the price. Amy Aldrich had swept into his life and upset the balance he worked so hard to achieve. If he let her stay, there was no telling what might happen. He might completely lose his mind and fall in love, just like Conor and Dylan had done with such startling speed.

No, this was not going to result in the fall of another Mighty Quinn! Brendan Quinn was much stronger, more determined than his brothers and he wouldn’t allow himself to give in to such temptation. Once Amy was off his boat and out of his life, he’d be safe again. He just had to make sure that happened as quickly as possible.

AMY STRETCHED sinuously beneath the down comforter, enjoying the warmth that enveloped her body. She opened her eyes and glanced around the cabin, taking in her surroundings. Light poured through the small portholes, dust motes dancing in the drafts that swirled through the chill morning air.

She knew she was alone, yet hadn’t recalled just when Brendan had crawled out of his bed. The clock on the bedside table read 9:00 a.m., a bit earlier than she usually rose after a night of waitressing at the Longliner. Amy sighed. But she was no longer a waitress. Today, she’d have to go out and find another job and another place to live, someplace clean and affordable. She’d have to play the games that she’d learned to play so well, hiding her real identity, employing clever strategies that would thwart the private detectives hired to find her.

Though the thought of starting all over again was a hassle, it was part of the life she’d chosen, a life filled with new experiences and adventures. In the six months since she’d left home, Amy had never once regretted her decision to run away. She paused. Well, maybe once or twice, when she thought about her grandmother.

Adele Aldrich was—and always would be—the single most important influence in Amy’s life. Her father’s mother had never resigned herself to the role her own parents had groomed her for. At age eighteen she’d received her trust fund and had immediately set off on a round of scandalous adventures—a safari in Africa, a trek through the Andes, even a boat trip down the Amazon. Then, to her parents’ dismay, she learned how to fly and lent those skills to the war effort in England.

Amy smiled. “I’m having my adventure, Grandmother,” she murmured. “But it would be a whole lot easier with money in my pocket.”

She sat up and grabbed the down comforter, wrapped it around her shoulders, and went in search of Brendan. Maybe she could convince him to give her just one more night here. It wasn’t easy to find a job that met all her criteria—no government forms, cash instead of a paycheck and meals included. Finding a place to stay was even harder. With only thirty dollars to her name, she barely had a few days’ rent, much less a deposit.

When she reached the main cabin, Brendan was nowhere to be found. Amy walked back and listened at the door of the head. Then she opened the door to her cabin and found him curled up in her berth, blankets twisted around his waist and his chest bare. For a moment, she forgot to breathe, startled once again by how handsome he was.

Luckily she’d been able to put thoughts like those out of her mind last night. Sharing a bed with a complete stranger was one thing. But sharing a bed with the sexiest man she’d ever met was quite another. Maybe it was best that she leave today. Her life was complicated enough already. Involving a man in it— even a man as desirable as Brendan Quinn—would only make things worse.

With a soft sigh, she gently laid the down comforter on top of him and wandered back to the main cabin. She had felt safe here, at least for one night. Amy tossed off her gloves and set out to make a pot of coffee. Before long, the rich smell filled the cabin and she poured herself a mug and sat down at the table.

Idly, she flipped through a stack of papers slowly realizing that she was looking at a book manuscript. Beneath another pile was a book jacket. She pulled it out and found herself staring at a picture of Brendan Quinn, looking slightly dangerous, like a modern-day pirate. “Bestselling author of Mountain Madness,” she murmured. A list of quotes by other authors gave glowing reviews of Brendan’s last book about a rescue on the north face of Mount Everest.

She went back to the manuscript and slid it in front of her. This book wasn’t about mountain climbing. It was about the men and women she’d come to know while working at the Longliner. The commercial fishermen who fished the North Atlantic and the families who waited for them to come back from the sea.

Amy was drawn immediately into the story, Brendan’s prose illuminating the reasons why men fished, why they risked their lives every day in a dangerous job to make a living that was backbreaking and often heartbreaking. Characters came to life and she recognized many of the qualities that her customers at the tavern possessed. Though the fishermen were a hard-living bunch, Brendan gave them all a quiet dignity as he explained how their way of life was slowly disappearing.

On and on she read, pouring a fresh cup of coffee for herself when her first cup got cold. As she read, she not only got to know the fishermen of Gloucester, she also learned more about the author—about what he respected and what he cherished in life, about the way he looked at the world.

“What are you doing?”

Amy jumped at the sound of his voice, pressing her palm to her chest. “You scared me,” she said.

His expression was cool with just a hint of aggravation. She put the manuscript down, realizing that she’d made a mistake in looking at it at all. “I’m sorry. I just picked it up and started reading. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. It’s just that once I started, I couldn’t stop.” Amy smiled up at him. “It’s a wonderful book.”

He shifted, clearly surprised by her compliment. His eyes were still sleepy and his hair mussed, and the stubble of beard that had shadowed his face the night before looked even more rakish. He wore only a pair of jeans and Amy couldn’t help it when her eyes returned again and again to his broad chest and muscled belly. How could he possibly be so perfect, she wondered. There had to be a flaw somewhere.