A Woman's Heart Read Online Free Page A

back.
    â€œI don’t think that’d be a very good idea, sweetheart.” His eyes, rife with a practiced masculine look of appreciation, swept over her. “Not that I’m not tempted.”
    She laughed again, a rich throaty sound designed to strum sexual chords. “That is undoubtedly the nicest rejection I’ve ever had. I’ve known a lot of men, Quinn, but none of them have perfected the art of hit-and-run relationships better than you,” she said without rancor.
    â€œThis from a woman who’s been engaged four times.” And broken it off every time.
    â€œSo I’m a slow learner.” She grinned up at him, seemingly unapologetic about behavior that had provided the tabloid press with more than a few headlines. “That’s why we’re so good together. Neither of us has any wide-eyed expectations about the other, and we don’t harbor any dreams of a rosy until-death-do-us-part romantic future. You and I are two of a kind, Quinn.”
    There was no arguing with the accusation. Besides, it was a helluva lot better than the one he’d heard too many times to count—that his heart was little more than a dark pit of ice water covered with a crust of snow. Quinn merely muttered something that could have been agreement as the baggage carousel rumbled to a start.
    After retrieving his bags and clearing customs, he found his way blocked by a phalanx of reporters. Laura, damn her, had ducked into a rest room, leaving him to face the horde alone.
    â€œMr. Gallagher, do you believe the Castlelough lake creature exists?” a red-haired man wearing a rumpled wool sport coat and holding up a small tape recorder called out.
    â€œI’ve always believed in the existence of monsters. I know you call her the Lady, but technically she’s still a monster.”
    A murmur of interest from the reporters.
    â€œDo you expect to see the Lady while you’re in Castlelough?” a bald man wearing thick-framed black glasses asked.
    â€œThat would be a plus since it would undoubtedly save a fortune in special-effects costs if we could get her to perform for us,” he answered, drawing the expected laugh.
    â€œDo you plan to research your Gallagher-family roots while you’re in the country?”
    â€œNo.” His tone was curt. His eyes turned to frost. “If there are no more questions—”
    â€œI have one.” This from a winsome young woman. Her hair was jet, her thickly lashed eyes the color of the Irish sea, and her skin as pale as new snow. The invitation in her bold-as-brass eyes was unmistakable.
    â€œAsk away.”
    â€œIs the female protagonist in your story based on a real woman? Perhaps someone you met on a previous trip to Ireland?”
    â€œActually this is my first visit to your country. And Shannon McGuire was an entirely fictional character.”
    The heroine of his most recent novel was unlike any realwoman Quinn had ever met. Unrelentingly optimistic, soft-hearted, ridiculously virtuous and brave as hell. And even knowing her to be a product of his imagination, Quinn had been fascinated by her.
    Usually, by the time he finished writing one book, his mind was already well on to the next, and so he was more than glad to get rid of the characters he’d begun to grow bored with. But the widowed single mother had been strangely different. He’d found her difficult to let go.
    â€œAnd speaking of Shannon,” he said, turning toward Laura, who’d finally decided to make an appearance, accompanied by Jeremy Converse, the film’s producer/director who’d taken the same transatlantic flight from New York, “of course you all recognize the lovely Laura Gideon. She’ll be playing Shannon McGuire in the film.”
    Quinn practically pushed her forward. “It’s show time, sweetheart,” he murmured. As the reporters all began shouting out questions to the sexy blond actress, he made