The Mighty Quinns: Brendan. Kate Hoffmann
“Would you like to kiss me?” Amy asked
At Brendan’s questioning look, Amy shrugged. I was just curious. I mean, I know you were just trying to warm me up. But since I’m almost naked, and you’re almost naked and we’re lying in bed together, it’s the next logical step, isn’t it?”
Just the thought of kissing her, of pulling her body against his, pressing her breasts to his chest and cradling her hips in his brought a flood of desire rushing through Brendan. And it would be so easy. Just a pull here, a tug there and there would be nothing between him and Amy but skin.
So much for his self-control, Brendan thought, sitting up and raking his hands through his hair. Would he ever understand her? How could they go from discussing her background to… Brendan cursed softly as realization dawned. Amy had wanted to divert his questions about her past. Well, if she wanted a diversion…
Leaning back toward her, he braced his hands on either side of her head. “So, you want to know if I want to kiss you?” he asked innocently.
Amy’s eyes went wide and she gave him a tiny nod.
“I think you deserve an answer, don’t you?” he said, before bringing his mouth down on hers.
Dear Reader,
Planning and writing a trilogy is always a daunting experience. Throughout the planning of THE MIGHTY QUINNS, I often wondered if I’d finish. And now that I have, I’m sorry the miniseries is all over. Conor, Dylan and Brendan Quinn have been three of my most intriguing heroes. And when you spend months with men like these, it’s a little hard to move on to someone else!
THE MIGHTY QUINNS concludes this month with Brendan’s story. He’s seen what’s happened to his two older brothers and he’s determined to avoid the same fate. This Quinn is not falling in love! Then he meets Amy Aldrich, a waitress in a waterfront bar, who is so much more than she appears to be. She moves into his life and soon, into his heart. And before he knows it, Brendan is the third Mighty Quinn to succumb to the love of a woman.
For those of you who aren’t ready for this series to end, I have a surprise for you. In June 2002, a fourth Mighty Quinn book, Reunited, will hit the shelves as a single-title release. If you’ve been reading carefully, you might already know what’s in store. So enjoy Brendan’s story and watch for Reunited in June. And drop by my new Web site at www.katehoffmann.com for more information on all my books and future releases.
Enjoy,
The Mighty Quinns: Brendan
Kate Hoffmann
For my little sister, NeeNee
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Prologue
THE MIDSUMMER HEAT shimmered off the pavement of Kilgore Street as Brendan Quinn slowly climbed the front steps of his house, a weatherbeaten two-story in the middle of the block. The screen door hung crookedly from its hinges and all the windows were thrown open allowing even the smallest hint of a breeze to ruffle the old lace curtains. He listened for his brothers and when he didn’t hear any voices, he breathed a slow sigh of relief, then wiped a trickle of sweat from his cheek.
Though an occasional thunderstorm would provide a respite from the heat, the six Quinn brothers had taken to sleeping on the rickety back porch of the house, turning necessity into yet another adventure. Last night they’d even started a fire in the backyard and cooked hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks, just as if they were on a real vacation at the Grand Canyon or maybe the Rocky Mountains, rather than in the middle of a sweltering Boston summer.
There were no family vacations for the Quinns. Their father, Seamus, had been out to sea on his swordfishing boat for nearly a month. In a few days, he’d arrive back home and stay long enough to get drunk five or six times, gamble away most of the money he had made and reacquaint himself with his sons. Then he’d head out again.
Slowly, Brendan lowered himself onto the top step, wincing against the pain as he moved. He didn’t want to go inside. After nearly a week of ninety degree days in the South Boston neighborhood, Brendan was sure it would be more pleasant walking into a blast furnace than into the Quinn house. Besides, he didn’t want to face the inevitable questions—like how he got the black eye and the bloody nose and the cut lip.
If he was lucky, sixteen-year-old Conor would be at work at a nearby grocery store where he had a job as a bag boy. And Dylan, two years younger, would be washing cars with his buddy Tommy Flanagan over at Tommy’s house.
But Brendan couldn’t be bothered with work. There were too many adventures to be had in the summer, too many places to be seen to be tied down with a regular job. Just last week he’d taken the train all the way to New York City and back again, without paying, and the images of skyscrapers still swirled in his mind. The week before, he’d hopped a Greyhound bus for the exotic sounding destination of Nova Scotia, making it to the Canadian border before the driver realized he had a stowaway. And in a few weeks, he’d take a turn on his father’s swordboat. But today, he’d stuck closer to home, wandering through the neighborhood for lack of anyplace better to go.
“Someday, I’ll have enough money to travel the world,” he murmured, staring down at the ragged toe of his tennis shoe. “And nothing will keep me here.”
A few seconds later, his little brother Liam burst out of the house, the screen door slamming behind him. He stopped cold at the sight of Brendan, his eyes growing wide. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked.
“Geez, Liam, don’t you be swearing now. You’re only nine years old and it isn’t proper.”
Liam spun on his heel and tore back into the house. “Con! Con! Come quick. Brendan’s had the livin’ crap beat out of him.”
Brendan groaned at his little brother’s colorful language. Though he, Conor and Dylan tried to maintain some level of discipline with the younger boys, the task was sometimes impossible. Liam reappeared at the door, followed closely by Conor who gave the boy a cuff on the head. “Stop your swearin’, Liam Quinn, or I’ll beat the livin’ crap out of you.”
His older brother stepped out onto the porch, his gaze fixed on Brendan’s face. “Ya look like you’ve been run over by a truck, boyo.”
Con sat down beside him, then began to poke and prod at the scrapes on Brendan’s face. Besides the split lip and the sore ribs, Brendan felt pretty damn good, though he wasn’t keen to dance a jig any time soon.
“Who did this to you?” Con asked.
“Angus Murphy,” Brendan said. “He and a couple of his goons jumped me just a few blocks from here.” Angus Murphy—all five feet six, two hundred pounds of him—was well-known to anyone living within a five block radius of Kilgore Street. As the designated neighborhood bully, he had it out for the Quinns. He’d tried to beat up Conor a few years back, but had lost badly. So he’d moved on to Dylan and got himself roundly pummeled. Brendan had known sooner or later his number would come up.
“I swear, Angus Murphy is the size of a small truck. When I first punched him, my fist just sank into that fat gut of his. Like punchin’ a pillow and he didn’t even blink. But then I got him a good puck