Kiss Me, I'm Irish: The Sins of His Past / Tangling With Ty / Whatever Reilly Wants...

Deuce took in the network of wrinkles over the familiar face, and the shock of gray hair. He’d done his share to add to the whitening of that head, he was sure.

“Don’t feel bad that you didn’t recognize me, Deuce. I’m not sure I would have known you, either. But I heard rumors that your own retirement brought you back to town.”

“Wasn’t exactly retirement,” he said with a grin. “More like lifelong detention.”

That earned him another hearty laugh and a pat on the shoulder. “You always could charm your way out of anything, Mr. Monroe.”

“I couldn’t charm the contract lawyer for the Nevada Snake Eyes.”

“Their loss, our gain. It’s just too bad it didn’t happen a season earlier.”

“Why? I had my best year last year.”

“Indeed you did. I thought you could have been a Cy Young contender.”

Deuce snorted. “Not that good.”

“But if you’d have pulled your little race-car exploit before Rock High hired him…” He jutted his chin toward the dugout where the new coach stood, surrounded by ballplayers, some of whom listened to his lectures, while others looked anxious to leave.

“What’s his name?” Deuce asked.

“George Ellis. He’s teaching science, too, which I think he’s much better at than coaching.”

Deuce’s gaze moved to the field, then back to Martin. “He’s not bad. Lots of energy. Seems to know how to get them to hit.”

“You’d have been better.”

“Me?” Deuce coughed back a laugh. “No, thanks. I have no interest in going out there and motivating guys who think they know everything.” Guys like him.

They fell into pace together toward the parking lot. “So you’d rather run a bar.”

Deuce heard the skepticism in his tone. “It’s called Monroe’s, Mr. Hatcher. And, since I am called that, too, it feels like the right thing to do.”

“I’m not your principal anymore, Deuce. You don’t have to call me Mr. Hatcher, and you don’t have to give me your load of BS.”

Deuce slowed his step and peered at the man who once had spent hours threatening, cajoling and teasing Deuce. “That was no load of BS.”

“Monroe’s isn’t even a bar anymore.”

“We’re working on that.”

Martin chewed his lip for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Seems to me Kendra Locke has some pretty big plans for the place.”

The Hatchet Man, Deuce remembered from numerous trips to his office, always had a subtle way of making his point.

“I have plans, too.” But then, subtle had never worked that well on Deuce.

Martin paused at the edge of the parking lot, crossing his arms and nodding. “Kendra was a favorite student of mine. Of course, she was a few years behind you.”

“Her brother Jack was my best friend.”

“Oh, yes. I remember Jackson Locke. A rebel, but very artistic. And he liked those basketball bombs over in the teacher’s lot.” He chuckled again. “Let you take the heat for the big one that dented Rose Cavendish’s old Dodge Dart, as I recall.”

Deuce just smiled. “Ancient history.”

“We got a lot of that around here,” Martin mused, his gaze traveling toward the red brick two-story building of the Rockingham High that sat up on an impressive hill. “Kendra has quite a history, too.”

Kendra? Where was he going with this? Deuce waited for him to continue, as he would have if he’d been sitting across Principal Hatcher’s imposing desk, discussing his latest infraction.

“She went to Harvard, did you know that?” Martin asked.

“Yes.”

“Didn’t finish, though.”

“That seems a shame,” Deuce said. “She was real smart.” And kissed like a goddess, too.

“I only had a few Harvard-bound seniors in my twenty-five years at Rock High. So I remember every one.”

“Why didn’t she finish?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” he said, unlocking the door of an older model SUV. “And by the way, she’s still real smart.”

“I know.”

“And you still love baseball.”

Deuce grinned. “I’m not going to coach.”

The other man just laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat. “You spent a lot of time watching practice.”

That Hatchet Man. He was always an observant dude. “Nice to see you again, Mr…Martin.”

“I’ll stop in the bar sometime, Deuce. I heard you packed them in last night.”

“News travels fast around Rockingham.”

Martin nodded. “It sure does.”

Deuce closed the driver’s-side door and said goodbye, watching his old friend and nemesis drive away. Then he turned to the field and took one more deep breath of baseball.

But suddenly he really wanted to know why Kendra Locke had given up her dream, and why that one piece of news didn’t seem to travel like everything else around Rockingham.

CHAPTER SIX

FLAT ON HIS BACK, the cold dampness of the tile floor seeping through an old Yomuri Giants sweatshirt, Deuce swore softly as the broken nozzle of the soda spritzer slipped from his fingers and bounced on his chest. He’d been under the bar for half an hour and still didn’t have the damn thing working right.

Five days into his latest endeavor, and he was fixing his own equipment. At eight in the morning, no less. A decision he made the night before when the sprayer had malfunctioned. As much as he’d like to sleep after a late night running Monroe’s, he wanted to get in before any of the Internet café customers showed up.

Yeah. Right. He shook off a dribble of club soda that trickled onto his cheek and clamped his teeth tighter over the flashlight that shone on the unit.

Who the hell was he kidding? Cybersurfers didn’t care if the bar was being worked on while they shopped online and played medieval trading games.

He’d come in before the place opened because Kendra had made a science out of avoiding him. And Deuce didn’t want to be avoided any more.

But when he’d slipped in the back that morning, he’d heard voices raised in confrontation from behind the partially closed door to the office. He picked up Sophie’s complaints about an employee who was supposed to have done something regarding a software update, and Kendra’s calmly spoken instructions that Sophie take care of the problem.

Instead of interrupting, he’d gone straight to the bar and slid underneath to inspect the faulty spritzer. As he worked, he heard the sounds of the café opening up, and the ubiquitous smell of coffee being brewed.

He just about had the nozzle reinstalled when the coffee aroma was superseded by something light and spicy and pretty. Turning his head, his penlight lit a pair of high-heeled sandals a few feet from his face. His gaze slid up, up, up a long set of bare legs to a short skirt with a flippy hemline.

Man, there was something to be said for a view from the floor.

One of the cream-colored shoes tapped.

“Come on, Deuce,” Kendra whispered to herself. “Where did you hide the soda thingy?”

She shoved a few of the stainless-steel cocktail shakers to the side, and yanked at the hose that was connected to the nozzle in his hand. “What the heck’s the matter with this?”

She pulled harder, hand over hand toward the end of the hose…where she gasped as they came face to face.

“Oh my God! You scared me. What are you doing down there?”

The flashlight beam made another slow journey up her legs, stopping on a particularly sweet mid-thigh muscle. It flexed under his scrutiny.

“Adjusting my equipment,” he managed to say without unlocking his teeth. “And enjoying the show.”

She backed out of the beam. “I should step on you.”

That made him laugh and the flashlight fell out of his mouth. Slowly, he slid out from under the lower shelf and stood to his full height. She tried not to look at him, but failed.

He wiped at some grime on his jeans and held the sprayer toward her. “Soda, water or diet? They were getting all mixed into one messy flow last night.”

“Certainly didn’t affect the cash flow.”

He grinned. “Oh, so you counted it already?”

Over the past week, they’d started an unspoken exchange. He locked the pouch in the drawer each night, and left the keys on Diana’s kitchen table. She picked up the keys early the next morning when she walked Newman, while Deuce was still asleep. When her day was over—always a few minutes after he arrived—she took the pouch to the bank and left the keys on the desk for him. All the while, she managed to avoid spending any significant amount of time with him.

“As a matter of fact, I have a meeting with the architect in a few minutes,” she told him. “I was planning to make a cash drop at the bank on my way.”

“Oh, that’s why you’re dressed up?” He took another leisurely gaze over a silk blouse buttoned just high enough to make him want to…unbutton it. “I thought it was to impress me.”

“I don’t imagine a skirt and blouse are too impressive to you.”

He shrugged. “You look nice. But I’m kind of partial to leather.”

She rolled her eyes and opened her right palm to reveal two pills. “You’re not helping my headache.”

He retrieved a clean glass, filled it with water and handed it to her. As she put the pills in her mouth, he said, “Don’t blame me. I heard you fighting with Sophie.”

Her eyes popped open, but she managed to get the aspirin down. “I wasn’t fighting with her,” she denied hotly after she’d swallowed. “We were just working out some issues.”

“Sounded like she wasn’t happy.”

She sighed softly and spilled the remaining water in the sink, her gaze moving across to the computer area where Sophie worked at a terminal. “She’s not.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Just some coworker issues.” She settled a sincere blue gaze on him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, maybe I can help,” he offered. “I know a little about teamwork.”

She regarded him for a minute, an internal battle whether or not to confide in him waged over her expression. “She just has some problems with newer employees,” she finally said. “Not everyone is quite as competent as she is and, well, she tends to let them know it.”

“Like the veteran and the rookies.”

She looked questioningly at him, then smiled. “Not all of life can be equated to baseball.”

“Yes it can,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you put her in charge of training?”

“Training?”

“Give her responsibility for their success. Coaches do that all the time in the spring when they’re trying to build cohesion between the old, seasoned guys who know everything and the hotshots up from the minors who think they know everything.”

She glanced at Sophie, then back at him. “What do they do, exactly?”

“If you give her the job of training them, and tie their success to hers, she might be more prone to want them to succeed.”

“She does want them to succeed,” she countered. “She also wants everyone to be as good as she is. With the computers, with the customers, with everything. And some of these kids are just out of college.”

“Precisely.” He glided the sprayer hose back into place and twisted a faucet to wash his hands. “But make her feel like their accomplishments reflect her skills. Trust me. It’ll work.”

She said nothing as he soaped and rinsed his hands, then gave him that gut-tightening smile. The real one. The one where she let down her guard. “Thanks for the advice. Now what are you doing here at this hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t seem to get you alone for five minutes.”

“I’m busy.” She lifted a shoulder of indifference, but the cavalier act wasn’t working. She was avoiding him and they both knew it. “I’m busy. You work nights. I work days. And, by the way, you’re making my life complicated.”

He managed not to smile. “I am?”

“All this money, Deuce. How can I make a compelling argument to your father that we shouldn’t have a bar in here?”

“You can’t. That’s the idea. And look at this place.” He gestured toward the computer stations, many that were taken with busy patrons. “You’re not exactly losing money while I’m making it.”

She nodded. “As a matter of fact, café and Internet access revenues are up, too.”

“Good, then you won’t mind investing in a pizza oven.”

“A pizza oven?” She backed up to stare at him. “Now you want to turn this place into a pizzeria?”

He swept a hand toward the wall of booze behind him. “They drink, they have to eat. I did some research and pizza is a very high-profit item. Especially per slice.”

She looked dubious. “I don’t know.”

“You might be able to serve it in the afternoon, too.”

“With coffee?”

He winked. “It’s best with beer.”

“Deuce.” Her shoulders sank. “I’m on my way to meet with the architect and you are changing my business plan by the minute.”

“To the tune of a grand a night.”

“I know. I can count.” She put her fingertips to her temples and rubbed gently. His fingers itched to help alleviate the headache. “Let me think about the pizza oven and—”

“I’m just going to order it. I wanted to know if you have a particular supplier you use.”

“I do. Buddy McCrosson, over in Fall River. But I have to deal with him because he’s an old bag of wind and wouldn’t give you the best price.”

“Then you can come with me to pick it out.”

“I can’t, I have a new employee starting tomorrow—”

“Put Sophie in charge of your new employee.” He gave her a victorious smile. “And we’ll take a drive out to Fall River tomorrow.”

She shook her head, a flash of terror in her eyes. Was she afraid of the spontaneous change to her plans…or of being alone with him?

“Kendra,” he leaned lower. “We’re partners here.” He almost closed the space between her temple and his lips. Would a kiss on that aching spot make her feel better?

“We’re not partners,” she said stiffly, her eyes locked on his.

“But you can’t avoid me for the next four weeks.”

She closed her eyes as though his very proximity made her dizzy, sending a splash of satisfaction through him. He set his lips on the soft skin of her hairline and forehead and kissed. “I hope your headache goes away.”

“You are my headache,” she said softly. “You make my head throb.”

He laughed softly. “Great. We can work down from there.”

THERE WAS NO DOUBT Sophie loved the idea of creating a training manual and implementing it. She fairly danced out of Kendra’s office the next morning, and even held the door for Deuce who had been waiting outside. For how long, Kendra had no idea.

“So that went well, huh?” he asked, his dark eyes glimmering.

She hated to admit it, but he’d been right, and one good turn probably deserved another. “Thank you for your advice,” she told him. “I owe you one.”

“Great. I figure we can be in Fall River by noon, pick out the pizza oven of our dreams and kiss off the rest of the afternoon with an intimate beachside lunch.”

Intimate? Kiss? Dreams? She ignored the rush of anticipation that meandered from her heart through her stomach and settled way, way too low. “I owe you one, Deuce, not a day and lunch. Anyway, it won’t take two hours to get there. We can be home and back to work by one o’clock.”

“I need a pizza oven, sweetheart.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the disarray of papers and files on her desk. “And you need a break.”

That much was true. Seamus had called from San Francisco to tell her that a few of the meetings had gone so well that the investors needed some more data. She’d pulled that together, which was no mean feat considering she wasn’t working evenings. Blowing off the day with Deuce seemed both insane and inspired.

He leaned one impressive shoulder against the doorjamb and her gaze flickered over the taut fit of his navy-blue polo shirt, tucked into the narrow hips of a pair of khaki pants. He’d dressed nicely for their day trip. She’d worn jeans and a sweater—not fully believing he’d follow up on his threats to take her to Fall River. But here he was…looking…

“You going to stare at me for an hour or are we leaving?”

Stare. She blinked. “You’re imagining things. I’m just wondering what my restaurant supplier will think of you.” She made a showing of hunting for her bag. “I guess if he likes baseball, we’re in good shape.”

“No,” he said, his serious tone forcing her to look up. “Let’s just leave my former career out of it.”

She regarded him for a moment, the weight of her tote bag seeming as heavy as his voice. “Really?” She dropped the handle of the tote bag and just grabbed her purse. “That’s not like you.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he said with a laugh, levity back in place. “I even have one in the parking lot.”

In the kitchen she stopped to talk to Sophie and explain where they were going. Ignoring Sophie’s subtle raised eyebrow implying “isn’t this an interesting development?” she followed Deuce into the back lot, where his rented car had been replaced with a bright-red Mercedes two-seater…top down.

“Surprise,” he said. “I decided to upgrade.”

Her breath caught in her throat and all she could think about was the last time he took her out in a convertible. It was Seamus’s car and she didn’t remember the make, only that when he’d pushed the driver’s seat all the way back, she’d fit perfectly between his body and the steering wheel.

Heat lightning flashed through her veins at the memory.

“I thought it would be nice since we’ll take Highway 28 over to the south shore,” Deuce said.

It took her a moment to erase the memory of his rock-hard body and soul-melting kisses to process what he’d just said. “The beach road? That’ll take forever. Route 6 is much faster.”

“What’s your rush?” He opened the passenger door and indicated for her to climb in. “I thought it would be fun to see the beaches. I haven’t been to some of those places in…years.”

Oh, this was a bad idea. A joyride along the beach—that beach—in a convertible with Deuce. How did this happen? She had been so adept at avoiding him and now she was walking right into hell on four wheels.

Or was it heaven?

In the side-view mirror, she saw him study her backside as she slipped into the deep-red leather, already warmed from the sun. His gaze lingered just long enough for her to glance over her shoulder and burn him with a warning glare.

He made no attempt to look away. Instead, his scrutiny burned hotter than the leather against her body. “You always did do justice to a pair of jeans, Kendra.”

Oh, hell. It was heaven.

DID DEUCE DELIBERATELY slow down as they passed the dunes of West Rock Beach? Did he even remember that this was the beach…their beach? Or was Kendra the only one who nurtured those memories?

In nine years, she’d never returned to West Rock Beach.

She battled the urge to look to her left, to look at the sandy backdrop and the few reeds of tall grass, and at the man who sat next to her.

“Tell me something, Ken-doll.” The serious tone made her stomach drop. “Do you think of me when you pass this spot?”

She leaned her head back and let the sun stream over her face. “Why would I do that?”

Laughing, he accelerated and pulled the gearshift into fourth, his knuckles just grazing the worn denim of her jeans. “You are bound and determined not to talk about it, aren’t you?”

Oh, God. “Correct.”

“You think if we just act like it never happened, then we can pretend it didn’t, don’t you?”

“Correct again.”

She opened her eyes to find his gaze locked on her. “It did happen, Kendra. And I want to talk about it.”

“Watch the road,” she warned. “And I don’t.”

A truck rumbled by in the other direction, forcing blessed silence. Did he really want to do this? To what end?

“You’re mad because I never called.”

She snorted softly. “Ya think?”

His hand slid from the gearshift to her leg, his powerful palm and fingers covering half of her thigh and sending a wicked shot of excitement straight through her. She eased right out of his touch, earning a look from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She brushed her leg as though she could erase the impact of his fingertips. Yeah, right. “It’s okay.”

The wind off the waters of Nantucket Sound whipped her hair across her face, and she left it there, letting it hide the expressions that might give away her real feelings.

Wanting Deuce was so fundamental to her. It was like breathing.

Damn it all, nothing had changed. It was as if nearly a decade hadn’t passed. As if he’d come home a month after they’d shared every intimacy, and picked up without missing a beat. And her stupid, foolish girl’s heart was ready to just open up again.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked, breaking the quiet of her thoughts.

“You’re forgiven for not calling,” she said quietly. Maybe if she let him off the hook, he’d back away.

“You’re not lying?”

She shook her head. “I would never lie.” But she didn’t exactly want the whole truth out there for discussion, either.

For what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t speak. Eventually, she flipped the lock of hair off her face, using it as an excuse to glance his way. His jaw was locked tight, his eyes, behind his own sunglasses, were narrowed in deep thought.

“Then I’ll tell you the truth,” he said.

She waited while he collected his thoughts, and passed a pickup truck.

“I had to cut off everything that was Rockingham,” he finally said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him over the wind and the engine of the Ford F-150 he’d just blown around.

“Why?”

“Because…” he shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips. No act of nature could get her to look away as she studied his serious expression. Serious…and beautiful. It still hurt to look at him.

He barreled the car forward right up to the rear bumper of a minivan, then ripped into the other lane, floored it, and whizzed by the poor young woman in the driver’s seat. He lowered his speed back to the limit and sucked in a breath.

“Without my mother to run interference…” He spoke slowly, candor softening his voice. “I couldn’t handle my dad. Without my mother… I just missed her too much. I couldn’t come back.”

Seamus could be overbearing. Way beyond overbearing where Deuce was concerned. “I understand that.” But why the hell didn’t you call to tell me? Years of training herself not to reveal her true feelings to Deuce kept her from asking the question. Maybe that was foolish, maybe that was just chicken. But that was the only way she knew how to handle him.

The one time she had admitted her feelings…

“And if I couldn’t come back…” he continued, “what was the use of calling you?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Common decency? A lifelong acquaintance? Acknowledgement of…” The baby I carried. “…my feelings?”

“I’m really sorry, Kendra.” He swallowed hard enough for his voice to crack. Her heart did the same. “It was a shitty thing to do.”

This time she patted his leg. “Forget about it, Deuce. I forgot about it a long time ago.” Liar, liar, liar.

“So why’d you leave Harvard?”

The question was so unexpected it practically took her breath away. “I lost my scholarship and couldn’t afford to finish.” That was the God’s truth.

He shot her a look of pure disbelief. “You had almost a full ride. How’d you lose it?”

“My grades went in the toilet.” Along with most breakfasts those few months.

Traffic forced his gaze back to the road. “What happened? You were an A student. A genius. I remember that.”

Yeah, a genius who didn’t use birth control. She repositioned herself in the bucket seat. “I screwed up, Deuce. It happens all the time. Or did you forget about the racing incident that landed you here?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Not that you’d let me.”