As Bad As Can Be

Mallory gave a soft laugh of delight. His arousal was an aphrodisiac, and a sudden frenzy of desire tore through her. She wanted to know how he felt inside her, how his body convulsed at orgasm. She wanted to feel him hard in her hand, in her mouth. Hastily she fumbled for his zipper.

Heat raced through him. There was no room for practicality, only for the rush of sensation from her mouth, the warmth of her hand through the denim of his jeans. In the bar overhead, someone began whooping. Then he felt the tug, heard the growl of his zipper. He could tell himself to quit all he wanted to, but his hands still slid over her curves to find the hem of her skirt. “This isn’t smart,” he said, “we’re in public.”

“Not at all,” she said, running her tongue along his neck. “I know for a fact this is private property.”

Shay ran a hand up under her skirt, moving between her thighs to find her already wet. “What’s your boss going to say about you disappearing?” he managed, the slippery evidence of her arousal making his head pound. Feverishly he wondered what it would feel like to be inside her, to have her hot and wet beneath him.

“Don’t you worry about the boss,” she said breathlessly, her gasps catching as his fingers began to slide against her.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he said raggedly, as her clever fingers searched him out and wrapped around him.

Mallory laughed deep in her throat. “Trust me, I know she’d approve.”

Then he felt her begin to stroke and he groaned, abandoning his attempts at control in the face of the delicious friction, the tantalizing touch. He pushed her back against the wall of kegs and kissed her hard.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed open.

“Mallory, get up here quick. We’ve got a fight,” someone yelled down.

They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“The bar. Oh my God.” She broke away and lunged past him, rounding the banister and heading up the stairs.

Mallory, Shay thought dazedly, zipping up his pants. They’d called her Mallory. Mallory was Dev’s sister’s name.

Which meant she was Dev’s sister.

Shouts filtered in from the barroom, the sounds of a fracas underway. The noises galvanized him and he ran up the stairs. Whatever was going on, another pair of hands would surely help. He wasn’t much for fighting, but in his years of bartending, he’d learned a few nasty tricks that were useful for dealing with rowdies.

As it turned out, his help wasn’t necessary. By the time he’d ducked out from behind the bar, the bouncers had grabbed the fighters in painful come-along holds and were leading them out the door. No obvious damage had been done, aside from a stool or two overturned. The rest of the patrons were milling around. The redhead jumped on the bar and began to dance, working to bring the energy of the room back up. Slowly people filtered back toward the bar, but the crowed was smaller than before.

Shay saw Mallory in a corner, talking sympathetically to a weeping girl, and he was abruptly furious at himself. Dammit, he’d been the worst kind of idiot. One minute he’d been sitting in the bar checking it out, trying to figure out what to tell Dev. The next, he’d seen Mallory and she’d driven all thought and responsibility out of his head. He’d gone from chatting her up to groping her in the cellar. He could say he’d gone down to help her, but deep down he knew it was because he wanted to be near her. Needed to be near her. And now he, who always prided himself on being the responsible, trustworthy guy, had wound up almost doing the sister of one of his best friends.

He saw Mallory holding the girl’s hands and talking to her soothingly. Just for a moment, the purity of Mallory’s profile stopped his heart. He didn’t date often. His responsibilities more or less precluded it, but it also wasn’t often that a woman captured his interest. All Mallory had had to do was walk into his line of sight. It wasn’t just the face, although admittedly, that had gotten his attention first. It was the intelligence and humor that sealed the deal.

And of course the physical stuff.

That was history now, he thought, slipping unobtrusively out the door. He was going to be smart and stay away. If Dev wanted his input, he’d give it, but that was all. He was going to keep a healthy distance from Ms. Mallory Carson. Certain things were unforgivable, and one of them was sleeping with a friend’s little sister, he thought, as an image of his own sister, Shana, rose in his mind. Especially when you were supposed to be watching out for her.

Out on the sidewalk, Shay shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the ache in his belly. Just for a moment there, she’d had him. Despite his best resolutions, he wouldn’t have been able to stop for his life. The interruption had saved him from doing something he’d really have been sorry for. Walking away had been the easy part. Convincing his body that the time for fun and games was past was a little tougher.

Nice behavior for a local businessman, he thought sourly. Yeah, he’d really make points at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting if word got around that he was entertaining young ladies in backrooms.

Not a young lady, he corrected himself. A woman.

A woman who was going to be on his mind possibly for the rest of his life.

“NIGHT, MAL. SEE YOU tomorrow.”

“See you,” Mallory echoed, locking the door behind the departing Belinda. The lights were on, the harsh illumination giving the bar a very different feel from the intimacy of the night. Scars on the wood and floor showed up, as well as the odd spill. She made a face. Thank heaven for Doug the magical custodian. Cleaning and restocking the bar was one thing—in its own way, it was sort of soothing. However, the idea of facing the men’s room after a night of rowdy drinkers was enough to make her shudder.

She went behind the bar and began checking the bottles of liquor, refilling them when necessary, or bringing out spares for the shelf. Truth be told, she was glad of something to do. Even though hours had gone by since her interlude with the stranger, she was still restless, distracted.

He’d walked away on her. They’d been on the verge of having each other right then and there, and he’d walked away like it was nothing. She shook her head like a dog shaking off water. That wasn’t the way it went in her world. Men didn’t walk away from her. She did the walking away. The one thing she’d learned before she’d even learned to read was that the one who could walk away held the power. The lesson had been branded into her consciousness. She’d learned it and remembered it, and she’d gotten very, very good at it.

The hell of it was, her body still wanted him.

She found herself staring into space and shook her head to clear it. Enough, he was gone, she’d never see him again, and that was that, she thought irritably.

All things considered, she was probably lucky they’d been interrupted. She was a business owner and she had better things to do than make out with strangers in her basement. It wouldn’t do much for her authority over her staff if they came across her and some customer, especially since she’d always decreed that customers were hands-off. Sure, there might have been times in the past, but no more. Certainly not with a guy who’d just walk away like she was nothing. Not that she was, of course. She was the one in charge. That was how it went.

The door to the cellar opened and Randy, her behind-the-bar gofer, came out wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay, I’ve stocked the cold room. There are a couple of spare kegs for every line.”

She nodded and fixed him with a stare before going back to stacking tequila bottles on the shelf in back of the bar. “So where were you tonight just before the fight? One of the kegs ran out and I needed you.”

He shuffled his feet and looked down bashfully. “Sorry, I was out back having a cigarette.”

“I thought you were going to quit.”

He reddened. “One more night. I figure I’ll start tomorrow.”

It was his problem, she told herself, resisting the urge to lecture him. “Whatever. Just keep it to your breaks, Randy, especially on Saturday night. You know how busy we get.”

“I know,” he said, grabbing bottles of bourbon to put on the shelf. “I’m sorry. I saw Shay head down to help you, though, and I figured he could handle things and Benny gave me the high sign to come over and help with those idiots who were fighting, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She raised one hand. “Stop just a second. Who did you say went down to help?”

“Shay O’Connor.”

“Shay O’Connor,” she repeated. “I know that name.”

“Probably so. He’s the guy that runs O’Connor’s.” He looked at her quizzically. “I thought you knew him.”

The burst of anger shocked her. Mallory drew in a breath and worked to stay calm. So the sexy stranger she’d thought was a customer was actually a fellow bar owner from just a few blocks over. She eyed Randy. “You think he was checking out the competition?”

“I guess,” Randy said thoughtfully. “I don’t know, he’s supposed to be a stand-up guy, but that doesn’t mean he has to be dumb. I mean, the place has been drawing a crowd. Makes sense that people are getting curious. You should take it as a compliment.”

Take what as a compliment, that he’d conned her? That he’d gotten himself a discreet look around by playing grab ass downstairs? That he’d walked away and left her? “A compliment, yeah. I’ll try to remember that.” Mallory glanced away. “Look, we’re about done here,” she said abruptly. “Why don’t you head out?”

“Okay.” He rounded the bar and walked toward the door, then stopped. “Hey listen, I’m sorry about sneaking a butt. It won’t happen again.”

“Right. Now go home and get some sleep.” She had a much bigger problem than Randy’s smoking habit, Mallory reflected as she closed up the back of the bar and got her keys. What was Shay O’Connor doing checking out her bar on the quiet? It would have been one thing if he’d introduced himself. The fact that he hadn’t made her wonder just what he was up to.

Someone was playing games, and it wasn’t her.

Yet.

4

MALLORY SAT AT HER KITCHEN table, sipping at a mug of coffee with the newspaper spread open in front of her. She’d taken care of her first Sunday priority—the funny papers—over toast. Now she was on to part two—the New York Times crossword. Staring at the puzzle, she nibbled on the end of her pen before her eyes brightened and she filled in an answer.

Across the room, the answering machine clicked and began to whirr.

Mallory had long ago decided that just because a phone rang, there was no reason she had to answer it. It hadn’t taken her much more time to graduate to turning off the ringer. Now, she was blissfully unaware of a caller on the line until her machine went off, which was fine with her. She had one or two friends who considered her antisocial; she just considered herself efficient.

The machine gave a long beep. “Mal, are you there?” Dev’s voice came out of the tiny speaker. “Pick up the phone. I know you’re—”

She loped over to grab the receiver. “Hey.”

“Why do you make me listen to that stupid message every time?” he asked aggrievedly.

“You know why. It helps me avoid telemarketers.”

“Not to mention other people you don’t want to talk to.”

She permitted herself a smile. “That, too. Anyway, I keep telling you, hit the star key and you don’t have to listen to the message.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what are you up to?”

“Working on the crossword. What’s a six-letter term for a group of crows?”

“Don’t you ever read the news?”

She took a gulp of coffee. “Sure, on weekdays. Sunday’s my official day off from world chaos. So how’s Melissa?”

Dev blew out a breath. “She’s fine now but after you called yesterday, she lit into me as soon as she saw I was hung over. Picked a fight and got nasty.” His tone turned grim. “She saw my wallet on the dresser and said I should take her to her favorite stores to make it up to her.”

“Oh, real nice,” Mallory said sarcastically. “You ask me, big brother, it’s time to walk.”

“Yeah, well.” She could hear a rapid thudding that sounded like he was drumming his fingers. “It ticked me off. As soon as she saw it, she apologized and it was like she was fine. She made breakfast, told me about her day, gave me an ice pack for my head.”

Mallory frowned. “And that’s supposed to make it all better?” It brought out her protective side. Family took care of its own. “Dev, it’s not like getting married is going to change things. You guys are having problems. If things don’t work right now, they’re not going to later.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s great.”

“Yeah, well, is there anything I can do? Do you want to take a break and come up for a visit?”

“Thanks, but it’s my problem and I’m the one who’s got to deal with it. That wasn’t why I called, though.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s up?”

“Well…” He hesitated. “I was thinking about the bar, after we talked yesterday. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. It bugs me that I’m not around to help you deal with it.”

“I knew what I was getting into,” she said lightly. “I don’t mind going it alone.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

A shudder of trepidation ghosted over her. “Why do I not like the sound of this?”

“Remember I told you about a friend of mine in Newport who runs a bar?”

“Yes, and remember, I told you I didn’t want help.”

“Just listen to me. He’s got a bar of his own. I’ve asked him to look in on you, see how things are.”

“No!” Mallory said sharply. “This is my show, Dev. I can do this alone. I’ve been running bars for other people for eight years.”

“Relax, he’s not going to run things, okay? But he grew up in Newport, his family’s had a pub there for about sixty years. I think he’s worth listening to.”

“I thought you were going to be hands-off and let me run things. Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked, her voice bitter.

“Look,” he said gently, “we both know you had a rough start.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, I know you told me. But yesterday it sounded like you had something up your sleeve you didn’t want me to know about.”

“Dev, I was just teasing you.”

“Yeah right.” His tone clearly said he wasn’t buying it. “Mal, we both know you have this problem with playing by the rules. And that’s fine if you can get away with it. But you can’t always do that, particularly when it’s your ass and my money on the line. I just want Shay to weigh in before you get us both in trouble.”

There was a sudden roaring in her ears. “Shay?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah, Shay O’Connor. His family owns a pub called O’Connor’s. Maybe you’ve been there.”

Calm, she told herself. The important thing was to keep calm. “I know it. Has your friend by any chance been to Bad Reputation yet?”

“Sure. He stuck his head in last night.”

Damn his eyes, she thought, incensed. He’d flirted with her, come on to her, never once letting her know why he was there. The sudden memory of the heat of his mouth swamped her. She thought of the feel of his hard cock in her hand and a thin thread of arousal twisted through her, despite the wrath and mortification. “What the hell does he think he’s doing, walking around my place like some kind of mystery shopper,” she burst out in fury.

“I asked him to,” Dev interjected before she could say more. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t doing something we’d both be sorry for.” He paused. “Girls dancing on the bar, Mal? Come on, use some judgment.”

“Dammit, Dev, it’s not like they’re stripping or anything,” she said hotly. “I didn’t plan it. But the important thing is that it’s working. The place was packed last night.”

“Yeah, Shay said you also had a fight.”

“Like that’s so unusual in a bar? Sounds like our Mr. O’Connor’s done entirely too much talking all together,” she said cuttingly. “And did he tell you anything else?” Like we were five seconds from getting naked?

“There’s more? Mal, this was supposed to be a bar, not a club with dancing girls,” he said disgustedly. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be concerned if you were in my shoes?”

His words cooled the anger to hurt. “Don’t you trust me, Dev?”

“You know I do.” His voice softened. “I think you’re the best. But maybe we both bit off a little bit more than you could chew this time.”

“I can make this work, I know I can,” she said desperately.

“If you were in a leaky boat surrounded by sharks, you’d still be too stubborn to call for help. I want Shay in there. That way I won’t have to wonder. I’ll know.”

She stared at the phone. “Is this an ultimatum?”

“Mal, it’s not about ultimatums. Just consider him my stand-in. I can’t be around so I’m drafting him to do it for me. He’s going to offer advice, that’s all. Just go talk to him.”

Oh, yes, she thought, she’d talk with him all right. She’d give Shay O’Connor a talking to he’d never forget. “Fine,” she said shortly. “If that’s the way you want it, fine.”

“It’s only for a little while, just till things get rolling.”

“Right.”

“Good.” He waited a moment. “And the six-letter term for a group of crows is a murder.”

SHAY WIPED THE DARK WOOD of the long bar that ran across the back of O’Connor’s and stared moodily out at the crowded pub. Sunday brunch at O’Connor’s was a Newport tradition. People came at noon with their newspapers and sat down to an Irish breakfast, or a Sunday lunch of roast beef and potatoes. All morning he’d been pouring Bloody Marys, Irish coffees and ale to go with it.

Keeping his hands busy hadn’t kept his mind off of his behavior the night before, though. Memories of his colossal blunder still paraded through his head. He liked to think of himself as intelligent, as respectable, as deliberate.

Instead he’d found himself in the middle of an x-rated clinch in the basement of a local bar with a woman whose name he hadn’t even known. A woman who just happened to be the person he was supposed to be there to watch out for.

It hadn’t helped that he’d talked with Dev that morning, blindingly conscious of the fact that he’d gone where no man should ever go with a buddy’s sister. That thought had almost drowned out the fusillade of questions. “How is the bar? How’s the traffic? What is she up to? Is it legal?” Dev’s voice, first filled with anxiety, was then overlaid with relief that Shay was looking out for things. “Is she getting herself in trouble? Is she doing a good job?”

Not nearly as good as the job she almost did on me, Dev old boy. Shay threw his bar rag into the sink with sudden violence. If there was a feeling more unpleasant than that of letting down a friend, he didn’t know what it was. It was rare that he did anything he was sorry for. Maybe he was living too quietly, though, given that the previous night he’d been ready enough to walk into a bar and try to take one of the employees in the basement. No matter how much said employee might have encouraged it, ultimately, he was the one to blame.

“A bleak face you’ve got yourself there, Shay,” Fiona said, setting her tray on the bar. “You best watch out, or you’ll send all these nice, thirsty brunchers running for the door. Two Harp and a Guinness, by the way.”

He started the Guinness and put a second glass under the ale tap.

“What’s put you under such a black cloud, then?” she asked, taking no notice of the fact that he obviously didn’t want to chat.

“What?” He gave her an absent look.

“Why are you in such a mood?” She studied him with a little frown of concern.

“Just galloping regrets.” He gave a shrug, setting the first Bass on her tray. “No big deal.”

“Ah,” she said as though sliding into familiar territory. “Regrets for something you did or for something you didn’t do?”

He finished the second ale. “Something I did.”

“That’s the best sort to have, if you’re having them at all. Better to be sorry that you got out and lived than sorry that you never took the chance, if you get my meaning.”

“Turning into a philosopher, Fee?” Colin asked as he walked up behind her to tug on her long red braid before ducking under the walkthrough into the bar.

“I believe I was talking with your brother, not your troublesome self,” she said tartly.

“I don’t believe in regrets,” Colin said, ignoring her comment. “There’s no point in them. You can learn from mistakes, but it’s everything you’ve done that’s made you who you are, so it’s sort of pointless to be sorry for any of it.”

“Now who’s turning into a philosopher,” Fiona jibed, raising a brow at him. “Are you after putting that into a song?”

Colin stared at her a moment and his eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea.” He seized a napkin and scratched out a few lines then looked up. “So what’s all this talk of regrets? Did you try to get a job as a dancing girl and get turned down?”

Fiona gave him a frosty look. “I’m regretting that I wound up getting a job here with a man who devils me all the time, that’s what I’m regretting.”

“Oh, you’d miss it if I didn’t devil you, Fee,” Colin said with a crooked grin.

“Has your brother always had such an imagination, Shay?” Fiona asked, picking up her laden tray and walking away with a toss of her head.

“You shouldn’t tease her so much,” Shay said, watching her go.

“What?” Colin wrinkled his brow. “It’s just joking around. She can handle it.”

“She’s an employee, Colin.”

“Yeah, right. So what’s put you in such a good mood? Did you have a few too many at the bar last night and wake up in bed with a looker whose name you couldn’t remember?” He tied on his apron. “How was the new bar, anyway? I was thinking I might stop in and check it out.”

But Shay didn’t answer. He was staring at the door and the woman who’d just walked in.

Or stalked, more accurately, like a tiger after prey. Fury shouted from every rigid line of her body. Two spots of color burned high on her cheeks.

When he’d been lying in his bed the night before, searching for the sleep that refused to come, he’d told himself that she couldn’t be as beautiful as he remembered. He’d told himself that her smooth, flawless skin, her haunting cheekbones were just tricks of the light. Her mouth couldn’t have been such a delectable curve of humor and sensuality.

He’d been wrong.

He’d been wrong in so many ways, he thought in irritation, fighting to push down the memory of the heat of her body against him. A face and luscious body alone weren’t justification enough to make a man toss aside the habits of a lifetime. He’d had no business putting his hands on her, whether she was Dev’s sister or not. The fact that she actually happened to be Dev’s sister just made it all the worse. That morning on the phone, he’d done his best to duck out of any further involvement, but Dev wouldn’t hear of it.

“She’s my sister, man. I’m asking you, just keep an eye on her, keep her from getting too far out on a limb. I’d do it for you,” he’d wheedled, and Shay had relented, knowing Dev spoke the truth. Now, as Shay watched Mallory come toward him, he felt that unholy clutch in his gut that had him thinking once, only, and always of sex. But the night before had been the end of it. Dev’s sister was off-limits.

Period.

Mallory approached where he stood by the walkthrough, her stare unwavering as she came to a stop in front of him.

“Hello,” he offered.

Her face was unsmiling, unpainted, and as gorgeous as he’d ever seen on a living, breathing woman. “I’d say it’s time we introduced ourselves. Mallory Carson,” she said without extending her hand.

“Shay O’Connor.” Something in her cocky, go-to-hell stance needled him even as the whispers of her husky velvet voice shivered through him.

“So I’ve heard. It would have been nice to know that last night. What I want to know now is, where in the hell you get off coming into my bar and playing secret investigator, so you can carry tales back to my brother?” Her voice rose with each word.