Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Roxanne St Claire

“Are you serious about this?” Seamus asked his son. “Are you absolutely committed or are you just screwing around here until some better job offer comes along?”

  “I’m dead serious, Dad.”

  Well. There went that dream.

  “And you aren’t serious very often,” Seamus said with a soft laugh of understatement. “I guess this is something for me to consider.”

  “I came home to run the bar,” Deuce said, his baritone voice oddly soft. “I can’t play ball. I don’t want to coach. I’m not interested in TV or business or anything else I can think of. I want to be home, Dad. I want to run Monroe’s. I want to buy it outright, to free you from the day-to-day operations.” He looked at Kendra. “Of course, I didn’t know you’d already had such great help. I’m sure we can work something out. That is,” he looked back at his father, his face sincere, “if you’ll consider me.”

  Without a word, Kendra started to scoop up graphs and presentation pages. She’d have to take her idea elsewhere. It was still viable. She’d figure something out.

  She’d spent every dime to buy out half of Seamus’s business, but she’d been in worse places before. Worse financial, emotional and physical places. She would survive. She always did.

  “What are you doing, Kennie?” Seamus’s sharp tone stopped her cold.

  “We don’t need to go through this presentation. Not now, anyway,” she said, wishing like mad that she’d driven her own car so she could escape.

  She looked up to see a pained expression in the older man’s eyes. They’d never discussed it, but in that moment, that look in his eyes confirmed what she’d always suspected. He knew who’d put an end to Harvard for her. He knew.

  “Not so fast,” Seamus said.

  Could that mean he wasn’t sure yet?

  “Well, until you decide what to do…” She continued to gather papers, and Deuce reached forward to help, his arm brushing hers. She jerked away from him and cursed the reaction to the most casual touch.

  Her mouth went bone-dry, and she realized with a sickening horror that a huge lump had formed in her throat. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stand.

  “I’m going to get something at home,” she managed to say. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where’s home?” Deuce asked.

  “Kendra lives in the guest house on the beach,” Diana Lynn said. “Go ahead, dear. We’ll be here.”

  Kendra shot her a grateful look. No doubt she’d picked up the near-tears vibe.

  “Why don’t you walk over there with her, Deuce?” Seamus asked. Clearly he had not picked up that same vibe. “I need a few minutes alone with Diana.”

  Kendra resisted the urge to spear Seamus with a dirty look. Couldn’t she get a break today? But Deuce stood and gestured toward the door. “Show me the way,” he said.

  Kendra stole one more pleading look at Diana, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Go, her eyes said. Let me talk to him.

  “All right,” Kendra said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Take your time,” Seamus responded. “We have some serious thinking to do here.”

  But Kendra knew that, for Seamus, there was no thinking where Deuce was involved. The old Irishman ran on pure heart, and nothing filled his heart more than the love for his son. No matter how many errors—on the field or in judgment—Deuce made. He was Seamus’s weakness.

  And how could she blame him? He’d been her weakness, too.

  Without another word, she headed toward the sliding door, with Deuce behind her, and Newman at his heels.

  She’d barely stepped into the sunshine when Deuce leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Your whole life, huh? That’s some wicked crush.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  KENDRA NEVER MISSED a beat. At his comment, she reached down for the little brown-and-white dog, who leaped into her arms.

  “Do you hear anything, Newman? I don’t hear anything.”

  Newman barked and nuzzled into her neck. And licked her.

  Lucky puppy.

  “Oh, you’re ignoring me?” Deuce asked with a laugh as he trotted down a set of wooden steps to catch up with her. “That’s really mature.”

  “This from the poster boy of maturity.” She set the dog down when they reached a stone path that paralleled the beach. “Or have you stopped setting firecrackers inside basketballs in the teachers’ parking lot?”

  He chuckled. “That was your brother’s idea. Anyway, I’ve grown up.”

  “Oh, yes. I noticed in all the coverage about that racing stunt just how much you’ve grown up.”

  He considered a few comebacks, but there was nothing to combat the truth.

  “Well, you certainly have,” he said. At her confused look, he added, “Grown up, that is.”

  Her face softened momentarily, but then she squared her shoulders and she strode toward the house. He couldn’t help smiling. Torturing Jack’s little sister had always been fun. Even when she was ten and scrawny and folded into giggles, and tears. But it was even more fun now, when she was not ten and scrawny, but older and curvy.

  “I live right here,” she announced as they neared a gray shake-covered beach cottage at the end of the path. “You can come in, or, if you prefer, go down to the water and gaze at your reflection for a while.”

  He snorted at the comment. “I’ll come in. Cute place. How long have you lived here?”

  “About a year and a half. After Diana finished renovating the property, I was her first renter.” She gave him a smug smile. “I introduced her to Seamus.”

  “I can’t believe he’s never even told me he was involved with someone.”

  “It’s not like you actually talked to him a whole lot in the past year.”

  Past decade, is what she meant, and he knew it. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but I have been pretty busy playing ball.”

  “From October to March?”

  “I played in Japan.”

  “The season you were out injured for four weeks?”

  She knew that? “I was in physical therapy every day.”

  “During All Star breaks?” She moved ahead of him as they reached the back door, tugging a set of keys from her pocket. “Every single minute, you were busy?”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I? And you don’t seem too happy about it.”

  She spun around to face him and pointed a key toward his chest. “Do you really expect me to jump for joy because you imploded your own career and now you want to come and horn in on mine?”

  “I didn’t know about this Internet café stuff. Dad never mentioned it, he never mentioned a—a girlfriend, and he never mentioned you.”

  She stared at him for a minute, no doubt a thousand smart-aleck retorts spinning through her head. Instead she snapped her fingers to call the dog who’d meandered toward the beach, and pivoted back to the door.

  Which gave him a really nice view of her hips and backside in worn jeans.

  A flash of those taut legs wrapped around him on a blanket in the sand danced through his mind. She’d worn jeans that night, too. He remembered sliding down her zipper, dipping his hand into her soft, feminine flesh, then peeling the denim down her legs.

  A rush of blood through his body didn’t surprise him. In the years that had passed, he’d never remembered that night without a natural, instinctive and powerful response. For some reason, that sandy, sexy encounter had never felt like a one-night stand. Probably because it involved a girl who he should have been able to resist—his best friend’s little sister.

  “Look,” he said, stabbing his hands in his pants pockets, which really just helped him resist the urge to reach out and touch her. “I had no idea things had changed this much, or that you and Dad had plans for something entirely different.”

  “Well, we do.” She entered the house and held the door for him.

  He followed her, but his mind was whirring. Was he expected to ba
ck off the bar entirely? His family name was still on the door, damn it. The only name that ever had been on that particular door, with or without capital letters.

  “Maybe there’s a compromise somewhere,” he suggested. “Maybe we could keep a few computers in one corner of the bar—you know, for the people who aren’t watching games? And you could find some nearby property for your gallery or whatever.”

  Instead of brightening, her scowl deepened. She opened her mouth to say something, then slammed it shut again.

  “What?” he asked. “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing.”

  He dug his hands deeper. “You won’t even consider a compromise?”

  Inhaling unevenly, she closed her eyes. “I’ve already compromised enough where you’re concerned.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  She held up both hands as though to stop everything. “Never mind.” She turned away, toward a small hallway behind her. “Excuse me for a minute.”

  She turned to stalk down the hallway, but he seized her elbow in one quick grab. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing,” she spat the word, shaking him off. “Forget I said that.”

  He let her go.

  What had she compromised for him?

  In the tiny living room, he dropped onto a sofa and stared at the serene water of the Sound through a sliding glass door, remembering again the incredible night they’d spent together.

  He’d never forgotten that night. Maybe because he knew he shouldn’t have seduced Jack’s sister…but maybe because her response to him was so real and strong. So real, that he couldn’t understand where “compromise” came into play. There were two very, very consenting adults during that beach-blanket bingo.

  He’d come home after his mother had died of an aneurysm, too old at twenty-four to feel as though his mommy had left him, but brokenhearted anyway. Kendra had been about twenty, maybe twenty-one, and smack between her sophomore and junior years at Harvard. A business major, he recalled.

  He remembered how impressed he’d been—she was smart, and quick-witted, and had grown up into a complete knock-out. Even in the chaos and sadness of his mother’s passing, he’d noticed that Kendra Locke had spent every minute at the bar, calmly taking care of things he and his father were not even thinking about.

  His last night in town, he’d gone to the bar and ended up staying until it closed, drinking soda and watching Kendra work. That’s when he officially stopped thinking of her as Ken-doll.

  The name just wasn’t feminine enough for a woman that attractive. They’d talked and flirted. She made him laugh for the first time that week.

  When her shift ended, they’d gone for a ride. He still could remember pulling her toward him in his dad’s car and their first, heated kiss.

  He leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d felt guilty, and a little remorseful at seducing a girl he’d always considered a little sister. But she’d been willing.

  No, no. That was an understatement. She’d been more than willing. Sweet, tender and innocent, he remembered with a cringe. Certainly a virgin. Was that the compromise she’d made?

  Probably. And he’d been a world-class jerk for not calling afterwards. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten her. He just…couldn’t. He looked down the hallway expectantly. No wonder she still hated him. Especially now that she had what he wanted.

  He muttered a curse. Wasn’t it unspoken that he’d always be back? Sure it had happened a little sooner than they all thought, but Dad always knew it. Didn’t she realize that when she bought forty-nine percent—not fifty—of the bar that she was essentially buying into his inheritance?

  He heard her footsteps in the hall and looked up to see her walking toward him, looking as calm as the waters beyond the glass doors. Game face on.

  “How much time do you think we should give them?” she asked.

  “Not too much. Evidently, they get easily distracted by each other.”

  She laughed a little and put both hands on the backrest of a bentwood chair, her casual indifference back in place. “We can go back. I got what I needed.”

  “What was that?”

  “My wits.” She deepened those dimples with a disarming grin.

  Was she offering a truce? He was game. “I’m sure we’ll work something out.” He gave her a friendly wink. “You never know. I bet we work well together.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I bet we don’t.”

  “How can you say that?” He stood slowly, his gaze locked on her as he moved closer. “Don’t tell me you forgot—”

  “Newman!” She snapped her fingers in the air, a warning look flashing in those sky-blue eyes. The message was silent…but clear.

  There would be no discussing that night.

  The dog came tripping down the hallway with a bark, surprising Deuce by sidling up to his leg instead of that of the woman snapping for him.

  Kendra rolled her eyes as Newman rubbed Deuce’s pantleg.

  “He likes me,” Deuce noted.

  “He’s easily impressed. Let’s go back to Diana’s.”

  Laughing, he held the door for her. “I don’t know. Think the jury’s back already, Ken-doll?”

  “We’re about to find out, Seamus.”

  DIANA LOOKED HAPPIER than usual. Kendra noticed the diamond-like sparkle in her eyes, which usually meant she’d gotten what she wanted. Please God, let it be so. Diana would back Kendra and push Seamus to move on with their plans. She was always in favor of progress and change.

  As Diana puttered in the kitchen, straightening an already neat counter, Seamus sat on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and knuckles supporting his chin. He only moved his eyes, looking up as Kendra and Deuce entered the family room. Unlike his fiancée, Seamus looked anything but pleased with the turn of events.

  All of the papers and sketches had been neatly piled on the coffee table. Would those documents be making the trip into banks and venture-capital firms this week…or going home with Kendra?

  Kendra stood to one side, but Deuce took a seat across from his father. “So, Dad. Whad’ya think?”

  For a long moment, Seamus said nothing, staring first at Deuce, then at the papers on the table. Kendra’s throat tightened and she dared another look at Diana, who had paused in her counter-wiping and turned to watch the drama unfolding in her family room.

  “I think I have quite a dilemma.”

  No one said a word in response. Kendra willed her heart to slow, certain that the thumping could be heard in the silence. Even Newman lifted his head from the floor, his classic King Charles spaniel face looking expectantly at the humans around him.

  “Deuce, you need to understand something,” Seamus began. “This Internet café and artist’s gallery is something we’ve been working on for almost two years. I really like the idea of bringing Monroe’s into the next century.”

  Deuce leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Seamus silenced him with one look. Kendra wished she’d taken a seat when they walked in, because her legs felt shaky as she waited for Seamus’s next words.

  “And Kennie, you know that my father opened Monroe’s in 1933, the year I was born. He ran it until he died, more than thirty years later, in 1965. Then I took over, at—” he looked at Deuce “—thirty-three years of age.”

  Kendra bit her lip as she listened. Did Seamus see this as poetic justice? As history repeating itself? As some etched-in-stone prediction from on high? As the Monroe Man turneth thirty-three, so shall he inherit the bar.

  Sheez. Her gaze shifted to Deuce and she could have sworn his lip curled upward. Was he thinking the same thing? Or was he just so damn sure of himself that he could afford to be cocky?

  Instead of a snide remark, though, Deuce leaned forward again. “Dad,” he said, forcefully enough that he wouldn’t be stopped by his father’s glare. “Isn’t there some way we can compromise? Some way to keep Monroe’s in the family, as a bar, and find a
nother property for this…other stuff.”

  “That’s not feasible,” Kendra argued before Seamus could respond. “These blueprints have been drawn up by an architect—an expensive one, by the way—expressly for that property and the other buildings on the block.”

  “So use one of the other buildings,” Deuce countered.

  “We are. As soon as we rip out the bar altogether and push that whole wall fifty feet in another direction for an art gallery.”

  “An art gallery? In that space?” Deuce looked as though she’d suggested turning it into a nursery school. “That’s perfect for a pool hall and twenty TV screens, each tuned to a different football game on Sunday. They have these satellite dishes—”

  “Sunday? That’s one of our biggest days. We do so much Internet business—”

  “Not from football fans.”

  “You two need to work this out,” Seamus said.

  “Precisely!” Diana slammed her hands hard on the kitchen counter. Kendra, like the men and the dog, turned to stare at her. “You need to work side by side, together.”

  “What?” Kendra and Deuce responded in unison.

  “She’s right,” Seamus acknowledged. “I can’t make a choice without hurting someone I care about. We’ll go on our trip, and you two run the place together.”

  “What do you mean—together?” Deuce asked.

  Diana came around the breakfast bar into the family room, her gaze on Seamus, a shared, secret arcing between them, but Kendra had no idea what it was. “Why doesn’t Kendra run the Internet café in the day, and Deuce run the bar at night? Let the customers decide where and when they want to spend their money.”

  “Run a bar at night?” Kendra almost sputtered in shock. “And lose all my nighttime business?”

  “That’s been a tiny percentage of the profits,” Seamus responded. “You’ve been shutting down by nine o’clock lately.”

  “But it’s April now. The warm weather is starting, more tourists are coming.” She worked to modulate her voice, refusing to whine. “Those are the people who need Internet access, who bring their laptops so they can work on vacation.”