Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Roxanne St Claire

  Lit by the inside car light. Damn. If he’d left the top down, he’d never have seen those unbelievable words.

  Deuce’s baby would have been a girl.

  He’d frozen as the words slugged him. He’d read it twice. Felt the world slip sideways, then read on.

  I wish I didn’t know that, but the doctor told me. The hospital put her little body to rest today.

  He’d read more, but the first few sentences had singed his memory, where they would no doubt remain for the rest of his life.

  Stunned, he’d sat outside in the car and tried to process what those few sentences told him. She’d been pregnant, lost the child and had been far enough along to have a body to bury.

  And he’d never even known about it.

  He’d stumbled back in the house with the notebook, without a condom, but with more anger and shame and betrayal than he’d ever known.

  She pointed toward the hall. “I want to get dressed. Can you leave?”

  “No,” he said simply. “I want to talk about this.”

  “I just meant leave the room. We’ll talk.” She pulled the sheet up. “Fully clothed.”

  The fact that he’d just seen her naked, kissed her senseless, and nearly shared the most intimate of personal relations with her seemed moot. He grabbed his jeans and shirt, then stepped out into the hall, dressing quickly in the bathroom. When he came out, her bedroom door was closed.

  In the kitchen, he found coffee beans and a grinder. Questions, dozens of them, played in his head, as he went through the process of coffeemaking as he’d seen it done at Monroe’s.

  A baby.

  The impact still kicked him in the head and heart.

  And how had she handled that alone? How many people knew and didn’t tell him? How far along had she been before… He sat at the table and stared at nothing while the coffee brewed.

  God, why hadn’t she told him?

  He didn’t actually focus until Kendra entered the room. She’d put on sweat pants and a T-shirt, and her little bit of makeup was smudged under her eyes as though she’d cried, or at least rubbed her eyes.

  “I thought you hated coffee,” she said, opening a cabinet and pulling out a mug.

  “It seemed appropriate,” he responded. “I think we’re going to have a long night.”

  And not at all the kind of night he’d been envisioning an hour ago. The desire to climb on and in her still bubbled under the surface, pulling at him, making him feel guilty somehow. How could she have been willing to make love with that lie between them?

  “How do you take it?” she asked, pouring a second mug.

  “With whiskey.” At her look, he offered up an apologetic gesture. “Hey, I’m Irish. But I’m also a wuss, so give me lots of milk and sugar.”

  Her movements were spare as she made both cups the same, her hands shaking just a tiny bit, her breath still a little uneven.

  “You don’t want to have this conversation any more than I do,” he noted.

  She turned from the counter, eyes blazing again. “Don’t make this about you, Deuce.”

  “This is not about me,” he countered. “This is about…” My child. Loss gripped him. “This is about what I did and didn’t know.”

  As she settled into the chair across the table from him, she leaned her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her knuckles. Her eyes looked sad, her complexion pale.

  Not the fiery, sexy, hungry look he’d seen in the moonlight. Not the lover he’d had in bed. But a woman who’d experienced a great deal of pain.

  He swore softly, fighting the urge to reach across the table and apologize for being the one to put her through that. Instead, he reached down for the anger he’d felt before. He needed answers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She studied the coffee in her cup. “I just couldn’t.”

  “Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed but didn’t answer.

  “Were you sure…I was…the…”

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze and the expression “if looks could kill” reverberated in his head. “Don’t you dare go there,” she said, a cutting edge in her whisper.

  Then where could he go? “How far along were you, Kendra? Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  She inhaled and sighed. “I was just about seven months pregnant. Twenty-seven weeks, to be precise.”

  “And you had a miscarriage?”

  “A stillbirth.” She closed her eyes and took a deep swallow of coffee. When she looked at him, the pain in those blue eyes had turned to anguish. “I noticed that I hadn’t felt…her…kicking or hiccupping.”

  When her voice cracked, he gave into the need to touch her. Rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her hand, he urged her to continue.

  “I went to the doctor and…” she tried to shrug, but her shoulder shuddered instead. “Evidently, she got tangled in the umbilical cord.”

  He felt the air and life whoosh out of him. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded and blinked, but a tear fell anyway.

  “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there…for you.”

  “I handled it,” she said stiffly and he had no doubt she did.

  “Your parents? Jack?”

  She shook her head and took a swipe at that tear. “My parents moved to Florida. They were not happy with me. Jack was in New York.”

  “Then who took care of you?”

  With a tight smile, she said, “Seamus.”

  For a moment, he thought she meant him. Then the truth dawned on him. His father. His father had been there instead of him.

  “Does he know? That it was mine?”

  “Damn you, Deuce Monroe.” She shoved back from the table with a jerk so forceful and sudden, coffee splashed over their cup rims. “Have you ever, ever thought about anyone but yourself in your entire life?”

  He stood as she did. “I didn’t ask because I was thinking of me, Kendra. I just—”

  “You just wanted to know where you fit in. How this latest piece of news revolves around you.” She turned from the table and took her cup to the sink, spilling the coffee out with one hand and leaning on the counter for support with the other.

  “No.” He was behind her in a moment, both hands on her shoulders to turn her toward him. “No, you’re wrong. I can’t believe you had to go through that alone. I can’t believe I was such a stupid, selfish idiot to let you go. I can’t believe—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “I get the general idea. Believe it. Now, go.”

  “Go? You want me to go?”

  She leaned back. “You want to pick up where we left off, Deuce? With the arrival of the much-delayed condom?”

  The words sliced him. “I want to try and catch up.”

  “On ten years?”

  He nodded, undeterred by her bitterness. She had a right to be bitter. He’d listen, he’d understand, he’d try to make up for the very, very wrong thing he did. “Please.”

  “Okay, here’s the Reader’s Digest version. I had to give up my scholarship, work for your dad—and, no, we’ve never discussed the father of the child, but he’s a very smart man—and, at a snail’s pace, I got my degree in business and finally decided what I could do with my life and put together a brilliant plan for doing it. And then guess what happened?”

  He just stared at her, the lingering acidic taste of coffee in his mouth. “I showed up.”

  “Bingo.”

  “To screw up your life again.”

  Her laugh was without any heart. “I’m lucky that way.”

  The impact of his arrival, of his cavalier expectations that Monroe’s would be his, settled over his heart like the loss of the biggest game of his life.

  How dare he? Who did he think he was?

  He stepped away from her. Away from her warmth, her gaze, her sadness, all that femininity that he wanted to explore and have. “I’d better go.”

  “Back to Vegas?” she asked, a mix
of hope and dread on her face.

  “I was, uh, just thinking of next door.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  But he couldn’t leave until he knew one thing. Why had she kept it from him? “Why didn’t you pick up the phone and call me, and tell me. Why didn’t you want support or advice or…demand something?” Like marriage.

  “I guess you didn’t read that whole journal.”

  He’d read enough. “Why?”

  She looked up at him, the exquisite sweetness on her face squishing what was left of his heart. “Because I loved you. And I knew you’d do the right thing. And I didn’t want to ruin your life or your career.”

  That kind of love, he suddenly realized, was a far cry from hero-worship. That was unselfish, noble and real.

  That kind of love wouldn’t have ruined his life at all. Hell, it might have saved his life. But it was too late to find out. All he could do now was somehow make it up to her.

  He had to leave—he had to leave Rockingham. He had to let her have her dream, without the constant presence of the man who’d caused her nightmare.

  Without another word, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, closed his eyes and inhaled that fresh, sweet scent of Kendra.

  “See you later, Ken-doll.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  KENDRA SOMEHOW MADE it through the motions of work the next day, regardless of the fact that her mind felt blank and her heart raw. Oddly enough, she had slept well, collapsing into deep, dreamless sleep after Deuce had left. When she woke, she decided that her sound sleep was a result of a clear conscience.

  He finally knew the truth.

  She could move on, the secret was out. She could finally let go of the one thing that forever tied her to Deuce. Except that she’d fallen back in love with him.

  Oh, get real, Kendra Locke. She’d never fallen out of love with him.

  When her office phone rang and she saw Diana Lynn’s cell phone number on the caller ID, Kendra pulled together some focus. She opened her laptop so she could give Seamus some figures if he needed them, and hit the speaker phone.

  “Kennie, we’ve made some progress,” Seamus’s voice filled the little office. “How about you and Deuce? Have you?”

  Oh, yeah. Great progress last night. “We’re working things out,” she assured him. “The bar business has been…pretty good.”

  “I knew it,” the older man said. “That boy has a golden touch.”

  Absently, she ran her hand down the front of her Monroe’s T-shirt. He sure did. “How did it go in San Francisco, Seamus?”

  “Well, I do have some news.”

  She held her breath and waited.

  “There’s one firm out here very interested in funding the project. Very.”

  There was something not entirely positive about his tone. “What’s the ‘but’?” she asked. There had to be one.

  “They want to see better Internet café revenue numbers. Want to see that we’re able to really pick those up by thirty percent for at least a month.”

  “They have improved,” she said, clicking at the program of spreadsheets she’d been using that week. “But…” she peered at the screen. “Not quite thirty percent.”

  “All we need to do is close this month with a thirty percent increase, Kennie. Any chance we can do that?”

  “He’s not interested in the bar revenue?” That was up about eighty percent.

  “Not if they’re going to put the money in the cyber stuff. Think about it, Kennie. You might be able to come up with something.”

  “Maybe. How’s Diana?” Kendra longed for the woman to return. She needed a friend. She needed to confide in another female who might understand the power of Deuce.

  “She’s great.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow for Hawaii, right?”

  Seamus cleared his throat. “She’s in charge of the schedule. We’ll be in touch.”

  Kendra clicked out of the spreadsheet and stared at the blank screen. “I hope so.”

  “How are you and Deuce getting along?”

  Hadn’t he asked that already? “Fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  Oh, well, there was this little incident last night. Almost sex that turned into a total freaking confession. “Yep. He’s doing really well with the bar.”

  “Is he playing ball?”

  Kendra frowned. “I think he wanders over to the Rock High field on occasion, but, Seamus, he’s retired.”

  She heard him blow out a breath. “Yeah, I know.”

  Guess Seamus didn’t let go of his dreams so easily, either.

  “Have a blast in Hawaii.”

  “Get those numbers up by thirty percent.”

  Fat chance. “Really, don’t give those investment people the idea that I can do that,” she said. “Not without the actual funds we need. It’s a Catch-22.”

  “It’s worse than that,” he said somberly. “There’s really no one else but this firm. All the others are just not interested in investing in this competitive and soft market.”

  Kendra closed her eyes and let the disappointment spiral through her.

  “So, if we meet these numbers, we can do the whole project with this firm,” Seamus continued. “But if we don’t, then Monroe’s is going to stay just like it is.”

  She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she answered. “Then I guess we’ll have to try and make that magical number.”

  “That’s my girl,” Seamus said with a laugh. “Now I better go find my other one.”

  “Give her a kiss for me.”

  “And you give Deuce…my best.”

  As she held down the speaker phone button to disconnect, she closed her eyes at the catch in his voice. They always had that in common, she and Seamus. They loved that boy.

  “You look like he asked you for the witch’s broomstick.”

  She started at the sound of Deuce’s voice. “How long have you been out there?”

  He strode into the office, all power and dark good looks, and Kendra cursed the way her body hummed at the sight and scent of him.

  “Long enough,” he said, dropping into the guest chair in front of the desk, “to remember my dad harbors the secret hope that I’m here playing baseball.”

  She smiled. “Some dreams die hard.”

  “They sure do,” he said, more to himself than to her. “How’d you know I’ve been to Rock Field, by the way?”

  She was done lying to Deuce. “Because I know you better than you know yourself.”

  He nodded, his eyes rich with warmth. “You know, Ken-doll, it occurred to me this morning that we have quite a history.”

  She felt heat rise from her heart. “Yes, we do.”

  “We’ve known each other almost all our lives, and you spent a good bit of it listening to me grow up in your basement.”

  The heat blossomed into a full blush. “I did learn a lot through that heat register.”

  “And we’ve shared some, well, intimate moments.” His gaze darkened and her body tensed. “And some losses.”

  She waited.

  “You were there after my mother. And, well…” They both knew the other loss. It was an old scar for her, but a fresh wound for him.

  “We do have a history,” she agreed. And, oddly enough, a friendship. It was her problem that she still loved him. And not his fault.

  For a long moment, he just looked at her. Then he shook his head a tiny bit, in amazement or confusion or something she couldn’t name.

  “I don’t know, but—” he glanced at the calendar on the wall “—you have a little time before the month ends. And all you need to do is increase your Internet café business by thirty percent.”

  She almost wept at the change of subject. He’d almost said something…meaningful. Intimate. But the moment had passed. “A thirty-percent increase in profits, yes.” She pulled herself back to the business problem at hand. “That would be the witch’s broomstick you saw me pining for on the way in.”
/>
  “Or you have to give up your dream.”

  Some dreams die hard. The echo of her words filled the room, but she didn’t say them out loud again. “I’ll find another,” she said.

  He glanced around her desk, his gaze on her Rolodex. “You have Jack’s number at work in there?”

  Jack? Why did he want to talk to her brother? A new worry trickled through her. Would he tell Jack the truth about the baby she’d lost? Jack never knew his unborn niece was fathered by Deuce Monroe, and Kendra wanted to keep it that way.

  “Don’t worry,” he said gently, obviously seeing the horror on her face. “I just want to talk to him about something. About an idea I had.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not telling.” He grinned. “But you can press your face to the nearest heater and listen, if you like.”

  That made her laugh. “How do you know I did that anyway?”

  “’Cause I know you almost as well as you know me.”

  DESPITE THE HELLACIOUS traffic on the way to Logan Airport, Deuce was waiting at passenger arrival ten minutes before the flight he’d come to greet. As he glanced around the terminal and tracked the progress of the plane’s arrival, his mind skimmed through all he’d done in the past week or so.

  He’d made incredible progress and was only hours from making Kendra’s dream come true, that’s what he’d done.

  And when he wasn’t making arrangements, calling old acquaintances, emailing others and meeting on the sly with Principal Hatcher—he still couldn’t think of him as Martin—he was hanging around Kendra to get the most of his last few days and weeks with her.

  It took every ounce of willpower he could muster, but he hadn’t so much as held her hand. He hadn’t kissed her, or snuggled in for a good whiff of her sweet feminine perfume, he hadn’t put his arm around her slender waist, or taken any number of opportunities at the bar to slide up behind her and let her know what she did to him.

  He should have called after they’d made love; that was a stone-cold fact. He should have been there to help her through the pregnancy, and then…the tragedy. Hell, he could have easily paid for her to continue her education after she’d lost the baby.