Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Roxanne St Claire

  It was time to face one last demon, and it was time to celebrate her life.

  DEUCE STOOD AT the crest of the sand dune and peered into the darkness. At the far end of West Rock Beach, he saw a faint light, someone holding a flashlight and sitting on a blanket.

  Finally, he’d found Kendra.

  Why hadn’t he thought of coming here first? Instead he’d been all over Rockingham, back and forth to Monroe’s and her house with no luck. Her cell phone didn’t answer, and Jack’s flight had been delayed, but had taken off. He’d checked all that while trying to find her, anxious to tell her of the decision he’d made.

  He called her as he approached, not wanting to scare her.

  He heard her gasp of surprise in response. “Deuce? Is that you?”

  “You sure like to hang out on beaches in the dark, don’t you?” he said as he got closer.

  She flipped the flashlight off, but he could still see her in the moonlight.

  “I’m…what are you doing here? Your flight left hours ago.”

  “I didn’t make it.” He reached the blanket and looked down at her. Under the flashlight was a dark-blue notebook with a pen clipped to the cover. He dropped to his knees and looked at her face in the dim light. “You come here often?”

  She shook her head, her gaze locked on him. “Except for a picnic the other day, I haven’t been here for ten years.”

  He sat next to her, not too close, but still on the blanket. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m celebrating.”

  Celebrating? Well, that was the last answer he expected. “The cyber café and artists’ space?”

  “No.”

  “The fact that Seamus and Diana got married?”

  “No.”

  “My reinstatement to the Nevada Snake Eyes?” Please say no.

  “Sort of.”

  He let out a half laugh, half sigh. “You’re celebrating with a notebook and pen? No champagne?”

  “I’m writing.” She picked up the flashlight, and flipped it on, the yellow beam directed at the notebook. “Want to hear?”

  Did he? “Go ahead. Hit me.”

  Very slowly, she picked up the notebook and opened it. She flipped open to the first page.

  She cleared her throat and looked at the words.

  The year I learned to read, to tie my shoes and to add one-digit numbers, I fell in love with Deuce Monroe.

  A completely unexpected and foreign tightness squeezed his throat at the words.

  The year I learned the real meaning of life, I lost his child.

  He tried to swallow, but it was impossible.

  And this year, the year I realized a professional dream, I am finally able to let him go. Really go. Not pretend that he’s coming back. Because even if he does,

  She stopped and looked at him.

  I won’t be waiting for him. And it doesn’t even make me cry.

  He blinked, and felt the moisture on his lids. “Well, then. You must be the only one,” he said with a self-conscious laugh.

  Eyes wide, she reached over and wiped the tear from his eye. “Now you tell me why you’re not on that plane to Las Vegas.”

  He captured her finger and wrapped his hand around it. “Because I’m not leaving. I’m not taking the job. I’m not letting you go.”

  Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. “What?”

  He tapped the page. “If I go, you won’t wait for me and I don’t want to live my life without you.”

  She breathed slowly, evenly, studying his face, taking in his pronouncement. “Deuce, you can’t live without baseball.”

  “I won’t. I’m taking the job as the Rock High coach.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded. “And I’m probably going to have to help you at Monroe’s.”

  “You will?”

  “’Cause I want nine kids and that’ll keep you real busy.”

  She laughed, but even in the moonlight he could see her tears.

  “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely nuts.”

  “About you.” He slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her closer to him. “I love you, Kendra. I love your strength and your intelligence and your ability to stand up to me. And I love that you’ve loved me your whole life. If you ever stopped, I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I’ll never stop, Deuce. I just was willing to let you go if I had to. Willing to be independent and alone, even if I still loved you.”

  “You can be independent, but not alone. Please not alone. Will you marry me, Kendra Locke? Can I make you Mrs. Monroe?”

  She reached down and picked up the pen she’d been writing with. “You know, I’ve been practicing that signature my whole life. It’s about time I get to use it.”

  Easing her back on the blanket, he tucked her body under his.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked, his whole being suspended until he heard what he wanted.

  “Well,” she said with a sly smile. “It’s true that Monroe’s has always been run by Monroes.”

  “Say yes, Kendra.” He kissed her eyelids.

  “And Seamus does like me better than you.”

  “Say yes, Kendra.” He kissed her cheeks.

  “And Martin Hatcher really wants you to coach.”

  “Say yes, Kendra.” He kissed her mouth.

  “Yes, Deuce.”

  Happiness and contentment curled through him as he pulled her body into his. “About those nine kids,” he said huskily, his chest tight with a heart that might burst. “We’d better start. Now.”

  He took her mouth in one long, leisurely kiss, tasting the sweetness of her, filling himself up with it.

  “We’ve had pretty good luck on this beach before.” She laughed into his kiss and slid one leg around his. “But I don’t want nine kids, Deuce.”

  “What do you want, Ken-doll?”

  “I want you, Seamus.”

  He pulled her into him and rocked against her, unable to believe that this loving, brilliant, wonderful woman would be his partner for the rest of his life.

  “You got me. For life.”

  “And maybe one little girl.”

  He put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “As long as she has a good arm, I can work with that.”

  * * * * *

  Tangling with Ty

  Dear Reader,

  It’s been a heck of a long time since 2003, when I wrote this story! I had almost forgotten I’d written a sexy Irish hero. Mmm, I can hear Ty speaking in that brogue right now.…

  I digress.

  We all have our ideas of what our perfect hero would be like, and luckily for me, I get to create them for a living. Ty was one of my all-time favorites. I hope he finds a place in your heart, as well!

  Happy reading,

  Jill Shalvis

  Visit Jill at her website, www.jillshalvis.com, or on Facebook, www.facebook/jillshalvis.com or Twitter,

  www.twitter/jillshalvis.com.

  To Megan Nicole, my warrior princess

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  A NAKED MAN WOULD have changed everything, but there wasn’t one in sight. So, as always, Nicole Mann got up with the alarm. As always, she showered, dressed and nuked a breakfast burrito in less than eight minutes.

  And as always, she was out the door of her apartment at top speed to get to the hospital for what was likely to be a double shift due to a late-spring flu outbreak.

  Yes, her life was completely dictated by her work. So what? Being a doctor was a dream-come-true, and if she’d worked at tha
t dream-come-true nearly every waking moment, forsaking just about everything else—including naked men—she could live with that. Being a doctor was what she’d wanted since she’d graduated high school fifteen years ago at the perfectly extraordinary age of twelve.

  “Psst.”

  For a woman who prided herself on nerves of steel, Nicole nearly leapt out of her skin at the unexpected whisper coming out of the darkened hallway of her apartment building.

  But it wasn’t the boogey man or any other menacing threat. It was just the owner of the building and her friend, Taylor Wellington, peeking out her door. Taylor was nice and beautiful—reason enough to hate her—but she also happened to be in possession of that disarming ability to talk until Nicole’s eyes crossed. It completely wore down her defenses.

  That they’d—polar opposites—become friends still baffled Nicole.

  “Psst!”

  “I see you,” Nicole said. “Did I wake you?” Not that the perfectly-put-together Taylor looked anything other than…well, perfectly put together, but it did happen to be the crack of dawn. A time she considered sacrilegious.

  “Oh, no, the living dead couldn’t wake me,” Taylor assured her. “I set my alarm so I’d catch you.” Her beautifully made-up eyes toured Nicole. “Honey, I thought we talked about the camouflage gear.”

  Nicole looked down at her camouflage cargo pants and green tank top, fitting snug to her lean form. Her wardrobe had been formed back in the expensive days of medical school when she’d been forced to shop in thrift stores, but sue her, she’d developed a fondness for the comfortable garb. That Taylor cared what she wore at all was still a surprise.

  Nicole had only lived in this South Village building a few weeks, having moved from another larger building where no one ever even looked at one another. She’d only moved because that place had been sold and the new owners had plans for it to go coop. She’d come here for its convenience to the hospital, and because it was small. Fewer people to deal with. That this building was also falling off its axis was neither here nor there, as Nicole didn’t care what it looked like, as long as her bed was in it. “Why did you want to catch me?”

  “I knew if I didn’t, you’d forget. We’re planning Suzanne’s engagement party tonight.”

  Ah, hell. Suzanne Carter lived in the apartment next to Taylor’s. The three of them, the only ones in the building, had shared many laughs and much ice cream, but Nicole still didn’t want to plan a party where she’d have to dress up and smile and make nice. She hated making nice.

  “You’d forgotten,” Taylor said.

  “No, I…” Okay, she’d forgotten. She couldn’t help it, she was singleminded. Always had been, just ask the family she never managed to see. This year alone, she’d forgotten one sister’s homecoming from college, her mother’s annual April Fool’s Day bash and her own birthday. But her family understood something Taylor didn’t.

  Nicole was a firm loner. Connections to people tended to give her hives. Ditto planning engagement parties. “I’m sorry. I…might be late.”

  Taylor gave her a long look. “Don’t tell me. You have something new to pierce.”

  Nicole rolled her eyes. Taylor had been teasing her about the silver hoops she had lining one ear, but Taylor had no way of knowing that each was a trophy of sort, and a badge of honor worn proudly. “Not a new piercing, no.”

  With the patience of a saint, Taylor just lifted a brow.

  Nicole racked her brain for her elusive people skills, but as she didn’t have any, they failed her. “We’re short-staffed at the hospital, and—”

  “Save it, Super Girl.” Taylor lifted a hand against the upcoming stream of excuses. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? Weddings, and all the trappings, give both of us gas.” She looked right into Nicole’s eyes and gave her a take-your-medicine look. “But this is for Suzanne.”

  Suzanne had been the only other person besides Taylor to instantly, genuinely accept Nicole, no matter how abrupt, aloof and self-absorbed she was.

  The three of them had only met recently after Taylor had inherited this building with no funds to go with it. She’d rented out space to Suzanne first, then Nicole had come along. They had little in common really. Suzanne, a caterer, kept them in to-die-for food and Suzanne’s personal favorite, ice cream. Taylor, with her dry wit, kept them all amused and, though she’d kill Nicole if she heard her say it, mothered them to death. And Nicole…she had no clue what she added to the mix, so them caring about her still mystified.

  But they all shared one common trait—a vow of singlehood. They’d talked about it, often toasted to it and had jointly coveted it… Until Suzanne had done the unthinkable and fallen in love.

  Nicole sighed. “I’ll find a way to be here.”

  “Don’t worry, they say you can’t catch wedding fever.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about me. My work is my life. I’m too into it, too selfish to be anything but single.”

  “Right. Our singlehood is firmly intact.”

  “Firmly.”

  But they stared at each other, a little unnerved. That Suzanne, one so steadfastly single, was now getting married cast a shadow on their vow. Surely neither of them could possibly make the fall into love. Not when they kept their eyes open and their hearts closed.

  Yep, heart firmly closed. They were safe that way, totally and completely safe.

  TWENTY-FOUR EXHAUSTING hours later, again just before dawn, Nicole dragged her sorry, aching body back up the three flights of stairs to her loft apartment.

  It was dark again, or still. It seemed she lived in the dark.

  Work had been especially brutal. An unexpected heavy fog had created a pileup on Highway 5 South. As a result of the forty-two car accident, she’d been in emergency surgery all day, without a break to so much as sneeze. She’d removed two spleens, pinned four legs, reset more shattered ribs than she could remember, and had delivered twins in an emergency caesarian.

  Then she’d been asked to stay another shift, and after a quick nap when she’d dreamed of being chased by a white wedding dress and cake—where had that come from?—she’d willingly taken on whatever had come her way. And plenty had.

  Now all she wanted was food, a shower and a bed, and not necessarily in that order. She had her Taco Bell bag clutched to her chest, her mouth watering in anticipation of the four regular tacos and extra-large soda. Not the usual breakfast of champions, but food was food and she’d been craving spicy since her second surgery.

  And then after the food…oblivion. At least until she had to be back at the hospital again, which happened to be that afternoon for a staff meeting, and then to cover someone else’s shift that night. She already had four surgeries lined up, ready to go.

  Had she remembered to grab the hot sauce? She hoped so, she was pretty certain her kitchen—if you could call the hole in the wall that—didn’t have any food in it except for something that had gone green a week ago, and—

  “You little buggering piece of sh—” A rustling sound, followed by the squeal of metal on metal, blocked out the rest of that shocking statement made in a deep, Irish brogue. “I’m going to…damn me again, you worked at the last job, so bloody hell if you won’t work here…”

  This was spoken so calmly, so confidently in that accent, it took a moment to decipher that the man was making some sort of threat.

  Fine. Nicole was in the mood to kick some ass, as long as her Taco Bell didn’t get crushed. Once in a while, having an IQ higher than her weight had some benefits. During med school she’d needed an outlet for all the technical work so she’d taken karate. Like everything she set her mind to, she’d excelled.

  Bring it on. She took a defensive stance, then dropped it to set her food down on the top step. No need to risk breakfast. She moved up the last step. There was nothing on this level but her loft and the attic. Nothing but the narrow hallway, which at the moment had a man lying full-length in it. His arms were outstretched, and he held some sort of me
asuring tool along the scarred wooden planks, swearing the air blue in the most interesting of Irish lilts.

  Nicole had to laugh. Or she would have, if she could have taken her eyes off that long, lean, hard male body stretched out so enticingly on the floor in front of her. He had legs from here to Timbuktu, covered in Levi’s that most effectively accented the muscles in his thighs and calves.

  And then there was his butt, which was very lovingly cupped in that worn denim. His shirt had ridden up, showing a good amount of tanned, damp skin stretched taut over the rippling sinew of his lower back. The rest of it wasn’t bad either, smooth and sleek in the plain light-blue T-shirt that invited her to Bite Me in bold black letters.

  In spite of the scare he’d given her, she grinned. Bite Me was her official motto. “Um…excuse me.”

  His arms, stretched over his head, didn’t drop the strange gadget in his hands, which was sending out red lighted bleeps. In fact he didn’t do anything but sigh. “Be a luv,” he said in a voice deep and husky as sin but suddenly utterly devoid of the accent. “And hand me my notes?”

  Nicole, still in her defensive stance, craned her neck and saw a small notepad at his hip. It looked as if it had been roughly stuffed in and out of a pocket on a regular basis.

  Apparently she hesitated a hair too long, because he pushed up to his elbows and turned his head, giving her a glimpse of jet-black hair cut so short it stuck up in spikes, hitting her with the lightest, most crystal-clear blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  He took one look at her with her fists still up, her legs slightly bent and let out another sigh, rubbing his jaw. “We going to duke it out over a notepad then?”

  She dropped her fists to her sides, and, keeping her eyes on the most gorgeous stranger she’d ever seen, she bent for her Taco Bell bag. “Who are you and why were you swearing in my hallway?”

  “Heard that, did you?” He flashed a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d not repeat any of it to the owner? She specifically said no swearing in her hallways.”