Kiss Me, I'm Irish

by Roxanne St Claire

  “We?”

  “Suzanne and I, of course. Ornery as you are, you’ll need us to stick by you. So go. Go work yourself to exhaustion again. Enjoy.”

  “I will, thanks.” Half amused at the genuine compassion and worry that she’d seen on Taylor’s face, she turned back to face Ty. “Don’t let the door get you on the ass on your way out. I’m taking a shower.”

  “Maybe you’d better take your caffeine with you.” He held out a mug of coffee.

  “Thanks.” Grateful but not about to admit it, Nicole held on to the sheet for dear life and hobbled into the bathroom. She shut the door harder than she should have, and clicked the lock into place with what sounded like a gunshot.

  She might have had to wake up with an audience, then eat with one, but hell if she’d shower in front of one, no matter how pretty he was.

  Still, the hot steam worked wonders, and she stayed there for a good long time, until the hot water turned warm, then tepid. Finally, she stepped out and sighed.

  Damn, she’d been looking forward to a day off.

  There was one dry towel left on the rack, which meant she needed to seriously consider the pile of things behind her bedroom door as well as the pile now on her floor, both of which she so lovingly referred to as Laundry Mountain Range. Tucking the towel beneath her armpits, she studied herself impassively in the mirror.

  Not bad, she’d give herself that. And though she’d prefer to be taller than so damn short, her bones weren’t bad either. Thanks to her workouts, she was a lean, mean, fighting machine.

  But breasts would have been nice.

  Laughing at herself, she turned away. What would she have done with cleavage? It wasn’t as if she had dates lining up.

  Still smiling, she opened the door and marched into her bedroom, dropping her towel as she went.

  Because she had excellent eyesight, she therefore had a front-and-center view of Ty sitting on her bed, holding a glass of orange juice.

  He had a front-and-center view, too. Of her.

  The glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor in tune with her shriek as she bent down for her towel. “What are you doing?”

  “I…”

  Straightening, she studiously avoided looking into his face as she refastened the towel. “I thought you left!”

  “Yeah, I…”

  “You said that already!”

  Ty knew that, but he was still flummoxed by the sight of her tight, lean body all dewy and damp from her shower. Standing now, he wasn’t reassured by the fact his knees wobbled.

  What was wrong with him? She wasn’t his usual type, meaning stacked and blond and soft. There was nothing soft about Nicole, not her tough, angular body, not her voice, and most definitely not her eyes.

  So why couldn’t he stop thinking dirty little thoughts? Or take his eyes off her? “Sorry. I just wanted to be sure you at least drank some juice.”

  “Can’t do that now, can I?” With jerky movements, she tightened the towel even further over her breasts.

  Breasts that he now knew were a perfect handful, tipped with tight rose-colored nipples. Somehow he managed to walk to her, lift her chin and look into her furious and…damn it, very embarrassed, eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly.

  “Yeah.”

  He gazed at her grim mouth, and unbidden, his thoughts turned to kissing her until she was soft and pliant, until she sighed and gave herself over to him and the pleasure he could give her. He, Ty Patrick O’Grady, no-good bastard, blackheart. “You should know I’m attracted to you in a way I can’t quite seem to get over.”

  “And yet you’ve seen me naked. Imagine that.”

  She didn’t believe him. He sucked in a breath and inhaled the scent of her shampoo and ridiculously, his body reacted.

  Perfect.

  Now all his thinking had taken him to a place he had no business going, not with this woman. She wasn’t the type to put up with a man afflicted with a serious sense of wanderlust, a man who never knew when he was going to decide to up and relocate.

  Hell, he’d never found any woman, on this continent or otherwise, who’d put up with that.

  Not that he wanted one to.

  “You’re beautiful, Nicole,” he heard himself say as he stroked a finger over her cheek, her jaw. “So damn beautiful.”

  It wasn’t until he got down the stairs and into his car that he let out the breath he’d been holding and stared off at nothing.

  He’d meant what he’d said. He was attracted to her in a way he couldn’t get past. And she was beautiful, with or without that mouthwatering body and all that creamy, creamy skin exposed. So damned beautiful he ached.

  Not a good thing, not a good thing at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NICOLE WORKED SO MANY hours over the next two days she managed to forget Ty had seen her very naked. At the end of a particularly long, atrocious shift, she stood in front of her locker in the doctor’s lounge and realized she actually had the next day off.

  Sleep, here she came.

  “That was an interesting sigh,” said a male voice from behind her. A voice that made her wish she’d gotten out of here five minutes ago.

  Dr. Lincoln Watts. Head of Surgery. And ruler of his domain.

  Not that she didn’t appreciate his skill, because he was truly gifted. But that gift didn’t extend to his people skills.

  In short, out of the operating room, he was a jerk. The nurses hated him, the aides feared him. The other doctors merely tolerated him, mostly because he ruled over all of them, but also because it was too much trouble to cross him.

  Oh, and he had the memory of an elephant.

  As the youngest doctor on staff, Nicole had learned to keep a low profile. She did her job; she did it well. It was all she’d ever wanted.

  Even with Dr. Watts staring at her ass. “Can I help you?” she asked politely, turning to look at him so he had to raise his gaze.

  He took his time about doing so, and for the first time she was glad she had small, unimpressive breasts. She wanted to give him as little pleasure as possible.

  “Can you help me,” he repeated with a little smile as he finally met her gaze. “Why yes, I believe you can.”

  Damn.

  “Come with me to the benefit tomorrow night.”

  The benefit he referred to was an annual event designed to extricate money from rich patrons and deposit it directly to the hospital’s coffers. It put critical funds at the hospital’s disposal, as well as provided write-offs for the hospital’s patrons. Everyone was happy.

  However, it required an evening of stiff smiles for Nicole, who hated dressing up, hated being “on” and hated the forced mingling. This year she’d arranged to be on shift so as to avoid the entire messy affair. “Sorry, I’m working.”

  “I can rearrange that for you.”

  At a considerable cost, one she figured would involve him and his bed. “No, thank you. I don’t mind missing it.”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  And what Dr. Watts wanted, Dr. Watts got. “I’m sorry, Dr. Watts, but that wouldn’t be fair to the others.”

  “Linc.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He traced a finger over her shoulder and she just barely restrained her shudder. “Call me Linc,” he said softly. “And I’d consider it a personal favor if you went with me.”

  Nicole might have mastered calculus by the age of eight but she’d never mastered basic political correctness 101. “I said no.”

  His eyes darkened, and without another word, he strode off.

  Uneasy, Nicole watched him go and wondered if she’d just screwed herself by not screwing the boss.

  SHE WENT HOME. On the front steps of the building sat a brass lion, its mouth open wide in a silent roar. Shaking her head, she walked past it. Just inside were a vintage-looking gramophone, an ornately decorated headboard leaning against the wall and a marble clock.

  Taylor, the poor little rich girl. She
’d inherited this building without any of the money she’d become accustomed to in her spoiled youth, with the exception of the antiques she’d been collecting all her life. She’d been selling off the beloved pieces to cover the costs of bringing the building back to its former glory. Resourcefulness. It was one of the things Nicole appreciated most about Taylor, as Nicole had been forced to be resourceful all her life.

  A three-foot-high wooden carved bear holding a fish and wearing a grin sat on the first flight of stairs. Along the second flight were stacks of prints. Nicole was staring at one of a bowl of fruit, thinking she was just starving enough to actually eat fruit, when Taylor stuck her head out of her apartment.

  Damn. More party plans. “I’m really tired,” Nicole said pathetically, figuring Taylor would take pity on her.

  Instead Taylor reached out, snagged her wrist and yanked her into her apartment. “We need to talk.”

  “But—”

  “You’re tired, yeah, yeah. I know. I figured that much and planned the party without you.”

  Gratitude filled Nicole, and she felt a little bad about her peevishness. “Thank—”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Super Girl. You’re going to need a dress.”

  “Oh, no—”

  “Oh yes. And know it up front, we’re going fancy on this one.”

  “But—”

  “That’ll teach you to leave me alone to plan things.”

  “Well, unplan them.”

  “No.” Taylor leveled her stubborn gaze on Nicole. “Suzanne deserves this.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Fancy,” Taylor said firmly. “As in silk and lace and high heels and makeup and hairdos and everything.”

  Nicole had faced two life-threatening surgeries that day. She’d faced Dr. Watts. And she’d rather face a fire-breathing dragon on top of all of it than get “fancy.” “You’re kidding me.”

  “Honey, I never kid about fashion.”

  Nicole paled. “Fashion?”

  “You and me. At the mall. Your next day off.”

  Nicole let out a string of curses that had Taylor laughing. “Oh, and since you owe me on planning the party without you, you can pay up right now. I need a little favor.”

  Nicole thought of her bed and sighed. “Taylor—”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not difficult. I just need you to run to Ty’s office and give him these.” She dumped a large set of plans into Nicole’s arms. “And this.” She added a file. “Did you like him?”

  “What?”

  “Did you like Ty?” Taylor laughed at her expression. “What’s not to like, right? He’s sexy as hell, and in possession of a body I could just gobble up.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s too bad we’re too much alike. We’d kill each other.”

  Nicole shook her head. “I’m not going to ask.”

  “But I’m going to tell. Ty and I, we’re fellow wanderlust spirits.”

  “You’ve got wanderlust?”

  “Through and through, until I came here and found home. But Ty hasn’t found his home yet. Fighting our own prospective and warring needs would be like living in a battlefield. Nope, much as I’d like a good, naughty affair—and I’m quite certain Ty can do good and naughty—he’s not for me.”

  Nicole put her hands over her ears—or at least she tried to around all the stuff in her arms—and Taylor laughed again. “Just go. Tell him I’m giving him the job. The address of his office is on the label, and it’s only three minutes from here.”

  Before Nicole could blink, she’d been turned around and shoved out the door. She whirled, but only to hear Taylor’s lock click into place. “I’m not doing this,” she said through the wood.

  “Then come back in and help me pick out napkins and plates and menus for the party.”

  Nicole stared down at Ty’s name and address and felt a peculiar flutter in her belly. Why was it that every time she thought of him her skin went all hot and itchy and her nipples got happy? “This is a bad idea, Taylor.”

  “Since when are you afraid of anyone, much less a man?” Taylor asked through the door.

  Since that man could simply look at her and make her feel things she didn’t understand. “I…can’t.”

  “Just drop the plans off, Nicole. You don’t have to marry him.”

  Yeah, Nicole. You don’t have to marry him. Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better. With a sigh, she headed down the stairs instead of up, and got back into her car.

  TY HAD A HEADACHE and another email. This was not what he needed after a long day at work. He stood staring at it. He shut his eyes, swore, and stared at it again.

  I think you’re Ty Patrick O’Grady of Dublin.

  I think you were born to Anne Mary Mulligan of Dublin. Please confirm.

  Margaret Mary

  Why a Margaret Mary would be looking for him was anyone’s guess, only none of them were good.

  Who was this formal-sounding woman, and why did she care who he was? What did she know of the boy he’d been? And he had been a boy when he’d left Dublin, a young boy who’d never looked back. Why should he? He had nothing to look back for, no roots, nothing. His father had taken himself to an early grave in a drunken brawl when Ty had been a year old. His mother had run a tavern with rooms above it she’d used as an inn when they’d needed the money. Which had been all the time. Ty had been nothing more than a mistake she didn’t like to be reminded of.

  That had often worked in his favor, as he’d had the freedom to do as he pleased. And since his mother rarely remembered to feed him, much less clothe him, and only begrudgingly gave him a mat to sleep on, the freedom pleased him plenty. He “borrowed” clothes, stole food and ran with a crowd that made the L.A. gang-bangers look friendly.

  When he’d turned ten he’d witnessed his first murder. Over a pair of boots. When he’d turned eleven, his mother had sold the inn and moved on.

  Without him.

  By the time he’d turned sixteen, he’d been beyond redemption. Or so he’d thought. That’s when he’d made the mistake of trying to pick the pocket of a vacationing Australian. The man, Seely McGraw, had been a cop, of all things, and instead of dragging Ty off to jail, he’d dragged him home with him. To Australia. Ireland had been happy to see him go.

  In Australia, Seely had seen him through the rest of his school years. Civilized. Humanized. And yet the vagabond within him had survived.

  When Seely had died, Ty had given in to his wanderlust, going wherever he wanted, when he wanted. Europe, Asia, Africa. Even South America. Then he’d come here, to the States, and had landed in California.

  For the first time in his life, he’d fallen in love with a place. Created a home for himself.

  He wondered how long that would last before the wanderlust yearning overcame him again. Given his past, he didn’t figure it would be long. But for now he enjoyed himself, occasionally marveling over how far he’d come.

  Life was good right here, right now. He had a job he loved, and money with which to do as he pleased when he pleased.

  But now someone wanted him to think about his past, where he’d been a son-of-a-bitch Irish runaway.

  Rare temper stirring, he hit Reply and typed:

  Who wants to know?

  No, that would only encourage this, when he wanted nothing more than to forget all about it. But before he could delete it, he heard a knock at the front door, which he’d left open for the pizza he’d ordered. He needed that pizza. “Back here!”

  Hopefully they hadn’t forgotten the beer this time, he seemed to be in a mood for it. Standing up, he stared down at the computer one more time, stared at his response, finger still poised to delete…

  “Ty?”

  Not pizza, but Nicole. Her wide gray eyes stared into his, and in a flash, pure lust sped through his blood.

  And between his thighs.

  Whether it was the monster headache he had, or the unwanted hunger for this woman, it was a weakness, and he hated weaknesses. He wanted
the taste of her mouth, the feel of her body beneath his hands, and given her expression, every bit of his wanting showed on his face.

  Her mouth opened, then carefully closed. On instinct, he looked down at himself and realized he hadn’t put on a shirt after his shower or fastened his jeans.

  Doing that now brought her gaze from the tattoo on his arm right down to an area of his body that seemed to have this hyperawareness of her. “I thought you were the pizza,” he said, the metal-on-metal glide of his zipper seeming extraordinarily loud, echoing between them.

  “Uh…” Nicole jerked her head up and stared into his eyes with a blank expression, as if she couldn’t remember what she was doing there.

  Christ, that was arousing.

  And confusing as hell, because this woman, and this woman alone, seemed to be able to mess with his head.

  She thrust out a set of plans. “From Taylor.” She slapped a file against his chest as well. “You’ve got the job, Mr. Architect.” And she turned away.

  “Nicole.”

  She was careful not to turn back to look at him. “Yes?”

  What had he been going to say? Something. Anything. “I…got the job?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?”

  Ah, his sweet, sweet Nicole. “Well, then. We need to celebrate.”

  She pivoted back to face him. “Celebrate?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Oh yes, he was enjoying that spark of temper and heat in her eyes immensely, as it happened to match his.

  “You know that Irish accent you pretend not to have?” She put a hand on her hip. “It was there when you first called out, before you knew it was me. And you know what else? You didn’t look in the mood to celebrate. You looked mad.” She peered around him at the computer. “At that?”

  “Nope.” Setting down the plans and file, he reached down to sleep his screen, but hit Enter by mistake, sending the reply to the mystery emailer.