Irish Kisses Boxed Set

by JoAnne Kenrick

  “A girl’s gotta do wot a girl’s gotta do because it seems as if you’re accomplishing naught for me. You knew about the bleedin’ part and didn’t tell me? Call yourself my agent? My boyfriends work harder than you do at getting me work.”

  Although she’d dated famous men to promote her career, she hadn’t slept her way into jobs. More like strategic dating to help get her name out there. And being eye candy for men who weren’t looking for a relationship protected her heart. Love was the last distraction she needed this early in her career.

  “Don’t let it be said I never do anything for you. Although you had the same tip-off as me, that The EastEnd is looking for a new hot couple to make up numbers when Charlotte leaves, I bet you had no idea they’ve already cast the man. They’ll be using him in auditions to select his love interest.” He edged her forward. “Here’s the fun part. The part when you call me the best agent ever. He’s here, tonight. Word to the wise, lovie, you’ll need to wow the pants off him if you want this role. Might want to fluff those tits up a bit. You’re not looking your best.”

  “You want me to pimp myself for a role. That’s not like you.”

  “This is the big time. Go on, go make nicey-nice. You want him to remember you, right? Like you said, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Which one is he?” D-listers packed the place, so it could have been anyone.

  “You can’t miss him. He’s the suave Irishman surrounded by a gang of hopeful bridesmaids. He’s a bit of a cheeky git, a trickster, so watch your back. I hear he’s never even acted before, so he’s a fresh face. Comes from a modeling background.”

  A model who’d never acted before, perfect. She could mold him, teach him the ropes, while taking advantage of the photo ops. She’d introduce herself then flirt a little. If he didn’t turn out to be too dull or cocky, she’d date him. It’d be good publicity for herself and the show.

  Not that she’d climb the ladder like Charlotte Black had by dropping her knickers at every audition; the wrinkles around her mouth were from blowing too many guys, Liz believed, not from smoking as she’d stated in her Daily Mail spread. The exposé was probably the reason she was about to get axed from The EastEnd. Ex-junky and aging hag who chain smokes. It had been speculated the paper had made the whole thing up. It wouldn’t be the first or last time. Either way, the bold move may have ended up being her last move as an actress. Soon the rest of Britain would know if the rumors were true and she was leaving the show. Maybe a reality TV star in the making? Liz snorted and hoped she’d never become so desperate for work she’d consider a job that meant cameras following her twenty-four seven.

  Time to go in for the kill.

  Gazing across the pretentious, minimalist bar with its black leather, violet lighting, and mirrored walls, she scanned for the Irish hottie. Surrounded by bridesmaids—the hottest guy in the place. His thick Irish brogue carried over the chattering wedding crowd and bad party songs.

  Swallowing any signs of stage fright, she checked her fake hair in a mirrored wall, plumped her boobs, and plastered on a smile before making a beeline for her drop-dead gorgeous, future co-star.

  She waded through the rough sea of pink-chiffoned up women, snapped out her arm, and took his hand like one of those shaking weight things. Thought she’d blown it until his mouth tilted up into a tempting smile. Dimples. Oh, my. He would be popular with the ladies. Might even help get her noticed by movie producers. Dating this hottie would get her on every front page known to the British public.

  “Liz.” She fought to keep focused on his face rather than his thick muscles and rhythmic movements. She couldn’t recall ever seeing a man who could make dancing to All Night Long by Lionel Ritchie so goddamned sexy. His jig was infectious—her arm swayed in beat with his, their hands still clasped together.

  “As in Elizabeth?”

  “Uh-huh.” The swarm of bridesmaids knitted their brows and pursed their lips. One even stamped her foot. Liz couldn’t help but turning on a sweet smile. “Buh-bye, ladies.”

  “Glad ya could make it, Elizabeth.” Devlin winked and waved to his groupies. “It’s been fun, thank ya. Don’t forget I’m playing at Bell’s Irish Pub next week. I want ta see each and every one of ya there.” Their somber expressions lifted and they scurried to the ladies’ room.

  “I prefer Liz.”

  “Liz it is, then. I’m Devlin, as ya know.” He pushed her out then spun her back into him so her face pressed against his rippling chest.

  “Devlin?” She hadn’t known his name, but it suited him…. Irish and devilish.

  She tried to push back, but he grabbed her by the waist, moving his leg between hers. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it. Three hours late already.” Hips swaying, arms holding her tight, and an erection so hard she expected to find bruises where he probed her stomach.

  The next few months suddenly looked promising.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t get in without an invite and—”

  “Crap, I did put yar name on the list at the door. Even told the bouncers ta let me know when ya arrived. Can’t get the staff, eh? Let me buy ya a drink ta make up for the hassle.” He dragged her toward the mob of guests making full use of the free bar. “Wait here.”

  He disappeared for a few seconds then returned with two shots of something…green. Nasty.

  “Bride or groom?” she asked, her gaze focused on the offerings.

  “Sorry?”

  “Um, which side are you on? Bride or groom?”

  “Neither, I’m the entertainment. Something for Charlotte ta show off. I’ve played me gig. Was going ta head off as soon as ya got here, but as ya were late, I kinda got dragged inta shots and dancing.” Devlin placed the shooters on a nearby table and sat, stretching his lean legs out. Holey jeans that looked like they were on their last legs didn’t go with his smart shirt and jacket, but she couldn’t comment since she wore the same thing. Except hers were designer and meant to look worn. His were just plain old.

  “You’re not an actor?”

  He shook his head. “Ah, just a minute, me phone is vibrating.” He took out his phone and clicked to answer. “Hello? She just turned up? Wearing a green dress? Buddy, next time I need ya ta do me a favor, I’ll think twice. She’s here all right. I’m with her. No green dress, though. Yeah, laters.”

  Disappointed she had the wrong guy, curiosity leading the way, she scanned the room for the woman she had been mistaken for. A new arrival with a furrowed brow rounded the entrance. Yup. There she was, in her green dress, searching the room. Pretty, too, in a girl-next-door kinda way. Unlike Liz, who was done up more like the slut-next-door.

  The woman seemed determined to find her date as she scrambled through the crowd in their direction. Liz had to think fast. Should she be nice and wave her over? She ought to. But Devlin had something about him that made her want more. “Coffee, at yar hotel?” He patted his knee in a come-hither gesture.

  “You don’t expect me to sit on a hard on, do you? It’s so big I might get up the chuffin’ stump just looking at it!” His brows crossed. Great, her cockney slang had lost him. “Preggers? Pregnant?”

  He snickered. “Yup, I got it. That’s fine, stand if ya prefer. Madame Eve said ya were a touch snarky. She thought I’d appreciate ya humor, though. Did I tell ya I am glad ya decided ta brave it out tonight? Ya gorgeous, so ya are.”

  “Why thank you, Devlin.” Wait. What? Madame Eve? 1Night Stand? Liz had heard about the matchmaking guru with her super exclusive client list who didn’t advertise but relied on word of mouth. Also, she had a sneaking suspicion her agent had met his wife via 1Night Stand. He’d dropped a card from his wallet one day, and she’d spotted the name embossed on the surface when she’d handed it back to him. He’d blushed and shoved it back in his pocket, and she’d let the subject drop.

  Major case of mistaken identity on both parts, but she wasn’t sure she should be so eager to tell him she wasn’t his mystery date. She fancied the idea of ha
ving a one-night stand. If anyone could find her Mr. Right instead of Mr. Looks-Good-On-Her-Arm, it would be Madame Eve. Even if Liz happened upon the match by mistake.

  “Let me drink up then we can go,” she said, trying to hurry things along before Ms. Real-Date found him.

  “Sure.” He handed her a shot glass filled with something creamy that smelled like Bailey’s, but a tad sweeter. She enjoyed Irish cream, straight and over ice, but she’d give this odd concoction a go. She knocked it back and the sweet smoothness catapulted her into bliss followed by a blast of whisky that heated her for a second. Thick, creamy liquid coated her throat and trickled down to her stomach. Decadent. And quite lethal.

  “Shit, that has kick. Wot’s in it? Baileys, whiskey and…?”

  “Melon liqueur. The drink is called Shamrocked. A little something I invented for me band. Our official drink, if ya like. If ya ever have the chance, try one from Bell’s Irish pub. They knock these watered down cocktails out the game. Nothing worse than diluted whiskey.”

  “A musician, huh? Sweet.”

  “It said so in me profile. And barman for Bell’s.”

  There we have it. Mr. Wrong, yet right in so many ways. “I’ll admit, I tend ta forget things when put on the spot like this.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Let’s go, already. You can take me for a walk in the park, as it’s on the way to my hotel.” Good job she’d booked that room, too. She hadn’t fancied taxing the long ride home, and if she stayed nearby, she could be at any given studio meeting in a jiffy. She wasn’t going to let a single opportunity slip her by. And thank goodness she’d thought like that. Otherwise, what? She’d have taken a total stranger back to her actual apartment.

  She had her wig on. No one should recognize her. It’d be fine.

  Charlotte Black headed straight for them, her red curls bouncing as she strutted across the dance floor. “You’re not going so early, are you? We’ve not cut the cake yet. Besides, the press hasn’t arrived for your photo op. Oh, who’s this you’re with? Another easy lay?”

  Devlin growled. “Back the fuck up, Charlotte. I’ve done me end of the deal. We’re even.”

  She put her hands up in retreat, “You sure did do your part,” then turned to Liz. “You, girlie, are in for a real treat. Make the most of him while you have him, as this guy runs a mile if you even mention a second date.”

  “Lady, I don’t know who the bloody Gypsy Nell you think you are, but this is my fifth date with Devlin. If you don’t mind, we’re on our way out. This party isn’t doing it for me, whereas I know this guy does, so we’re going for a private party. Know wot I mean?” Crap. Crap. Crap. She’d messed up major, for sure, by letting her green bitch come out to insult Charlotte Black. Even though her days were numbered with the show, she might still have pull there. Great. But Liz never had been one to shut the hell up when it mattered most.

  Who does she think she is, showing him up like that? Jealous ex, has to be.

  “Yar snark wasn’t an exaggeration, then?” Devlin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her fake hair. “Hope ya ready because I may have ta propose ta ya tonight.”

  The washed-up actress, reeking of wine, enhanced with a hint of catch-of-the-day, pursed her lips and passed Devlin an envelope, which he stuffed in his back pocket.

  Chapter Three

  Most girls would be fidgety, ask a million questions about the other woman then make him swear he didn’t have a current girlfriend. And they’d demand to see the contents of the envelope.

  She did none of those things, just followed him out of the bar.

  Her behavior concerned him. Maybe she didn’t find him attractive? Or she didn’t want him. He could think of no other explanation.

  Smolder, he rocked. Small talk, not so much. He’d be damned, though, if he didn’t make good on his promise to Shaun. He’d give this woman a night she’d never forget, and for all the right reasons. And if he was honest with himself, a small part of him wanted someone special to share his life with. With a bit of Irish luck, this could be a nice little baby step toward finding her.

  One hundred percent focused on his quest for the night, he considered his next move. They’d walked for ten minutes, without so much of a smile out of her. Never had he been so aware of his surroundings. Unsure where to look, what to say, he became transfixed by the pinked-up dusk sky and the dark grass they trod. He glanced to her feet and the silver designer things that clung to her like a second skin. His gaze traveled her curves to meet her brown eyes. He could drink her up. He shook his head. Drink her up? Fucking corny bastard.

  He almost heard Sandra telling him it was the perfect romantic setting, and taking Liz’s hand seemed like the natural thing to do next.

  Devlin trembled. Never had he been so aware of his own body. The simple idea that this snarky, gorgeous brunette might not want him niggled at him and brought out the worst in him. He reached out with hesitation and interlocked his fingers in hers, daring to steal glances at the beautiful one-night Madame Eve had selected for him.

  So stunning, he could forgive her thick accent.

  So challenging, he couldn’t wait for the conquest.

  So quiet, she intimidated him.

  “I’m staying in the Portebella Hotel. If we cut through this park, it’ll take half the time,” she blurted out, picking up her pace to a stride. Perhaps in a rush to get rid of him? Or maybe in a hurry to strip him down?

  “The five-star place?” Christ-almighty, he couldn’t afford that? Play it cool, don’t want to lose her this early in the game. “Madame Eve did say ya would arrange our room for the night. I would have booked a B&B, so I figured ya’d be better at picking somewhere that would make the night, erm, magical?” He opened the small iron gate and led her into a park featuring formal rose gardens hemmed in by pristine hedges interspersed with grand looking stone statues of naked women holding jugs or vases.

  She slid sunglasses up her cute button nose and seemed more interested in what other park visitors were doing than in him. If he didn’t jack the doubt in soon, he’d have a bruised ego and fuck up his chances with a sure thing. Yup. A grown man, scared of a sure thing. She was killing him.

  Say something. Anything. “The sun has almost set, why the fancy shades?”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  She wanted to include him in some exclusive information about herself. Maybe he had her pegged wrong. Maybe she faked the snarky yet quiet persona.

  A sudden burst of confidence returned to Devlin. He tugged her to a stop then turned to her. “Of course.”

  “I’m….” She tilted her head toward her feet and twirled her thick hair. Shit. Her hands shook. The girl was nervous. Plain as day; it had nothing to do with his lack of Irish charm. Phew. Quite simply, the whole idea of a one-night stand had put the shits up her.

  She removed her glasses and lifted her gaze. Big, brown eyes. Quivering lips. It took all his strength not to lean in for a kiss. But he didn’t want to frighten her off. Bold with words, sure, shy when it came to intimacy.

  “I’m—”

  She stuttered, shifted from foot to foot, and bit down on her lower lip. Transfixed by her soft breath and the plump red skin teased under her teeth, he hoped she’d make those sounds when they made love later. Imagined that sweet breeze would graze his ear as he pushed her closer to the edge. Thought about that mouth of hers placing gentle kisses on his neck; how she would hold on to him so tightly her nails would dig into his flesh and offer blissful pain. Her pussy silken and slick as he eased his cock into her.

  “I’m….” She rocked on her heel, moving her hips so the juncture of her thighs was emphasized by the tight denim of her pants.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. “Ya shy?”

  If his ripped abs, smooth moves, and Irish accent wouldn’t open her legs, his silver tongue would. He grabbed her tiny waist with one hand and cupped her sex with the other, forgetting they were out in public. Everyone else vani
shed from his mind.

  She fussed for but a second or two before cradling his throbbing groin and declaring, “Fuck it.”

  It didn’t bother him in the slightest that they were smack in the middle of a public park. Her touch seemed to penetrate the thick denim barrier, sending him into a frenzy of need. The gentle fluttering of her fingers massaged his bulge to the point where if he didn’t feel it in her pussy soon, he’d have to wank off. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “I’m going ta kiss ya. If ya don’t want this, say so now.” He couldn’t take his eyes off hers, the color of milk chocolate.

  She parted her lips and a little sigh escaped. “Shut up and snog me, already.”

  He back-stepped her behind a huge rosebush then edged her mouth open with his tongue, sweeping it over hers, exploring her heat. The taste of Baileys, mixed with a sugary after-shot of melon, enveloped him, and her sweet exhalations of pleasure sent him toward to the point of no return.

  Hard. Deep. Frantic. She wrapped herself around him. He was crazy for her.

  God, he wanted to throw her down on the grass and make love to her. A hedge kind of hid them. It might work. Fuck, no. That wasn’t the slightest bit romantic or memorable. Instead, he’d suggest they go back to her hotel room.

  Pulling away from her proved difficult; her lustful gaze kept luring him in for more. He moved to sweep her hair from her face before going in for the kill, but she caught his hand mid-air and backed away from him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you I’m—”

  His phone buzzed.

  “Hold that thought.” He dug in his pocket. “I’m sorry. I’ve got ta get this. It’s probably me friend wondering how the date is going. If I don’t answer it, he’ll keep bugging me.” He pressed a few buttons to bring up the text message he’d received.

  Elizabeth Winters sends her apologies for being three and a half hours late. She had a family matter she couldn’t miss. If you are willing, she would love to arrange to meet another time. Of course, there will be no charge for this evening’s arrangements and the box of new toys you requested is at the front desk of The Portebella Hotel, should you wish to retrieve them. Please advise me on what I should tell Elizabeth.