Irish Kisses Boxed Set

by JoAnne Kenrick

  “Yes, ma’am. But that’s not going—”

  “Let me stop ya right there. See, I’m a part time manageress at this establishment, and something tells me Shaun will hear ya out this time, okay? Stick with me.” She planted a kiss on his cheek then ushered him forward.

  Her husband winked at her, his gorgeous smoky-gray eyes sparkling with joy. He reached for the handle and pulled the door open. Usual Bell’s madness met them. Devlin stood on the bar doing a jig of some sort—not for the first time nor the last, she suspected—and Shaun had his focus on serving punters. Sandra was on a break, her nose stuck in a paperback and her ankles crossed with her feet resting on the table in front of her.

  The fire blazed. Several punters huddled around it with mugs of something hot and steamy.

  “How are ya?” Todd shouted over the bustle, putting on a fake Irish accent. Everyone turned to face them. Silence broke out for a mere second, then everyone cheered.

  “Happy birthday, Elizabeth!”

  She weaved through the crowd, hollering to Shaun to serve up some Threesome Sweetnesses. She thought it appropriate in the situation. As was Devlin’s recipe for the tasty drink. A touch of smooth sweetness would be her, and the tart with a blast of coffee would be her perky husband. Both ingredients worked well together, but the dash of decadence from their new friend had blended in perfectly.

  Cade’s mobile rang again. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed. “Mandy…ah, what do I say to her?”

  “She phoned ya several times today, I reckon that woman is hung up on ya, so she is,” Elizabeth said.

  “I think maybe you’re right.”

  “Erm, maybe? Hello! Is she willing ta do anything for ya? Does she phone ya constantly ta say hi? Does she—”

  He put his finger to his mouth to shush her then turned his attention to the phone. “Yes, Mandy. What’s happening?”

  She leaned in, close enough to hear the conversation but not close enough to be obvious.

  “Just making sure you’re still alive and wondering if there’s anything I can do for you?” She heard Mandy say.

  “Like anything.”

  “Exactly.” The woman practically purred out the word.

  “I’ll call you back.” Cade’s mouth rounded, and his brows furrowed. Elizabeth fluttered her hand over the hang-up button to stop him from ending the conversation. “No ya won’t shy away from this, Cade. Invite her over here right now. Get her on the very next flight ta London. Ya deserve some non work-related time together.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His voice wavered, his brows knitting together.

  She wasn’t convinced he had conviction, and attempted once again to get him juiced up about his secretary. She wanted to see him happy, as wonderfully in love as she was with Todd. “It’ll give ya time ta work out how ya feel about her…I mean really feel about her.”

  “I already know how I feel about her, but I’m worried that I’ve read her wrong. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

  “Well, that’s silly. I know a woman in love when I hear one; she’s one hundred percent in love with ya, mister. So invite her over here. Besides, we need some extra time ta chat business. Ya see, I’ve been thinking.” Elizabeth pulled her husband and Cade closer. “If Shaun Bell doesn’t want ta snatch ya arm up for this franchise in New York…well…I, I mean we, will!”

  “That’s if the job comes with benefits, like maternity leave and medical insurance,” her husband interrupted.

  “Why would we need that, Todd…oh.” She threw herself at him and squeezed him tight. “I think you’d make a wonderful father.”

  “If we took care of everything stateside, Shaun might say yes to the franchise. We could have so much more time together….”

  “Good, because making babies takes time. Lots and lots of time.” Winking, she pressed her lips to his. “Todd, this is the best birthday ever! Thank you.”

  Hot Winter Kiss

  Irish Kisses - Book 4

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  JoAnne Kenrick

  Chapter One

  Sandra Dunst shuffled alongside the other travelers, dragging her suitcase-on-wheels behind her. Finally docked at Belfast after the ferry ride from hell, she was delighted, albeit a little queasy. Passengers scurried past, chatting about pubs and famous ships to visit while they were there.

  Not Sandra. Nope. She took her merry time, relishing the ocean breeze chapping her cheeks. Glancing back at the orange glow of the sky across the dark horizon, her heart somersaulted. Her first night in Ireland, and the first night in years she didn’t have to run around after her family.

  She pulled on woolen mitts and fastened up her coat, preparing for the short walk to the bus stop. Her head was in the clouds the whole way, overwhelmed by seven days ahead with nothing scheduled except the odd bit of traveling from castle to castle and reading in front of a roaring fire with a cup of something hot and naughty.

  Rounding a street corner, she gave a cheer when she saw the big neon sign for Belfast Bus Station. Sleet, festive tunes from the Salvation Army, and grievance-chanting crowds of a bus strike. Operation Isolation wasn’t panning out the way she had planned—so much for a spot of stress-free solitude.

  She struggled to keep calm so she could find a solution. Throwing a hissy fit wasn’t going to solve a damned thing. Think. She rubbed her temple and tried to come up with an idea to get her to Ballygalley before the snowfall thickened, despite the fare-play-more-pay kafuffle. One that wouldn’t cost her a fortune in taxi fares. She didn’t fancy anyone’s chances driving the twisting roads leading up to the Irish castle turned hotel.

  “Only my luck this would happen during my Christmas break. Fricken’ donkey balls.” Jolly shoppers packed out the city center, and a fluffy frosting of snow lay over roofs and the tops of cars. She had two choices: phone the hotel to cancel and find somewhere in Belfast to stay until the buses ran again, or go home to holiday chaos.

  She refused to head back to London to spend her time off babysitting her grandchildren while her daughter and son-in-law enjoyed themselves, as she did every year. She loved the little ones, but this once, she’d decided to put herself first. Shaun—her boss back at Bell’s Irish Pub in London—may have thought himself clever by suggesting Irish castle hopping, but he hadn’t considered Sandra’s Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.

  She pulled out her mobile—she had programmed in the number for her hotels in case of an emergency—and hit speed dial. An Irish lady on reception answered and rushed to arrange a car to pick her up from nearby Laverty’s pub. The driver would take maybe an hour and a half to reach her, but she’d be waiting in the warmth and be at her destination before hot cocoa time. The lady had even offered a bowl of soup upon arrival, although the kitchen had closed.

  With the promise of peace ahead of her again, she immersed herself in the seasonal spirit surrounding her. Even threw a couple of pound coins in the Salvation Army’s collection box and requested they play “White Christmas.” The group in their stern navy outfits and funky hats changed sheet music and piped out her request. Stupid idea. She cursed herself for wallowing in holiday misery and tried to block the image of her ex-husband down on one knee while he presented a ring box to her on Christmas Eve. Seemed like only a year had passed since she last kissed him. Other times, it was as if he’d been gone forever.

  She clutched at her empty ring finger and a shudder raced over her. “Too fanciful. I expected a ‘fairytale romance,’ he said. Pft, what does he know? Romance does exist…and not just in storybooks. I will find love. I will.”

  Four children scurrying past her with grins and rosy cheeks nearly knocked her to the ground. A woman lagged behind, weighed down by dozens of bags. Sandra offered to help, but the lady moved past, her face a mask of stress, and didn’t respond. Maybe she was mentally checking she had the stuffing and trimmings for the family feast. Heck, she’d usually be in the same shoes this time of year. Instead, she’d no
thing but herself to think about. She tugged the woolen scarf tighter around her neck before turning the corner and crossing the road to Laverty’s. As she reached for the door, a pile of young girls in their twenties spilled out of the pub wearing nothing but tight mini-dresses and heels; full of liquor and jolly chatter.

  Sandra took a step inside and was slammed with a wall of noise. She did a double take and wondered if she should find somewhere quiet to wait, where punters weren’t younger than her daughter. The cold won, though, and she ventured into a twenty-something land decorated to the hilt with classy green and silver tinsel and delicate fairy lights.

  She scanned the room full of partygoers; the dimly lit bar and low ceilings reminding her of Bell’s, where she worked most evenings. She fought her way through the crowd nestled around the bar and ordered an Irish coffee, taking the cup before heading for a quiet corner tucked way in the back. She took a sip and thanked God for Irishmen who knew how to make a bloody good drink. It must be in the blood. Shaun’s saying ran through her mind as she drank. Make the drinks with love and have a passion for making folk smile.

  Digging out the treat the staff had bought her for her trip, all wrapped in hot hunks printed gift paper, she grinned. She’d promised to wait until she’d arrived at the castle before opening her surprise, but if not for the ferry delay and the bus strikes, she’d be snug by the fireplace already. By her calculations, present time had come and gone. She ripped that baby open and found a gift only good friends would think to buy her.

  “An e-reader!”

  They’d included a card, on the front of which a very sexy Santa hung up a fishnet stocking over a cartoon fireplace.

  Now you’ll be able to carry those sexy stories around with you wherever you go, without your grandkids ever discovering those smutty covers! And to ensure your holiday is romantic, we’ve stocked your reader with books from your favorite series. One is about an Irish castle owner. Wink, wink. Oh, and talking of romance, tucked into the cover is another present to ensure your Christmas is one filled with joy.

  Happy holidays! Your wee family from Bell’s.

  Sandra thumbed around the cover and found what looked like an invitation. She opened the envelope and cringed. A 1Night Stand date. Hell’s bells. Had to be Devlin’s idea, the cheeky sod. Her co-worker always teased her about her reading habits at work. Yup. This trickery had Devlin written all over it. Insensitive bastard.

  “Sandra? I’m from Ballygalley, here ta give ya a ride ta the castle. Bloody good job the barman recalled seeing ya. I’d never have found ya tucked way back here.”

  A man loomed over her, his face shadowed by a knit hat pulled down to his temples; a hint of dark ginger peeked through the wool.

  He rubbed his hands together then blew on them. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

  Christmas lametta tinsel from above reflected across his smoldering, indigo glare. His brow furrowed and a glint of impatience flickered in his eyes. He rubbed at his stubbled face, and she could have sworn she heard the gentle sweep of thick whiskers brushing his palm. Her ex used to do the same thing when he was deep in thought. A tightening in her throat stalled her.

  “Not got all night.” He pulled out her chair, nearly knocking her flying.

  “Let me put my things away, first, eh?” She fisted her hands and puckered her mouth. Dude might be one sexy man to look at, but his romance hero qualities stopped there. Would make a good cover model, though.

  “Is that one of them digital contraptions for fake books or a digital tablet thing?”

  “Fake? I assure you, e-books are as real as any paper ones. They still contain pages with stories to share. Honestly.” Her ex would have said something similar about the new technology. She tsked at the silly notion and gathered her things. “And you’re younger than me. Twenty six, twenty seven…at a guess, so you should be all for the electronic age.”

  “None of ya business, mind, but I’m thirty three. And digital books ain’t real because ya can’t hold them or smell them. End of discussion. Now, are ya hitching this ride with me, or not?”

  “If you quit your attitude, I’d be most grateful to travel with you. But if you carry on being an ass, you can forget it.”

  “Ya know I’m going out of me way here. Didn’t have ta pick ya up.”

  “Right. Fine. Let’s go.” Sandra stood and strutted toward the exit.

  “Forgetting something?” He yelled over the bar racket.

  “No.”

  Raising an eyebrow, he pointed to her modest roll-along. “Erm, suitcase?”

  “I thought you could carry it for me.”

  “Ya thought wrong.”

  “Charming. A young lad like yourself is going to make an old granny carry her own bags. Nice.”

  “You’re no granny, love. Ya look capable, so don’t be rushing ta the grave yet.”

  “I’m forty nine, almost there,” she snapped.

  His old banger, all rusted up and dirty, waited for them right outside the pub. He slumped into the driver’s seat, tapped his fingers on the wheel, and stared over his shoulder at her while she trekked around the car and threw her stuff in. Slamming the boot shut, she cursed under her breath. Sleet turned to snow but melted at first contact with the ground. The whitening of the sky and the dropping temperatures suggested a full-on winter storm headed their way.

  “Not got all night, like I said.” He beeped the horn.

  Her hands fisted again, and she counted to ten before reaching for the back door. It wouldn’t open at first try. She tried and tried again. Frustration getting the better of her, she kicked the door and spat snow from her bottom lip.

  “Hey! Watch it.”

  “Worried I might scratch your immaculate heap of metal?”

  “Don’t knock it. Done up, this car will be worth a fortune, so she will.”

  “By done up, you mean with doors that can open?”

  “Quit sharp-tonguing and jump in the front with me.”

  She parked in the passenger seat. “And how long is the ride?”

  “I’ll have ta drive extra slow on some of them roads because the twists and drops could see us flying into the ocean. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  Sandra buckled her seat belt and clutched at the door handle, glancing at her impatient driver. He’d taken his hat off, and reflections from the glistening snow danced over his features. She was even more certain he belonged on a book cover…but not in the pages. Asshole.

  “Don’t mind some music, do ya?” He clicked the radio on and scanned through the airwaves, stopping on Alvin and the Chipmunks. Fricken rodents making a muck of carols, just what she needed.

  “Guess I was wrong when I thought getting away from the family meant getting away from crap like this.” She threw her hands to her ears, praying for an end to her holiday hell…until she spotted his smirk. Her gaze lifted to his indigo blues.

  He winked and patted her thigh. “You’ll be sipping coffee before ya know it.”

  She tingled under his touch, and shivers of delight coursed through her and settled in her groin. No man had ever made her feel this way. No real man, anyway.

  She tried to shake off her lusty pants by reminding herself Barney Rubble—a nickname she given him due to his red hair and cave man like behavior—was far too young for her, and far too rude. Snuggling into her chair, she leaned her head against the window and willed herself to calm down.

  It’s going to be a long night, Sandra. Hold on!

  Chapter Two

  The gentle snowfall transformed into a blizzard. Ardan flicked the windshield wipers to full whack. Lucky they only had another couple of miles to go and could walk if the car got jammed in a heap.

  Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, he prayed his mid-renovation Alfa Romeo would hold out. He would have used the four by four, but his mother had borrowed it.

  His passenger leaned against the window with her mouth wide open, her breath heavy. Damned woman slept, out like a log. How could
he apologize for the terrible first impression he must have given her? Stupid digital books and noisy bar. He despised the bustle of the city, but he hadn’t meant to take his impatience out on her. Amy often said he had low tolerance levels. Guess she’d been right.

  Amy, his wife, had died on Christmas Eve two years earlier. He kept her pink blanket on the back seat where she always threw it no matter which car they used. “Living out in the sticks,” she’d say, “means you have to be prepared for anything. This blanket could be the difference between staying alive or freezing to death if the car ever breaks down.”

  He didn’t have the heart to throw the precious keepsake out or stash it in the attic.

  Reaching to the back—keeping his sight focused on the road ahead—he felt around for the cover. His digits landed on something soft and he yanked it to the front and brought it to his nose, searching for some semblance of comfort. The scent of her still wedged in the thick softness. The faint, but distinct waft of her favorite flowery perfume filled his nostrils, and his memory hurtled back to when she insisted on knitting the thing. Her little side smile, the sparkle in her violet eyes—as if it were yesterday.

  His heart lay heavy. A sigh escaped him and steamed up the window.

  Sandra shivered, and her knees knocked together. The poor lass was freezing. Instinct made him want to cascade his treasured knit over her, but his mourning for his dead fiancée made him pause.

  “Damn it, Amy wouldn’t want her ta catch her death.” He placed the blanket on her knees and lifted it around her shoulders. Without the harsh din of Laverty’s and her crass tongue to bug him, she was stunning. Naturally pretty. Shame about her foul cockney mouth.

  He’d known Sandra was a touch older than him but Christ, how old had she said she was? Word around the country club was the 1Night Stand agency had a spotless record—he trusted the match and figured there’d be a solid reason why Madame Eve thought they’d be good together.