Irish Kisses Boxed Set

by JoAnne Kenrick

  A stocky blonde with her head firmly tucked into a ground level cupboard jumped and banged her forehead. She rubbed at the sore spot and grumbled. “Eh, breakfast will be served in a short few minutes. I’ll come take your order. Go back to your table.”

  “I’d love some doorstop toast from the delicious smelling bread, if possible. Can I help with anything?”

  “Absolutely on the toast, but as our guest you must allow me to serve you. I’ll be right out with some tea and your breakfast. Sound good?” She leaned over and grabbed a rolling pin. “Ah-ha! I was looking for this.”

  “With jam or marmalade…and butter, not marg.”

  “Margarine? I think you just swore at the baker. Ha! I’m Laura, by the way.”

  “Are you the lady I spoke to on reception yesterday?” Laura nodded. “Nice to meet you.” Sandra stuck her arm out. “I’m Sandra Dunst.”

  The woman clapped off the flour then shook her hand. “I’m receptionist, cook, maid…you name it!”

  “I suppose one must adapt to anything and everything when you work in a hotel over the winter holidays. You must have a lot of guests booked in for a treat over the holiday period.”

  “No….” She paused. “You’re our only guest.”

  “But—”

  “It’s the weather, see? It puts a lot of folks off. Our party of seven canceled at the last minute. We’ve no phone or internet after last night’s storm, and good luck getting a mobile signal way out—”

  “No phones! But I’ve got to call the family and let them know I arrived safely.”

  “We’re stranded here until the roads have been cleared.”

  “Heck, I’m meant to travel to Dunluce Castle the day after tomorrow. I’m booked in for their Christmas Eve dinner special.”

  “You should make it fine. The snow never sticks around for long with us being on the coast. But we’re not likely to get any more bookings, at least not today. It’ll just be yourself and Mr. Draighean as guests, by the looks of it.”

  “Mr. Draighean?”

  “You met him, I believe. He drove you home through last night’s terrible storm.”

  “It’s just us? Here in this castle? With no phones? Stranded here….” What did I say, St Nick? No more fuck ups.

  “Ah, here he is now.”

  The back door swung open, and there he stood, holding a bird carcass by its feet. “The bird is from ya husband. Reckon ya can rustle up a dumpling stew with this for dinner tonight?”

  “Of course.” Laura took the dead animal. Holding it at arm’s length and scrunching up her face, she dropped it into a huge boiler pot. She then rushed to the sink to scrub her hands clean. “Eww, why can’t we get our meat from the store like everyone else?”

  Sandra snorted. “Do guests usually bring their own dinner ala fresh-from-the-farm?”

  “I’ve been coming here years, love. Like family, I am.” He winked at Laura who rolled her eyes and turned to finish making a brew.

  “Erm, guess I kinda owe you a thank you for last night.”

  “No need. Besides, I think ya kiss was thanks enough.” Chuckling, he motioned to Laura for a drink.

  “Not going to let me forget about that, are you?” Sandra backed up against a kitchen cupboard and gulped.

  He strutted into her personal space and nudged her chin. “Nope, and I’m only ta happy ta oblige a replay…for memories sake,” he rasped, slinking forward and pinning her against the worktop behind her.

  “You cheeky beggar.” Sandra glanced over his shoulder and willed herself not to look him in the eye, for if she did, her knees would buckle and she’d slam to the ground. A nervous giggle escaped her. She placed a hand over his and squeezed at his fingers to get him to release his clasp. There was no budging him.

  “I just want….” He moved closer still, his breath grazing her mouth, and she leaned toward him. She tried to stop the forward motion, but it seemed her body knew more about what she needed than her brain did.

  “The sugar for me brew.” He reached around her and retrieved the bowl of caster sugar. Relief and disappointment surged through her, and the inevitable happened. Her legs gave way. She swayed a little but grabbed the worktop to save her fall.

  “Ankle giving ya problems?” He smirked, his stare intense and intimidating like he was undressing her with his eyes. “Want me ta ice pack it, oh wait, ya probably had enough of ice. But maybe if ya ankle is feeling better later, ya want ta walk with me ta me car ta fetch ya things?”

  “Hmm.” Her mind raced through possible scenarios, all of which were X-rated and far too saucy for even one of her favorite romance books. His glare didn’t help; she wanted to dive into his indigo blues and discover what was beyond his strong physique and wild Irish ways. Plain and simple, she wanted him and wanted to hate him. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and her lips tingled. “Can’t, my ankle should be elevated really. With ice. Hey, Mr. Like-Family, how come there’s no Christmas tree up?” She directed her attention to taking a tea tray from Laura.

  “Aww, are your plans ta seduce me underneath the mistletoe ruined?”

  “She said tree, not mistletoe! Men.” Laura huffed. “Go on now, and take your coffee to-go with your muddy feet and crappy attitude. There’s no room for the likes of you in my kitchen. Not today.”

  “I was supposed to have a date tomorrow night, but with all the snow, I guess he won’t be coming. Thought I’d occupy myself with decorating then reading A Christmas Carol. I saw there was an edition in the library.” Sandra watched the hulk-of-a man’s expression change when she mentioned her date. She saw a hint of the man from the dining room painting in his frown. It got her thinking….

  Mr. Draighean snorted and took a swig of his drink before heading out the back door and strutting past the kitchen window with an ax over his shoulder. He mouthed, “Happy bloody Christmas.”

  “Looks like Mr. Draighean is fetching you a tree!” Laura clapped her hands.

  “Be honest with me, Laura. Is he my date? Is he Ardan?”

  She looked down at the floor and twisted her floury apron between her fingers. “I do believe Mr. Draighean, Ardan, is your date for tomorrow. I’m not one to gossip, but….” She paused, glanced out the window and toward the snowman in the distance, then blurted, “He has a five-year-old son, and his wife died two years ago. There, I’ll not say another word, no, I won’t. He’ll not like us talking about him like this.”

  “Is he always so…?”

  “Cocky? Yes, I do believe he is. Part of his charm, so it is.”

  Chapter Four

  Should he have been upfront with Sandra? He had hidden his identity from her both times he’d bumped into her in the castle yesterday. First, in the morning in Laura’s kitchen, and later, in reception, where he had hoped to discreetly drop off her suitcase. She had spotted him and wrapped her arms around him, even kissed him on the cheek. He played along like the guest she seemed to think he was and chatted about pheasants, leaving out the tiny little detail he was Ardan, her date for the evening.

  Now what would he say? Should he pretend her date was a no-show because of the snow? No, not a very gallant thing to do. He did not want her to know he was loaded and king of the castle, but he could’ve certainly explained he was her date arranged by 1Night Stand. He could’ve given her that much.

  Our kiss in the snow sent me cuckoo. Ah, bugger it.

  She was a looker, with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes—those oceanic pools mesmerized him, took him into the very depths of her. And her womanly curves stirred him to the brink of insanity. He’d like to feel her flesh under his touch, to clamp those nipples in his teeth, to hear her squeals of delight, to tie her up in tinsel and….

  Focus.

  He wrestled with the tree so it stood straight. Next, he trimmed some of the more unruly stems and stood back to study his work. It’d been two years since he’d had a Nordmann Fir in the house. Two years since he’d even considered celebrating Christmas in any form. It’d taken h
im ages to locate the old box of decorations and lights in the attic. Even found the treetop fairy he made as a child. It had been Amy’s favorite decoration, and she always took such care perching her in such a way so a tree light would sit beneath her skirt and light her up.

  Sandra had awakened him, showed him he didn’t have to move from one woman to the next trying to find the spark he’d had with his late wife. He’d found something completely different in her, something raw yet nurturing. A kindred spirit. He felt it in his gut like metal pulling a magnet. And he couldn’t wait to see her expression when she saw the tree he’d picked out for them to decorate together. The thing was massive. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t smelled the fresh, sharp scent of the pine needles clinging to the air.

  “Laura, fancy Hoovering this mess up for me?”

  “Of course.” She dragged out the vacuum and plugged it in. “Mr. Draighean…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well….” She glanced at the floor and tapped her fingers over the neck of the cleaner.

  “Out with it, Laura?”

  Her eyes slanted, judging him. “Are you wearing that ensemble for your date with Ms. Dunst?”

  “And what’s wrong with me clothes?”

  “Hunting clothes don’t scream romance, do they?” She giggled.

  “No, I guess not. What do ya suggest?” Ardan ran a hand through his unruly hair and realized he hadn’t brushed it or shaved in weeks. He always joked he was going for the designer rough and ready look.

  “How about something casual? A sweater and jeans? A shower and shave might be nice, too.”

  “I can live with that. Sure.”

  Laura nodded, seemingly satisfied with her interfering, and got on with Hoovering up the pine needles shaken to the carpet after his shaping session. The woodsy scent of the pine provoked by Laura’s cleaning wafted up his nostrils and wrapped his senses with holiday hope.

  He poked at the fire then leaned back in the battered armchair to rest for a little while. Tara, his black lab and longtime friend, jumped on his lap and settled her chin on the armrest. He still had a few hours before their date—a rest would do neither of them any harm.

  He noticed her reader contraption on the coffee table and leaned forward to retrieve it. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the cover and stared at all the buttons for a minute. A big silver one on the side lured him into pressing it. Hard against his thumb, it seemed resistant to respond. The screen flickered, and words covered the screen.

  Paragraph by paragraph, he entered Sandra’s world of romance. A world much like his own—a king of the castle in Ireland—only, the man in the story was doing wicked things to a damsel in need of rescue. Heaving bosoms galore. Click. Click. Clickety click. The pages couldn’t turn fast enough when the heat turned up twenty notches. His body reacted to the searing words on the pages, thinking how similar the story was to his situation with Sandra…with the addition of mind-blowing sex. The throb in his pants told him to quit reading and compose himself.

  Trying to get back to the page she’d read up to, he thumbed the reader thing. Every button he pressed took him to some menu or another he didn’t understand, so he gave up and turned it off. Placing the tablet thing back where he found it, he decided to play dumb. Maybe let Tara take the blame if questioned. Her sad eyes would garner forgiveness in an instant. They always did from him.

  He took the dog into the kitchen and fed her—chopped liver and dry dog food—then headed toward his room to prepare for his date. He’d all but reached the stairs when he heard heels clunking on the bare wood. Sandra.

  She rounded the corner wearing a black dress scooped at her neck to expose her cleavage. A glittery black shawl covered her arms, and the dress fell to her ankles.

  “Ardan, I presume? I should have guessed. I kind of did, actually, when Laura said there were no other guests at the castle….”

  “Is that why ya were all over me this afternoon? Were ya teasing me?”

  “More like hoping you’d confess.”

  “Are ya pleased it’s me?”

  “Indifferent.” She swooped down the remaining steps and trailed a finger along his chest. Electricity singed him, and his mind went to the female protagonist from the ebook and how she touched the hero the same way…right before she tied him up and made him beg for mercy, her lips around his stiffness.

  “Because of our kiss…or me teasing ya yesterday morning?” He kicked his left foot and tried to glance away. “Sorry. Sometimes I let me boyish ways get the better of me.”

  “Not at all. I kiss complete strangers all the time.” She stared at him from under her long lashes, her grin hinting at a wicked side.

  “Then you won’t mind if we do it again?” He itched to take her in his arms to see how she’d react. If she’d slap him or throw him down to ravish him. Standing no longer seemed like a good idea. His sexual desire must be very evident, and the sight of his hard-on might make her lock herself in her room.

  “I do mind, actually. Now, we’re stuck in this castle together so there is no point in avoiding each other, but they’ll be no date. You understand. You’re far too young for me and—”

  Her words sounded like a playful don’t-really-mean-it and playing-hard-to-get rejection to him, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “Oh hush, now. I’m yet ta shower and still wearing me work clothes so I should be perfect for ya.” He bulked up his muscles and rounded his shoulders to look mean and rough. “I’m going ta fling ya over me shoulder and take ya ta me private chambers where I’m going ta plunge deep inside ya womanhood and take ya beyond any heights of ecstasy ya have ever known.”

  “You used my e-reader?”

  He couldn’t help the smirk from breaking free. “Yes, and if you’re reading about all those sexy times, I’d say a date is most definitely in order. Come, let’s start again.” He took her hand and led her to the cozy general room all the while keeping his sight on her.

  Reacting with glee and appreciation, she didn’t let him down. He’d made her happy, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he lived up to her expectations tonight.

  “The tree is wonderful!” She scurried to the massive eight-foot tall beauty. She drew in a long even breath, and he noticed her chest moving up and down. “Usually, people admire a different kind of bauble, but I’ll take it as a compliment. No one has ever stared longingly at me before, not even at my tits.” She grabbed her breasts and squeezed them in to make her cleavage more pronounced. “Not bad for an old chick, eh?”

  He wished she wouldn’t refer to herself in such a way. The age difference between them wasn’t huge, not really, and she was far more beautiful than most of the thirty-something women he’d dated in the last year. She was perfect, but he couldn’t get those simple words out. After sounding—and feeling—like a stuttering teenager on a first date, he changed the subject. “I thought we could decorate the tree after dinner.”

  “Lovely, only do you think you could take the shower you mentioned you needed before we sit to eat?” She beamed. “I like my men rough and ready, not rough and smelly.”

  ***

  He’d showered in record time, shaved, and thrown on a fisherman’s sweater and a pair of loose denims. In the rush to get back to his date, he’d forgotten underwear. When he sat at the beautifully decorated table Laura had set up for them, the seam of the jeans rode straight up his crack.

  Sandra furrowed her brow and cocked her head. “Something wrong?”

  “No. No. Nothing except how perfectly beautiful ya are.” Ha, he had the guts to be honest, when covering up. He regretted the comment slipping out the way it had—had it sounded insincere?

  “Hmm, if you say so.” She winked.

  There was a vulnerable woman behind her bravado, and he was determined to crack her surface and get to know the real Sandra Dunst.

  Laura served up a beautiful dinner of pheasant in a rich plum sauce. Divine. Vanilla ice cream for dessert. She apologize
d for serving such a basic pudding, but explained she couldn’t get to the store for cake ingredients. At least she’d gone to the trouble of making homemade mince pies and fresh bread with the last of the flour. Christmas without a mince pie would be sacrilege. Sandra didn’t seem turned off by the hearty country meal, but she was overly chatty about her friends back in London. He couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Not that Ardan minded. He enjoyed having something else to listen to other than Laura clanking away in the kitchen.

  “I’m stuffed!” Sandra pushed her plate a few inches forward before leaning back in her chair. “The hotel owners must have done some serious good deeds for karma to have led Laura to them. She is one spectacular cook.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without her, ta be honest.”

  “You? Why would you do without her? I’m confused.”

  “Well, I mean…when I’m a guest here.”

  “As good as family, yes?” Her eyes slanted and she leaned forward. “Is there something you’ve not been telling me, Ardan?”

  “No—”

  “I have my ways of finding out.” She poked him playfully and grinned.

  “Does it involve a dark room, a chair, and a spotlight?” He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “A Hot Winter Kiss?”

  “Fancy your chances this early in the date, do you?” She chuckled and threw her serviette on her plate. “Well, okay.” Grabbing the neck of his sweater, she yanked him forward and planted a smacker on him. Her gesture threw him off guard; was she taking the Michael—teasing him—or actually kissing him? To hell with it! He cradled her face, sweeping her fringe behind her ears, and angled his head to deepen the kiss. She groaned softly. Her posture softening, she leaned into him.

  Finally, he was the one in control of the evening, and he intended to keep it that way. He sat back. “Hot Winter Kiss is a drink, woman. Basically, like an Irish Kiss, only hotter.”

  “Yes, your kisses sure are hot.”