Kiss Me, I'm Irish: The Sins of His Past / Tangling With Ty / Whatever Reilly Wants...

His intimidating glare didn’t seem to work. In fact, he could have sworn he saw that spark of true grit he’d come to recognize right before some jerk slammed his curve ball into another county.

“I’m sure that’s true in other business models,” she said slowly, a bemused frown somehow just making her prettier. “But the fact is, the bar’s not the most profitable part of an Internet café.”

He choked a laugh of disbelief. “Since when is Monroe’s an Internet café?”

“Since I bought it.”

He could practically hear the ball zing straight over the left-field fence, followed by a way-too familiar sinking sensation in his gut.

“SINCE YOU what?”

He didn’t know. Kendra realized by the genuine shock in those espresso-colored eyes that Deuce had no idea that she and his father shared a two-year-old business arrangement. She’d never had the nerve to ask Seamus if he’d told his son. In fact, she and Seamus Senior had politely danced around the subject of Seamus Junior for a long, long time.

But it looked like the dance was about to end.

“I bought Monroe’s a while ago. Well, half of it. And I run it, although your dad still owns fifty percent.” All right, fifty-one. Did Deuce need to know that little detail?

“Really,” he said, thoughtfully rubbing a cheek that hadn’t seen a razor in, oh, maybe twenty-nine hours. Giving him the ideal amount of Hollywood stubble on his chiseled, handsome features. It even formed the most alluring little shadow in the cleft on his chin.

She’d dipped her tongue into that shadow. Once.

“Yes, really.” She pulled the menus out again just to keep her hands busy. Otherwise, they might betray her and reach out for a quick feel of that nice Hollywood stubble.

“And you turned it into—” He sent a disdainful glare toward the main floor “—the Twilight Zone.”

She couldn’t help laughing. He’d always made her laugh. Even when she was eleven and he’d teased her. He’d made her giggle, and then she’d run upstairs and throw herself on her bed and cry for the sheer love of him. “We call it the twenty-first century, Deuce, and you’re welcome to log on anytime.”

“No, thanks.” He took a step backward, sweeping her with one of those appraising looks that made her feel as if she’d just licked her finger and stuck it in the nearest electrical outlet.

When his gaze finally meandered back up to her face, she forced herself to look into his dark-brown eyes. They were still surrounded by long, black lashes and topped with those seriously brash eyebrows. The cynicism, the daring, the I-don’t-give-a-rat’s-ass-what-anyone-thinks look still burned in his eyes. It was that look, along with a well-known penchant for fun and games, and the occasional out-of-control pitch, that had earned him the most memorable yearbook caption in Rockingham High School history: Deuce Is Wild. And her brother was on the page to the left with his own epigram: Jacks Are Better.

Their gaze stayed locked a little too long and she felt a wave of heat singe her cheeks. How much did he remember? That she’d admitted a lifelong crush on her big brother’s best friend and biggest rival?

Did he remember that she’d never once used the word no during their passionate night together? That she’d whispered “I love you” when her body had melted into his and a childhood of fantasizing about one boy finally came true?

Sophie hustled toward the hostess stand, holding out a manila envelope, and blessedly breaking the silence.

“The kid from Kinko’s dropped this off,” she said, giving Deuce a quick glance as though to apologize for the interruption. Or to steal another look.

Kendra took the envelope. “Are you sure they sent over everything, Soph?”

The young woman nodded. “And the disk is in there, too. For backup.”

Kendra gripped the package a little tighter. This was it. Seamus and Diana Lynn were on their way to Boston, New York and San Francisco to nail down the financing that would allow her to finish the transformation of Monroe’s into the premier Internet café and artists’ space in all of Cape Cod. Two years of research and planning—and what seemed like a lifetime of agonizingly slow higher education—all came down to this presentation.

“Seamus just called,” Sophie added. “He’s anxious to see it today, so he has time to go over any fine points with you before they leave.”

She glanced at Deuce, who managed to take up too much space and breathe too much air just by being there. He’d always be larger than life in her wretched, idolizing eyes, regardless of the fact that he was responsible for putting an end to all of her dreams.

Then a sickening thought seized her. Everyone knew that Deuce’s baseball career was over. Was he back for good? If so, then he had the ability to wreck her plans once again. Not because she would fall into his bed like a lovesick schoolgirl—she’d never make that mistake again—but because he had the power to change his father’s mind.

If he wanted Monroe’s, Seamus would give it to him. If Deuce wanted the moon and stars and a couple of meteors for good measure, Seamus would surely book a seat on the next rocket launch to go get them.

The prodigal son had returned, and the surrogate daughter might just be left out in the cold.

Kendra squared her shoulders and studied the face she’d once loved so much it hurt her heart just to look at him. Deuce Monroe could not waltz back into Rockingham and wreck her life…again.

But she’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing he had any power—then or now.

“You can follow me over there,” she said with such believable indifference that she had to mentally pat herself on the back.

“You can ride with me,” he replied.

“No thanks.” How far could she push indifference? Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time they’d been in a car together?

“You can trust me.” He winked at her. “I’ve only been banned from race tracks, not the street.”

Of course, he was referring to his well-publicized car crash, not their past.

“I just meant that I saw your father yesterday. You haven’t seen him in years. No doubt you’ll want to stay longer than I do.”

“Depends on how I’m received.” He turned toward the door, but shot her a cocky grin. “It’s been a while.”

“No kidding.”

The grin widened as he added another one of those endless full-body eye exams that tested her ability to stand without sinking into the knees that had turned to water. “Is that your way of saying you missed me, Kendra?”

If any cells in her body had remained at rest, they woke up now and went to work making her flush and ache and tingle.

She managed to clear her throat. “I’m sure this is impossible for you to comprehend, Deuce, but somehow, some way, without formal therapy or controlled substances, every single resident in the town of Rockingham, Massachusetts, has managed to survive your long absence. Every. Single. One.”

He just laughed softly and gave her a non-verbal touché with those delicious brown eyes. “Come on, Ken-doll. I’ll drive. Do you have everything you need?”

No. She needed blinders to keep from staring at him, and a box of tissue to wipe the drool. Throw in some steel armor for her heart and a fail-safe chastity belt, and then she’d be good to go.

But he didn’t need to know that. Any more than he needed to know why she’d dropped out of Harvard in the middle of her junior year.

“I have everything I need.” She held the envelope in front of her chest and gave him her brightest smile. “This is all that matters.”

She couldn’t forget that.

“SO WHAT THE HELL happened to this place?” Deuce threw a glance to his right, ostensibly at the cutesy antique stores and art galleries that lined High Castle Boulevard, but he couldn’t resist a quick glimpse at the passenger in his rented Mustang.

Because she looked a lot better than the changes in his hometown. Her jeans-clad legs were crossed and she leaned her elbow out the open window, her head casually tipped against her knuckles as the spring breeze lifted strands of her shoulder-length blond hair.

“What happened? Diana Lynn Turner happened,” she answered.

The famous Diana Lynn again. “Don’t tell me she erected the long pink walls and endless acres of housing developments I saw on the way into town. Everything’s got a name. Rocky Shores. Point Place. Shoreline Estates. Since when did we have estates in Rockingham?”