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

“During All Star breaks?” She moved ahead of him as they reached the back door, tugging a set of keys from her pocket. “Every single minute, you were busy?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? And you don’t seem too happy about it.”

She spun around to face him and pointed a key toward his chest. “Do you really expect me to jump for joy because you imploded your own career and now you want to come and horn in on mine?”

“I didn’t know about this Internet café stuff. Dad never mentioned it, he never mentioned a—a girlfriend, and he never mentioned you.”

She stared at him for a minute, no doubt a thousand smart-aleck retorts spinning through her head. Instead she snapped her fingers to call the dog who’d meandered toward the beach, and pivoted back to the door.

Which gave him a really nice view of her hips and backside in worn jeans.

A flash of those taut legs wrapped around him on a blanket in the sand danced through his mind. She’d worn jeans that night, too. He remembered sliding down her zipper, dipping his hand into her soft, feminine flesh, then peeling the denim down her legs.

A rush of blood through his body didn’t surprise him. In the years that had passed, he’d never remembered that night without a natural, instinctive and powerful response. For some reason, that sandy, sexy encounter had never felt like a one-night stand. Probably because it involved a girl who he should have been able to resist—his best friend’s little sister.

“Look,” he said, stabbing his hands in his pants pockets, which really just helped him resist the urge to reach out and touch her. “I had no idea things had changed this much, or that you and Dad had plans for something entirely different.”

“Well, we do.” She entered the house and held the door for him.

He followed her, but his mind was whirring. Was he expected to back off the bar entirely? His family name was still on the door, damn it. The only name that ever had been on that particular door, with or without capital letters.

“Maybe there’s a compromise somewhere,” he suggested. “Maybe we could keep a few computers in one corner of the bar—you know, for the people who aren’t watching games? And you could find some nearby property for your gallery or whatever.”

Instead of brightening, her scowl deepened. She opened her mouth to say something, then slammed it shut again.

“What?” he asked. “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

He dug his hands deeper. “You won’t even consider a compromise?”

Inhaling unevenly, she closed her eyes. “I’ve already compromised enough where you’re concerned.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

She held up both hands as though to stop everything. “Never mind.” She turned away, toward a small hallway behind her. “Excuse me for a minute.”

She turned to stalk down the hallway, but he seized her elbow in one quick grab. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she spat the word, shaking him off. “Forget I said that.”

He let her go.

What had she compromised for him?

In the tiny living room, he dropped onto a sofa and stared at the serene water of the Sound through a sliding glass door, remembering again the incredible night they’d spent together.

He’d never forgotten that night. Maybe because he knew he shouldn’t have seduced Jack’s sister…but maybe because her response to him was so real and strong. So real, that he couldn’t understand where “compromise” came into play. There were two very, very consenting adults during that beach-blanket bingo.

He’d come home after his mother had died of an aneurysm, too old at twenty-four to feel as though his mommy had left him, but brokenhearted anyway. Kendra had been about twenty, maybe twenty-one, and smack between her sophomore and junior years at Harvard. A business major, he recalled.

He remembered how impressed he’d been—she was smart, and quick-witted, and had grown up into a complete knock-out. Even in the chaos and sadness of his mother’s passing, he’d noticed that Kendra Locke had spent every minute at the bar, calmly taking care of things he and his father were not even thinking about.

His last night in town, he’d gone to the bar and ended up staying until it closed, drinking soda and watching Kendra work. That’s when he officially stopped thinking of her as Ken-doll.

The name just wasn’t feminine enough for a woman that attractive. They’d talked and flirted. She made him laugh for the first time that week.

When her shift ended, they’d gone for a ride. He still could remember pulling her toward him in his dad’s car and their first, heated kiss.

He leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d felt guilty, and a little remorseful at seducing a girl he’d always considered a little sister. But she’d been willing.

No, no. That was an understatement. She’d been more than willing. Sweet, tender and innocent, he remembered with a cringe. Certainly a virgin. Was that the compromise she’d made?

Probably. And he’d been a world-class jerk for not calling afterwards. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten her. He just…couldn’t. He looked down the hallway expectantly. No wonder she still hated him. Especially now that she had what he wanted.

He muttered a curse. Wasn’t it unspoken that he’d always be back? Sure it had happened a little sooner than they all thought, but Dad always knew it. Didn’t she realize that when she bought forty-nine percent—not fifty—of the bar that she was essentially buying into his inheritance?

He heard her footsteps in the hall and looked up to see her walking toward him, looking as calm as the waters beyond the glass doors. Game face on.

“How much time do you think we should give them?” she asked.

“Not too much. Evidently, they get easily distracted by each other.”

She laughed a little and put both hands on the backrest of a bentwood chair, her casual indifference back in place. “We can go back. I got what I needed.”

“What was that?”

“My wits.” She deepened those dimples with a disarming grin.

Was she offering a truce? He was game. “I’m sure we’ll work something out.” He gave her a friendly wink. “You never know. I bet we work well together.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I bet we don’t.”

“How can you say that?” He stood slowly, his gaze locked on her as he moved closer. “Don’t tell me you forgot—”

“Newman!” She snapped her fingers in the air, a warning look flashing in those sky-blue eyes. The message was silent…but clear.

There would be no discussing that night.

The dog came tripping down the hallway with a bark, surprising Deuce by sidling up to his leg instead of that of the woman snapping for him.

Kendra rolled her eyes as Newman rubbed Deuce’s pantleg.

“He likes me,” Deuce noted.

“He’s easily impressed. Let’s go back to Diana’s.”

Laughing, he held the door for her. “I don’t know. Think the jury’s back already, Ken-doll?”