Kiss Me, I'm Irish Page 11

  “I want to make love to you again, Kendra.” His voice was no more than hot, sweet air against her skin.

  I’ll call you.

  The words suddenly reverberated in her head like a cannon shot into the night.

  I’ll call you.

  “What?” Deuce lifted his head from her neck, his fingers suddenly still.

  She didn’t even realize she’d spoken. “You asked me what the last words you said were on…that night. You said ‘I’ll call you.’ I just remembered.”

  He eased his hand away from her, and lifted himself just enough to look into her eyes. She half expected disgust, a look of “how can you hold me to that now?”

  But that’s not what she saw. Pain and remorse flashed in his eyes just before he closed them.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said gently. “It was a lousy thing to do.”

  Her heart twisted. “You had your reasons.” Good heavens, was she rationalizing for him? She pushed him a little farther away. “But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”

  He removed his hand completely. Why had she remembered those words? Why had she said them out loud? Why couldn’t he just be a normal, oversexed guy and keep going?

  But he reached for one side of her bra, then the other. Disappointment spiraled through her and he covered her breasts, snapped the clasp and dropped a soft kiss on her cleavage.

  “We’re done,” she said knowingly.

  “Nowhere near.” He tugged her sweater back over her chest and stomach. “I just also remember how uncomfortable the sand is.” He eased her zipper up, his gaze on her face. “This time, we’re going to be warm and snug in my bed.” He tucked his hands under her shoulders and gently lifted her. “And tomorrow, I will most definitely call you. About six times. Before noon.”

  Before she could respond, he kissed her again and pulled them both into a stand. The blanket fell off her shoulders, around her feet.

  “Will you spend tonight with me, Kendra?” There was something so tender, so genuine about the question that her knees nearly buckled.

  How could he have been so sweet, so loving, so tender? Was it all an act?

  The words, in her own handwriting, danced before her eyes. She closed them to block out the mental image.

  Could she be falling for him again?

  This was it. Her moment to say no. Her senses had returned, she was on her feet and could use them to run right into her house and lock the door. Or straight into his bed and certain heartache. She took a deep breath, looked up at him and waited for “yes” or “no” to tumble out of her mouth.

  “By the way,” he whispered into her ear before she spoke, “You never heard the last words I said to you because you’d already closed the door.”

  She waited, her pulse jumping.

  “I said that in my own way, I’d always loved you, too.”

  And then her decision was made.

  EVEN IN THE MOONLIGHT, he could see the emotion spark in her silvery-blue eyes. A little fury, a lot of fear. Before he could decide what she was feeling, she jerked out of his grip, scooped up her blanket, and bolted up toward her house.

  “Kendra,” he called, taking long strides to easily catch up with her. “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  He stopped for a moment, letting her get ahead, letting his blood settle and his brain work again. “Why?” It was the best he could manage, considering how far from his brain the blood actually was.

  All he got was a dismissive wave of her hand over her shoulder as she continued her march toward the beach house.

  He caught up with her as she reached the door. “What’s the matter?”

  As she spun around, he realized there was no fear, just fury in those eyes. “How dare you make fun of me…of that.”

  “Of what? I did say that, Kendra, and I meant it.”

  She speared him with a disbelieving look and crossed her arms. “Liar.”

  “I am not lying.” He practically sputtered. “You were always—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t. Don’t make it worse. You didn’t need to make that up to get me to go to bed with you, Deuce. It was pretty obvious which way I was going on that one.”

  Circling her narrow wrist with his fingers, he moved her hand from his mouth. “I wasn’t saying that to get you to go to bed with me,” he said softly. “I was trying to tell you that all those years when you were young, all those years you…” He didn’t know what to call her feelings for him. He knew they were there. He’d seen it in her eyes. Hero worship?

  “Crush,” she supplied. “I’d call what I had a crush.”

  He smiled. “I like that. Anyway, I was always aware of you.”

  “Deuce. I was ten.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “I was aware of you like a sister, then you…” He shook his head. This wasn’t coming out right. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “The way you looked at me—like I was the only guy on earth—made me feel alive, Kendra. It made me feel great. I was just trying to say I loved you for it.”

  She searched his face, saying nothing. Wondering, no doubt, if he was even capable of the truth. He owed her the truth.

  “That’s why I never called,” he finally said. “Because I kind of sensed I wasn’t worthy of that level of…love.”

  She stared at him for a good thirty seconds before speaking. She shook her head, inched backwards. “You treated me like a baby for ten years, then a pariah for the next ten.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “Now I’d like to treat you like a woman.” But that might be pushing it, and he knew it. He didn’t wait for a response. “But that’s probably not fair to you either.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he reached across the space between them and eased her jaw up.

  “Shhh. You don’t have to say anything.” He kissed her forehead and ignored the hole in his gut. He had to turn around, walk away and let her be. He’d hurt her and he had no right to pick up where they’d left off as if…as if not calling her was acceptable.

  It wasn’t.

  “Good night, Kendra.” He turned and started across the stone path. He had his foot on the first of the wooden steps up to Diana’s house when he felt her grip on his elbow.

  “Wait a second.”

  He didn’t move, giving her a chance to speak. When she didn’t, he slowly turned around.

  “It is fair.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “If you really see me as a grown woman, an equal, if you really can forget that little girl who worshipped you, and forget about the first time we…”

  He grazed her cheek with his knuckle. “I’ll never forget the first time, but I sure would like another chance. With this woman.” He let his thumb caress her lower lip and felt it quiver under his touch. “This grown, beautiful, smart, sexy woman.”

  “If that’s true, then…”

  “Then…what?”

  She reached up and pulled him to her, seizing his mouth in a hot, demanding kiss.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked softly.

  “I just can’t fight this anymore.”

  Neither could he.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DEUCE NEVER LET HER say another word. It was as though he thought if they talked any more, she’d change her mind. Even if he hadn’t pulled her into his chest, even if he hadn’t possessively turned the kiss into his own, even if he hadn’t flattened his hands against her bottom and pressed her stomach against his surging hard-on, Kendra wouldn’t have changed her mind.

  Life was too short and this magic was too dizzying to let him walk away. Tonight, she wouldn’t think about the past, about mistakes or bad choices. All she wanted to think about was the cliff-dropping thrill of making love to Deuce.

  He started to pull her toward Diana’s.

  “No,” she whispered, tilting her head in the direction of her bungalow. “My house. My bed.”

  He
groaned softly and lifted her to her toes, letting her stomach ride the ridge of his erection. “Any house, any bed,” he said huskily. “But only this woman.”

  Her heart plummeted with a roller-coaster dip.

  They kissed across the walkway, pausing at her door for him to slide his hands over her breasts and down her waist, dipping his fingertips into the top of her jeans.

  She rocked her hips into him, her body so hot and wet that if he’d pushed her pants down, she could have made love on the porch, standing.

  He fumbled with the door that she hadn’t even locked, guided her inside, still kissing, still exploring, little desperate moans and surprised sighs escaping both of them.

  The bungalow was pitch-black when the door closed behind them, and without turning on a light, Deuce yanked her sweater over her head and pushed her against the wall next to the door. His hands were everywhere, on her skin, under her bra, in her hair.

  She ripped his shirttail out of his pants, silently cursing the buttons that she’d have to unfasten in the dark. Before she had the first one undone, he’d unsnapped her bra, easing the straps over her shoulders as he dipped his head to suckle her.

  She almost screamed when his mouth closed over her breast.

  Sliding his hands up the sides of her breasts, he caught her under her arms and pushed her up the wall, off her feet, never taking his mouth from the hardened nipple he sucked.

  “Deuce,” she half laughed, half moaned, still fighting one of his shirt buttons. “The bedroom?”

  He licked the tip of her breast, his eyes closed with the pleasure. “I have to taste you.”

  The longing in his voice almost did her in. He wanted her as much as she wanted him and the thought nearly melted her.

  Lowering her to her feet, he captured her mouth for another kiss, caressing the breasts he’d just tasted, giving her the opportunity to finish the damn buttons.

  Finally she could push his shirt open and press herself against the coarse hairs of his chest.

  As she did, he thrust his erection against her.

  Her whole lower half coiled with want. She skimmed her hands over his granite shoulders, clasped them behind his neck and raised herself up, just for the sheer bliss of riding the hardness between his legs. Denim against denim and it was almost enough to give her one mind-boggling vertical orgasm.

  With his hands on her backside, he easily lifted her higher and she wrapped her legs around his hips, letting her head fall back, her eyes closed.

  “We aren’t going to the bedroom, are we?” she managed to ask.

  “All right.” He was already carrying her there. “But it better be really close.”

  “At the end of the hall. One room. One bed. No turns.”

  “Good.” He growled the word into a kiss, just as he crossed the threshold of her bedroom, and laid her on top of the comforter.

  Like a magician, he slid her out of her jeans and ripped off his. More hot kisses trailed from her throat down her breasts, over her ribs and navel. He licked at the lacy edge of her underwear, his hair tickling her skin.

  Her heart hammered inside her chest, her throat tightened with a scream of desire and her hips seem to rise and fall without any effort on her part.

  She dug her fingers deeper against his scalp.

  He trapped the flimsy material between his front teeth and began to pull them off her, as though taking the time to use his hands would be too much.

  Neither one could slow the need to eliminate anything that came between them—clothes, time or space. He shimmied her underwear over her backside and down her legs.

  Blood rushed through her head as he looked at her, the darkness stealing her chance to really study his face.

  He said her name, once and again. Lowering his head, he stroked her with his tongue, slowly at first, crazy slow, then faster, shooting fire straight up her body. She grasped his head, spread her legs and surrendered to his mouth. With wild, driving licks, he circled her sex, invaded her body and sucked the tender flesh until pleasure and pain knotted her. She bucked into his mouth. His fingers closed over her buttocks. Her flesh spasmed under his kisses, then, just before a climax rocked her, he feathered her stomach with kisses, drying his lips on her cleavage and stopping just long enough to suckle her hardened nipple.

  His shaft found the heat between her legs. She was wet and warm and swollen with the need for him. Her throat too dry to speak, she tried to say his name, but her hips just rose and his erection inched into her.

  “Kendra.” His voice was as raw as her throat. In the dark, she could see the ache on his face, the need in his furrowed brow. “I don’t have a…”

  Condom.

  Reality crashed down on her like a stinging shower of ice.

  “Do you?” he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head, as a million thoughts vied for space in her brain. Did she? Would she do without? Didn’t he? And, oh, not again. Not again.

  He let out a breath of pure frustration. “I have one. I have to go get it.”

  Diana’s house might as well have been a million miles away.

  “Not in your wallet?” She asked hopefully. Surely a guy like Deuce Monroe didn’t leave the house unarmed.

  He gave his head a vicious shake, and traced a line down her stomach. He slipped one finger into her moist flesh. “Just let me finish what I started.”

  For some reason, that struck her as terribly unselfish. Wasn’t Deuce full of surprises today? She turned on her side, a move that eased his thick erection right into the space between her legs. “Not good enough, honey. I want you inside me.”

  He closed his eyes and slid along her, the velvet hardness of his erection torturing her flesh. “Right where I want to be.” His breathing was still ragged and torn and under her hand she could feel his heart thudding as fast as hers.

  “Go get one,” she whispered. “Hurry. Don’t stop to walk Newman.”

  He gave her a half smile. “Actually, it’s in the car.”

  “They give you a box with every new Mercedes?”

  He laughed. “I put it in the glove compartment this morning.”

  “You thought we’d have sex on the way to Fall River?”

  “Hey,” he chuckled, sliding in and out of the vortex of her legs. “A guy can hope.”

  He hoped? For her? She pressed her pelvis into him and sucked in a long, slow breath. “Go. No one is around. Grab those boxers, and get whatever you have in the car.”

  Reluctantly, he lifted himself from the bed.

  “How many did you bring?” she asked.

  “Just one…” He pulled on his boxers and grinned in the dark. “Box of twelve.”

  She giggled and watched him leave the room, an insane and wild and happy thrill dancing through her.

  When she heard the front door open and close she scooted higher on the bed and slid between the cool sheets.

  “I love him,” she whispered and closed her eyes to let the joy of the realization rock her as thoroughly as his body just had. “I have always loved him and I always will.” There was nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with making love to someone you loved.

  She glanced at the bedside clock. What was taking so long?

  Dropping her head on the pillow, she ran her hands over her naked body, feeling her curves and flesh the way he did.

  Maybe there could be a future. Maybe they could really and truly be together. Own Monroe’s…together.

  Was that so crazy?

  The possibility sent wild sparks through her, curling her toes, making her heart tumble around as if it were no longer connected to her body.

  Maybe Deuce could love her the way she loved him.

  Finally, she heard the front door and she inched a little higher, purposely leaving the sheets low around her waist.

  She heard his footsteps in the hall.

  Suddenly the overhead light blinded her and she blinked, instinctively pulling up the sheet with one hand and shading her eyes with the oth
er.

  Deuce stood in the doorway, a look of horror and rage and confusion on his face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Something flew across the air and landed on the bed with a soft thump.

  She blinked again.

  All she could see was the tattered red cover.

  “When the hell were you going to tell me there was a baby, Kendra?”

  HE COULD BARELY speak, rage pounding through him, fighting for space in his veins against all that hot-blooded lust.

  A baby.

  Kendra’s face was as white as the sheet that barely covered her, her eyes and mouth wide with shock. “You…you stole my journal?”

  He snorted and took a step toward the bed, unable to tear his gaze from her, no matter how much he wanted to pick up that notebook and throw it as far as his injured arm could. “Hardly a time to think about ethics, Kendra.” One more step, and she pulled the sheet higher. “Since you obviously have none.”

  The fear on her face morphed instantly into something else. Her eyes narrowed to blue slivers as she leaned forward and pointed a finger at him, oblivious to the slip of the sheet when she let it go. “Don’t you dare talk to me about ethics, Seamus Monroe. You had unprotected sex with the little sister of your best friend and never bothered to pick up the phone, ever, and say so much as thank you.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. There was no arguing with that. At least she didn’t throw in the virgin part. Blowing out a pained breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he closed his eyes. “You should have called me.”

  “Maybe I should have.” She slumped against the bed, but her gaze remained sharp. “But I kept waiting for you to do that.”

  Guilt punched him. “If I’d known…” His voice trailed off and his gaze landed on the worn notebook. He hadn’t purposely read it, of course. “It fell out of your bag. I moved the bag to the front seat to remember to bring it in, and the whole thing spilled, then…I glanced down and saw the words on the page.”