Kiss Me, I'm Irish. Jill Shalvis

“Good, then you won’t mind investing in a pizza oven.”

       “A pizza oven?” She backed up to stare at him. “Now you want to turn this place into a pizzeria?”

       He swept a hand toward the wall of booze behind him. “They drink, they have to eat. I did some research and pizza is a very high-profit item. Especially per slice.”

       She looked dubious. “I don’t know.”

       “You might be able to serve it in the afternoon, too.”

       “With coffee?”

       He winked. “It’s best with beer.”

       “Deuce.” Her shoulders sank. “I’m on my way to meet with the architect and you are changing my business plan by the minute.”

       “To the tune of a grand a night.”

       “I know. I can count.” She put her fingertips to her temples and rubbed gently. His fingers itched to help alleviate the headache. “Let me think about the pizza oven and—”

       “I’m just going to order it. I wanted to know if you have a particular supplier you use.”

       “I do. Buddy McCrosson, over in Fall River. But I have to deal with him because he’s an old bag of wind and wouldn’t give you the best price.”

       “Then you can come with me to pick it out.”

       “I can’t, I have a new employee starting tomorrow—”

       “Put Sophie in charge of your new employee.” He gave her a victorious smile. “And we’ll take a drive out to Fall River tomorrow.”

       She shook her head, a flash of terror in her eyes. Was she afraid of the spontaneous change to her plans…or of being alone with him?

       “Kendra,” he leaned lower. “We’re partners here.” He almost closed the space between her temple and his lips. Would a kiss on that aching spot make her feel better?

       “We’re not partners,” she said stiffly, her eyes locked on his.

       “But you can’t avoid me for the next four weeks.”

       She closed her eyes as though his very proximity made her dizzy, sending a splash of satisfaction through him. He set his lips on the soft skin of her hairline and forehead and kissed. “I hope your headache goes away.”

       “You are my headache,” she said softly. “You make my head throb.”

       He laughed softly. “Great. We can work down from there.”

      THERE WAS NO DOUBT Sophie loved the idea of creating a training manual and implementing it. She fairly danced out of Kendra’s office the next morning, and even held the door for Deuce who had been waiting outside. For how long, Kendra had no idea.

       “So that went well, huh?” he asked, his dark eyes glimmering.

       She hated to admit it, but he’d been right, and one good turn probably deserved another. “Thank you for your advice,” she told him. “I owe you one.”

       “Great. I figure we can be in Fall River by noon, pick out the pizza oven of our dreams and kiss off the rest of the afternoon with an intimate beachside lunch.”

       Intimate? Kiss? Dreams? She ignored the rush of anticipation that meandered from her heart through her stomach and settled way, way too low. “I owe you one, Deuce, not a day and lunch. Anyway, it won’t take two hours to get there. We can be home and back to work by one o’clock.”

       “I need a pizza oven, sweetheart.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the disarray of papers and files on her desk. “And you need a break.”

       That much was true. Seamus had called from San Francisco to tell her that a few of the meetings had gone so well that the investors needed some more data. She’d pulled that together, which was no mean feat considering she wasn’t working evenings. Blowing off the day with Deuce seemed both insane and inspired.

       He leaned one impressive shoulder against the doorjamb and her gaze flickered over the taut fit of his navy-blue polo shirt, tucked into the narrow hips of a pair of khaki pants. He’d dressed nicely for their day trip. She’d worn jeans and a sweater—not fully believing he’d follow up on his threats to take her to Fall River. But here he was…looking…

       “You going to stare at me for an hour or are we leaving?”

      Stare. She blinked. “You’re imagining things. I’m just wondering what my restaurant supplier will think of you.” She made a showing of hunting for her bag. “I guess if he likes baseball, we’re in good shape.”

       “No,” he said, his serious tone forcing her to look up. “Let’s just leave my former career out of it.”

       She regarded him for a moment, the weight of her tote bag seeming as heavy as his voice. “Really?” She dropped the handle of the tote bag and just grabbed her purse. “That’s not like you.”

       “I’m full of surprises,” he said with a laugh, levity back in place. “I even have one in the parking lot.”

       In the kitchen she stopped to talk to Sophie and explain where they were going. Ignoring Sophie’s subtle raised eyebrow implying “isn’t this an interesting development?” she followed Deuce into the back lot, where his rented car had been replaced with a bright-red Mercedes two-seater…top down.

       “Surprise,” he said. “I decided to upgrade.”

       Her breath caught in her throat and all she could think about was the last time he took her out in a convertible. It was Seamus’s car and she didn’t remember the make, only that when he’d pushed the driver’s seat all the way back, she’d fit perfectly between his body and the steering wheel.

       Heat lightning flashed through her veins at the memory.

       “I thought it would be nice since we’ll take Highway 28 over to the south shore,” Deuce said.

       It took her a moment to erase the memory of his rock-hard body and soul-melting kisses to process what he’d just said. “The beach road? That’ll take forever. Route 6 is much faster.”

       “What’s your rush?” He opened the passenger door and indicated for her to climb in. “I thought it would be fun to see the beaches. I haven’t been to some of those places in…years.”

       Oh, this was a bad idea. A joyride along the beach—that beach—in a convertible with Deuce. How did this happen? She had been so adept at avoiding him and now she was walking right into hell on four wheels.

       Or was it heaven?

       In the side-view mirror, she saw him study her backside as she slipped into the deep-red leather, already warmed from the sun. His gaze lingered just long enough for her to glance over her shoulder and burn him with a warning glare.

       He made no attempt to look away. Instead, his scrutiny burned hotter than the leather against her body. “You always did do justice to a pair of jeans, Kendra.”

       Oh, hell. It was heaven.

      DID DEUCE DELIBERATELY slow down as they passed the dunes of West Rock Beach? Did he even remember that this was the beach…their beach? Or was Kendra the only one who nurtured those memories?

       In nine years, she’d never returned to West Rock Beach.

       She battled the urge to look to her left, to look at the sandy backdrop and the few reeds of tall grass, and at the man who sat next to her.

       “Tell me something, Ken-doll.” The serious tone made her stomach drop. “Do you think of me when you pass this spot?”

       She leaned her head back and let the sun stream over her face. “Why would I do that?”

       Laughing, he accelerated and pulled the gearshift into fourth, his knuckles just grazing