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  Sweet Irish Kiss

  Copyright © 2011 by JoAnne Kenrick

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-106-4

  Cover art by Fantasia Frog Designs

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  Sweet Irish Kiss

  JoAnne Kenrick

  A 1 Night Stand Story

  ~DEDICATION~

  To Valerie, Kate and Olivia...for starting the 1 NightStand Series which has given me endless hours of reading entertainment. I can only hope my addition does the series justice. Thanks, ladies!

  Chapter One

  Shaun drew back his arm, sucked in a breath, and took his shot. The instant his grip left the barrel, the dart ripped through the air with a precision only seen in that of a...well...drunk. Or someone inflicted with a bad case of nerves.

  He missed the board by an inch, and the crowd reacted with rowdy laughter.

  “Bounce out!”

  “He’s right, you totally missed that board. How many you had?” Another one of them raised his glass in a salute. The action caused his pint of dark ale to swish down his clothes and over the wood floor. “Oh shit, missus is gonna be pissed now. Supposed to be at work, not boozing it up in Bell’s with me Irish lot.”

  Shaun ignored the shout-outs, shuffled his right foot a touch more forward, and threw another. The tip of the dart tilted down the instant it took flight, and the Bell logo’d tail failed to catch air. It plummeted toward the oak floor and a nearby punter. He jerked his foot out the way in the nick of time, though, and his look of horror jolted Shaun straight. The punter laughed it off and tipped his empty glass in Shaun’s direction. He nodded in return. The nod was an unspoken rule in Bell’s Irish Pub—his pub. It meant a drink on-the-house, and only the regulars knew this.

  “Shit, me game is way off tonight.”

  “Ya game is fine, but ya booze-eyes are a problem. Not like ya ta drink this much. I reckon ya banjo’d, so ya are.” Devlin’s thick Irish accent coated each word; a childhood bud and Shaun’s only full-time bartender, he’d come over from Northern Ireland weeks earlier.

  Shaun staggered toward his friend behind the bar, tail between his legs. Devlin reached over and snatched the remaining dart from him. He frowned. “No more darts for ya tonight. Ya need ta sober up, so ya do. Coffee? Aye, it’s time for a coffee. San, bring this lad a strong’n.” Sandra, a part timer and the only born ’n bred Londoner in the building tonight, scurried to the pot and set about getting her boss a cup of the good stuff.

  “Gawdon Bennet! Donkey Amateur Dart night. I curse internet shopping and that darn dart board Shaun found doing it.” Sandra clanked the teaspoon in her boss’s cup and went about her vent session with vengeance. “Lawd above! Sunday nights were nice before that bunch took residence. Should be home with my grandkids telling them tales, not here serving this impatient lot, innit.” She poured the full-fat milk and presented the coffee to Shaun. “There, don’t say I don’t do nothing for you.” He winked at her. “Don’t you go flashing your gorgeous greens at me, either. It’s so not gonna fly, mister!” Sandra wiped down the bar and went to serve a punter.

  “Dev, I’ve only had two pints. What the hell is wrong with me?” He perched on a barstool and smiled at his friend. He’d lived in London since a child, so his Irish slang wasn’t as pronounced as Devlin’s.

  “Pack that in for starters. Ya need ta save it for ya lady friend tomorrow.” Shaun laughed and ushered him to the customer side of the bar by patting the empty barstool to his right.

  “San, pour up a pint of Beamish for me mate here.” He frowned upon seeing his friend’s mocking expression. “’I don’t mind admitting I’m nervous about tomorrow night.”

  “Well, I got ya that stuff ya asked for. It’s in da duffle bag behind da bar.”

  “The candles, mood music, and some condoms? It’s all there? Ya sure? I wanna make a good impression.”

  “Nervous much?” Devlin took the pint offered by Sandra and necked half of it on more or less one breath.

  “An arranged one-night stand. That’s weird, don’t ya think?”

  “Fucking genius is what it is. Don’t question it. Enjoy it.” Devlin wiped away the beer froth from his mouth and grinned.

  “But what if she doesn’t like me?”

  “You’ll win her with ya Irish charm and green eyes, so ya will. Now drink up ya coffee and stop whining like a baby. This girl’s gonna have a fantastic night tomorrow. She’s gonna worship da ground ya cock drags on.”

  Shaun growled and nudged his friend. “Hush up, ya crude bastard.”

  “So, what’s da girl like, anyway? Anything like ya ex?”

  “Not a clue. Nothing like the wine totties and mingers that come in here, hopefully, or me ex. 1NightStand’s rigorous questionnaire should have found me someone half decent. Pages long, so it was. Fucking pages. Almost felt like the questions were aimed at me, too.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Are ya happy with ya balance of work and play? Do ya find others telling ya that ya are too generous? Is it time to settle down?” Shaun raised an eyebrow at the word generous and nodded to his friend’s drink. “Ya paying for that?”

  “Shit, yeah, those questions are Shaun custom made. Here’s ta her not being like ya light-fingered, easily distracted ex.” Devlin finished his drink and slammed the empty onto the aged oak bar. Sandra held out her hand for cash and Devlin took her fingers in his like a proper gent might. Except for the slobbering kiss that followed.

  “Two quid, mate.” Sandra broke free of his grip and scrubbed herself with a wet-wipe.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Devlin slapped two one-pound coins on the bar which Sandra tried to claim for the cash register.

  Shaun stopped her mid-money grab. “Kidding, this one’s on me.”

  Sandra rolled her eyes. “Drinks are always on you. Anymore and you’ll be swimming in ale.”

  “Have one yourself, San.” Shaun winked at her again. She laughed, muttered something, and poured herself a gin and tonic. “Don’t know how they think questions like that will find me a date. But Madame Evangeline says....”

  “Madame Evangeline?” Devlin took the seat next to his friend and played with a coaster.

  “The woman who runs the site.”

  “Madame? So, you’re, like, seeing a hooker? Whey, hey. Tell her ta bring along a friend and I’ll join the party.” Devlin picked at a corner of the cardboard mat with Bell’s Pub’s logo on it.

  “She’s French is all. It’s a regular matchmaking site. And if all ya after is a quick shag, ya should work Friday nights instead...or contact me ex. She’s always up for a quickie with anyone.” Shaun snatched the coaster away from him—before Devlin could scatter tiny bits everywhere and mess up his bar
—and catapulted it toward the trashcan.

  “Easy, boyo. Ya don’t hate me that much, do ya?”

  “Course not, I’m messing with ya is all. But I’m serious about Friday nights.”

  “If I work Friday’s, you’ll give me Saturday off?” Devlin pouted.

  Shaun shook his head. “Saturday is our busiest night, ya know that. Who knew gay night would be so popular, and they love ya and ya silver tongue. Ya could always come in for a drink on ya night off. That's when the place is packed out the most with women on the prowl.”

  Devlin paused for a second. “I should take ya place on this date. I’m more needy.” Shaun laughed at the suggestion. “I guess that’s a no? Oh, well. Ya tell this Madame whatshername thanks from me, because I put a twenty down on ya, so I did. And them nerves of yours killed ya game.”

  “A twenty? Is that all? Big spender.” Shaun waved Sandra over and pointed at his empty.

  “Shaun, ya don’t pay me enough ta throw any more than a twenty away. So, what’s this girl like?”

  “According to her profile, she enjoys Baileys over ice, going to the movies, and refuses to watch the Grand National because she thinks it’s cruel. Oh, and she hates dressing up in posh frocks.” Shaun attempted to grab Sandra’s attention again and waved his arms in the air as if flagging down a taxi.

  She signaled she’d get to him in a second.

  “Hates dressing up? Hope that doesn’t mean she’s a minger because a tasty lass usually likes to get dressed up. Other than that, she sounds perfect. Low maintenance and a heart.” Devlin patted his friend on the back in a well-done-chap kind of way. “Ya should totally play with her, though, and quickly add ta ya profile that ya like ya women to dress up.”

  “Hell, she can wear whatever she wants, so long as it’s not green. Fucking hate the color.” He craned his neck and scanned the coordinated interior; green leather on the stools, bunting, and stained glass. Even the beer mats matched.

  “We’re Irish, so we’ve gotta love green. It’s in our blood or something. And if she does wear it, ya can enjoy ripping it off her. Right? Right?” He jarred. “ Hey San, fill me up, too?”

  Devlin slid his empty toward the flustered barmaid who tsked but went about her job like a professional.

  “Wrong. The whole idea of this one-night stand is for me to remember what women like, and to be in the company of a woman I’m attracted to without sweating profusely. It’s not about screwing her senseless.” Shaun shook his head and wondered how the two of them had ever become friends. They were like chalk and cheese.

  “Sure hope it wasn’t expensive because there’s numbers on the lav doors that could have given ya a cheap date for the night.” Devlin stood and tried to usher his friend to the restrooms.

  Shaun laughed and pushed him back to sitting. “Toilet door numbers are not the go for me. Ya know that’s not me style.”

  “And dating sites are ya style?”

  “I’ve gotta get back in the game somehow, and 1NightStand is 100 percent safe for both her and me. When I find the right lass, I want to be able to seize the opportunity. I want to settle down, Dev. I’m ready for the real thing. A house, kids...the whole shebang. This is me simply opening that door, safely.”

  “Settle down? What are ya? Sixty?” Dev shook his head.

  Sandra presented the lads with new drinks. “Need the lav. Will one of you cover me?” She scurried off before either had a chance to answer.

  “No, but I sure as hell don’t want to be still single at sixty.” Shaun made his way behind the bar and grabbed a tea towel. He set about mopping up all proof of anyone having been served beer in the last ten minutes. “Dev, ya supposed to be doing this. Can’t get good staff, eh?”

  “So. Ya not going ta bang her, then?”

  “Guess that depends on me seduction techniques, and her.” He laughed and chucked the sodden material at Devlin’s face.

  Chapter Two

  Pretentious, that’s how Rachel described the infamous Knightsbridge store where she worked. She loved her job, though. It meant she could let loose, make crazy-ass window displays, and stretch her imagination beyond the high street fashion trends. Usually.

  “Fucking yuppie fashion.” She stood, pin cushion in hand, staring out the huge plate glass window. The rain drizzled over passing shoppers who huddled and shared umbrellas with loved ones. She wished she could have someone she could trust to protect her when life pissed all over her, but she didn’t have anyone like that. The big brick wall she’d built had seen to it.

  A flashback of running through a downpour with her father hit her hard. He’d thrown his coat over her, sheltering her and leaving himself open to the elements. They giggled all the way home, running late for a Mother’s Day dinner.

  She closed her eyes to try and block out the past, but the darkness acted as a blank canvas for her memory to play out the scene until a rumble of thunder in the distance brought her back to the present.

  She sniffled back her feelings and grasped a plastic body to steady herself. A teardrop trickled down her face, and she smeared it away. Time to buckle up and get over it Once a fond memory, it now served as a bitter pill. He’d tricked her, tricked everyone with his gallant gestures. He could never again be the genuine, kind man she remembered from her childhood. At least not to her, anyway.

  “Fucking life.” She threw a knit over a male model’s shoulders and fluffed to give it a casual yet purposeful style. “What are they thinking, asking me to decorate the mannequins with this jumped up crap? Men don’t dress like Prince William. No man I know anyway.”

  Her pocket buzzed.

  Rachel flipped her phone open. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Hell-o?”

  Still nothing. She pulled it from her ear and glanced at the digital display.

  “Email, not a call. I’m never going to get used to this stupid, high tech phone.” She pressed a few buttons. Some wrong. Some right. Eventually, she managed to open up the message.

  A last minute check, to make sure your 1NightStand goes as you desire. May I suggest you wear a corset, my dear, to flatter your curves. He’ll be there before you, and I picked a room especially with a double door entrance so you can have a Scarlet O’Hara moment. Please don’t wear green. He hates the color. A bottle of Jameson would make a wonderful gift, should you wish to bring something along to break the ice. And best of all, Rachel, remember why you wanted this and enjoy the experience. Good luck, dear, I hope he’s all you need.

  Bien a toi, Evangeline

  She could barely think as she read the words over and over, wondering if she had indeed lost her mind by arranging to meet some guy a matchmaking agency picked out for her. And if she planned on going through with this, she needed a corset and a dress. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something fancy.

  Hmmm, I get to enjoy an evening with some hot dude without worrying about if he’s thinking of cheating on me. I can indulge in him and all he can offer me for one whole night. And who knows, maybe this is a step closer to enjoying men again. I could use a strong shoulder from time to time.

  “Damn my dad for screwing half of London. It fucked me up more than my mum.”

  She gathered up the pile of cocktail wear spread at her feet—last season’s favorites—and dragged herself off to the staff discount area in the warehouse. One by one, she hung up the formal garments and then she saw it, one rack over; a beautiful brocade corset with flecks of metallic emerald in the thread and matching tiny sequins around the trim. The label said: Floor damaged: 75% off—stained, matching thong and garter missing. She gave it the once over. Gorgeous, and she couldn't see any stains. It would be stunning against her auburn hair, which she could wear loose so it spilled over her breasts. She imagined how sexy she’d feel wearing it like that and grinned.

  But green? Should I? Shouldn’t I? He hates it? How can anyone hate a color? Maybe I should, screw him. Screw. Him. Hmm, I will screw him. Wonder what he look
s like? Wonder if he hates red, too? God, hope he’s not a weirdo.

  “Here, this will be spectacular on you. The slight see-through effect will show a smidgen of the goodies hiding beneath.” As if he’d appeared magically, the most desired personal shopper in Knightsbridge presented her with a Grecian goddess style, silk wrap dress. He spoke with a forcibly stiff-upper lip and wore a close-fitting, purple silk suit that glistened when light hit the delicate thread. “And these. You must get these, too. It’s going to be a warm evening tomorrow.” He shoved a pair of light-gold, strappy, Stuart Weitzman sandals with four inch heels in her hands.

  “But….”

  “Hush now. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “But you’re him. I mean, you’re the guy from the reality TV show...what’s it called? Dressed for Love?”

  “Oh, goody, you watch! I didn’t know I had any viewers. But that guy? Darling, name’s Colin and don’t you forget it.” He fluttered his eyelashes and put on a fake I’m embarrassed expression.

  Panic wrenched in the depths of her stomach, and she gulped. “Am I on TV?”

  “Love, do you see any cameras?”

  Thank God for that. “How do you know this is for tonight?” she asked, preoccupied with trying to hold on to the sandals, material from the very expensive dress she most definitely could not afford spilling over her arms.

  “I know all, sweetie. Come, let’s get you paid up. Then I’m taking you to Ritchie. He can work wonders with your gorgeous, thick hair.”

  “But....”

  “I think the lady does protest too much.” He placed a finger to her lips and shushed her. “Let’s say I’m a gift to help spruce you up a few notches for tonight’s date.”

  “But how did you know?” Thoughts zoomed through her mind. Mum wouldn't have strings to pull this one off, and she's the only one who knows about my adventures in the matchmaking world. Unless....Madame Evangeline? She's the only other one who knows. “Of course. She did this, but how did she...?”