Kiss Me, I'm Irish. Jill Shalvis

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 the worn denim of her jeans. “You are bound and determined not to talk about it, aren’t you?”

       Oh, God. “Correct.”

       “You think if we just act like it never happened, then we can pretend it didn’t, don’t you?”

       “Correct again.”

       She opened her eyes to find his gaze locked on her. “It did happen, Kendra. And I want to talk about it.”

       “Watch the road,” she warned. “And I don’t.”

       A truck rumbled by in the other direction, forcing blessed silence. Did he really want to do this? To what end?

       “You’re mad because I never called.”

       She snorted softly. “Ya think?”

       His hand slid from the gearshift to her leg, his powerful palm and fingers covering half of her thigh and sending a wicked shot of excitement straight through her. She eased right out of his touch, earning a look from him.

       “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

       She brushed her leg as though she could erase the impact of his fingertips. Yeah, right. “It’s okay.”

       The wind off the waters of Nantucket Sound whipped her hair across her face, and she left it there, letting it hide the expressions that might give away her real feelings.

       Wanting Deuce was so fundamental to her. It was like breathing.

       Damn it all, nothing had changed. It was as if nearly a decade hadn’t passed. As if he’d come home a month after they’d shared every intimacy, and picked up without missing a beat. And her stupid, foolish girl’s heart was ready to just open up again.

       “Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked, breaking the quiet of her thoughts.

       “You’re forgiven for not calling,” she said quietly. Maybe if she let him off the hook, he’d back away.

       “You’re not lying?”

       She shook her head. “I would never lie.” But she didn’t exactly want the whole truth out there for discussion, either.

       For what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t speak. Eventually, she flipped the lock of hair off her face, using it as an excuse to glance his way. His jaw was locked tight, his eyes, behind his own sunglasses, were narrowed in deep thought.

       “Then I’ll tell you the truth,” he said.

       She waited while he collected his thoughts, and passed a pickup truck.

       “I had to cut off everything that was Rockingham,” he finally said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him over the wind and the engine of the Ford F-150 he’d just blown around.

       “Why?”

       “Because…” he shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips. No act of nature could get her to look away as she studied his serious expression. Serious…and beautiful. It still hurt to look at him.

       He barreled the car forward right up to the rear bumper of a minivan, then ripped into the other lane, floored it, and whizzed by the poor young woman in the driver’s seat. He lowered his speed back to the limit and sucked in a breath.

       “Without my mother to run interference…” He spoke slowly, candor softening his voice. “I couldn’t handle my dad. Without my mother… I just missed her too much. I couldn’t come back.”

       Seamus could be overbearing. Way beyond overbearing where Deuce was concerned. “I understand that.” But why the hell didn’t you call to tell me? Years of training herself not to reveal her true feelings to Deuce kept her from asking the question. Maybe that was foolish, maybe that was just chicken. But that was the only way she knew how to handle him.

       The one time she had admitted her feelings…

       “And if I couldn’t come back…” he continued, “what was the use of calling you?”

       She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Common decency? A lifelong acquaintance? Acknowledgement of…” The baby I carried. “…my feelings?”

       “I’m really sorry, Kendra.” He swallowed hard enough for his voice to crack. Her heart did the same. “It was a shitty thing to do.”

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