Desire slammed through him

Earlier, Shay had watched her dance as though he’d been under some spell. Seeing her sway and tease, he’d imagined what it would be like to taste her, to feel her body against his. Imagination was nothing compared to the reality, though.

Hot and sweet. Her flavor infused him, left him craving more.

They were in the bar cellar, he struggled to remember, running his hand down her back to where her top ended and warm skin began.

Then he felt her begin to stroke him and he groaned, abandoning his attempts at control in the face of the delicious friction, the tantalizing touch. He pushed her back against the wall of kegs and kissed her hard.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed open. “Mallory, get up here quick. There’s a fight,” someone yelled down.

They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.

Jeez, what’d gotten into him, acting like this with a practical stranger? At least he knew her name now. And not just any her—she was a woman, a real woman.

A woman who was going to be on his mind, possibly for the rest of his life.

Dear Reader,

I’ve loved writing the miniseries Under the Covers. I was in the middle of writing Scoring when Mallory Carson showed up, a woman with a twist of humor on her lips, shadows in her eyes and a heart of pure gold. Of course, she also had a stubborn streak a mile wide. I got so intrigued that I sent her to Newport, Rhode Island, home of the Gilded Age mansions, and introduced her to pub owner Shay O’Connor. All I had to do then was sit back and watch the fun. They say opposites attract—wait ’til you see what happens when a woman who’s as bad as can be takes on a man who’s as good as they come. Watch for the Under the Covers finale coming in July 2003, titled Slippery When Wet.

Newport is a very special place for me. It’s where my husband and I got engaged and has a rich and romantic history, so I loved setting a book there. Be sure to drop me a line at kristinhardy@earthlink.net and tell me what you think. Or drop by my Web site at www.kristinhardy.com for contests, e-mail threads between characters in my books, recipes and updates on my latest book.

Have fun!

Kristin Hardy

As Bad As Can Be
Kristin Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my parents, Frank and Ena Louise Lewotsky, for making me believe in true love, and for Stephen, for making it real.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

1

“COME ON, DAVE, you want me to have Screaming Orgasms, don’t you?” Mallory Carson leaned back in her chair, crossing one long, jean-clad leg over the other as she gave her best smoky glance to the man behind the desk. It was his office, but she owned it now.

Dave gave her a rueful look and smoothed his ginger-colored moustache. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing I’d like better than to give you screaming orgasms, but you’ve already hit your limit for the month.” He studied the sheet in his hands. The sheet shook a little as Mallory piled her long dark hair on top of her head with her hands, tightening her skimpy blue sweater over her breasts. “You’ve only been a customer for four weeks,” he protested. “You’ve only lived here for five. We can’t extend your credit line until you’ve been with us longer. You know the rules.”

Mallory had never come across a rule that couldn’t be bent, especially when the person in a position to do the bending was a man. “We’ve been packed to the gills for the last two weeks,” she said persuasively. “People drink. How am I supposed to have a bar called Bad Reputation without Screaming Orgasms?” She leveled a look at him. “You’re my supplier, Dave. What am I supposed to do?” It was like bluffing in poker, she thought to herself. Stay cool and never act like it matters.

Dave tapped his fingers on the desk. “Business is that good, huh?”

“Business is great,” Mallory said smugly, releasing her hair to fall back over her shoulders and trying to ignore the tension in her stomach muscles. “Newport’s never seen anything like us before. But it’s going to slow down in a hurry if I have to tell customers I can’t make their drinks. Am I going to have to go somewhere else?” Come on, Dave, she thought, bite.

He hesitated, then nodded. “All right,” he said decisively. “I’ll extend your credit line for two weeks, but I need a good faith deposit of $500 today.”

A slow smile bloomed over her face as she let out an imperceptible breath of relief. “No problem,” she said lightly. “Cash do you?”

“Cash works for me. While we’re making arrangements, let me tell you about the sweet deal I can cut you for your draft beer. We’ve just picked up the Sam Adams account.”

“I’m all for sweet things, Dave,” she said lazily. “Tell me what you’ve got in mind.”

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE GORGEOUS Indian summer days when the sky was so blue it hurt the eyes. Mallory drove her little truck along the Rhode Island back road, hauling a load of paper goods back to the bar that had become her life, and pondering Dave’s deal. In eight months, when she turned thirty, she fully expected the bar to be ticking along like a cash machine. A far cry from her most recent gig in Lowell, Massachusetts, running a back street sports bar.

She tapped her fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. Then she reached out to punch a speed dial button on her cell phone, listening to the tone that indicated a phone ringing four states away.

“H’lo.” The mumbled greeting sounded half asleep and wholly fogged.

She raised one eyebrow and gave a wicked grin. “This is the Newport Department of Health,” she said, pitching her voice higher than her usual husky murmur. “I’m looking for Devlin Carson, partner of record in the Bad Reputation bar. We’ve had complaints of a salmonella outbreak in your kitchen.”

“What?” Dev’s brain was obviously still cobwebbed with sleep.

“Salmonella, Mr. Carson,” Mallory said testily, enjoying herself. “Your customers have been leaving your establishment weaving and getting sick. We need you to appear to address the complaints.”

“But I can’t…I live in Baltimore,” he said in groggy confusion while she smothered a laugh.

“That’s really not our problem, sir. We want answers and we want them now.”

“But we don’t even serve food. My sister Mallory is the managing partner. She’ll…” His voice trailed off. “Mal? That’s you, isn’t it?”

Mallory gave a delighted giggle. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” She turned onto Route 38, headed for Newport. “What are you doing still in bed? I don’t think I ever remember you sleeping in this late in my entire life.”

“Oh, I went out with a couple of the guys last night and tied one on.” He groaned. “God, my head.”

“Paying the price, are we?”

“This is nothing.” His voice was dry. “The price I pay will be when Melissa comes back from shopping with her sister and lays into me.”

“For going out with your friends? Seems harmless enough to me.”

“She wanted me to take her to dinner last night. I went out with the guys instead. It was Riley’s birthday.”

“It’s not exactly like you’re the world’s biggest party animal. People go out once in a while. Tell her it’s normal.” Mallory searched for diplomacy. “I know she’s gorgeous and you guys are engaged and all, Dev, but this isn’t exactly sounding like premarital bliss. Are you sure she’s the one?”

“When things are going right, I can’t get enough of her. You just got a bad impression of her when you visited. She can get a little jealous,” he said, and gave a creaking yawn Mallory could hear over the phone.

“I’m your sister. What’s to be jealous of?” Mallory asked, mystified.

He laughed. “We went out and all the guys were looking at you.”

“She’s engaged to you. What does she care who the other guys are looking at?” Mallory’s radar went up.

“Pride? I don’t know. I just know she keeps track of stuff like that.”

Mallory shook her head. She couldn’t get around it, she didn’t trust Melissa as far as she could throw her, however much Dev was hung up on her. “So, what, you go out with your friends and she worries that you’re hanging out with loose women?”

“Christ, I got to get some aspirin here,” Dev muttered. “I’m going cordless.” The line clicked and turned fuzzy, and she could hear the thuds of his feet as he walked, presumably to find medication. “I don’t know, maybe she has a right to be ticked. We’re supposed to be getting married in five months. Maybe I should have gone out with her. Anyway, she’s always telling me that you’ve got to give up things to make a relationship work.”

That sounded like Melissa, Mallory thought. She’d grown wary of her brother’s then-girlfriend the moment she’d found out Melissa was dragging him to couples counseling. Mallory sighed. “Yeah, well, make sure you don’t compromise yourself into oblivion.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how to do this stuff right. I mean, let’s face it, it’s not like we learned anything from our parents.”

“Sure we did,” she said without thinking. “Don’t let anyone get too close to you or you’ll be sorry.”

“You’re so tough,” he mocked her gently. “Marriage doesn’t have to be a bad thing when it’s done right.”

“Next you’ll have me thinking we grew up in different houses. I know you’re older than me so maybe you remember their bliss phase, but we both know how ugly it got.” She sniffed derisively. “Might as well put a Kick Me Hard sign on your butt.”

She heard a snap in the background followed by the sound of water running and guessed he’d found the bottle of pain reliever. “Okay,” he said indistinctly, and sighed. “That’s better. Anyway, you probably didn’t call just to ruin my morning. What’s going on?”

“I was just out at the distributor’s and Dave offered me a good price on adding Sam Adams draft. Long-term contract. It’s still more expensive, but I think it’ll pay off in terms of sales. Not everyone who steps in the door wants Bud.”

“You’re the manager,” he pointed out. “As long as we stay on plan, I’m just a silent investor.”

“Well, the problem is, to go up we need to adjust the terms of our deal with Dave. It’ll require a bigger deposit and payment.” She squinted her eyes. “Long-term, it’ll be fine, but opening costs set me back a bit.”

“I saw the numbers. Looks like business started out slow.”

Mallory nibbled on her lip. “It’ll work out, but I might need a little more working capital next month.”

Dev sighed. “Mal, I want to help out, but I’ve got wedding stuff to pay for, too. Are you sure we need to do this? The last set of numbers you e-mailed didn’t look too promising.”

“Dev, we’ve only been open for a month,” she said reasonably, her hands tightening on the wheel. “You can’t expect to make money on a new bar in the first year. We talked about this going in. We’ll be lucky to break even.”

What she didn’t say was that if it took walking out into the street and personally hauling clientele inside, she was going to carry a profit back to Dev at the end of the first year. If it weren’t for him, she’d still be pouring drinks in small town Massachusetts and saving every penny in the hopes of one day having her own place. He’d taken a chance on her, just like he had all those years ago after their father had died when she’d wound up on his front porch, a teenager with nowhere to go. Now she had something that was hers. She wanted, more than anything she wanted to make a success of Bad Reputation. For Dev.

For herself.

Dev cleared his throat. “Look, Mal, I’m not expecting to make a pile of dough. I’m just wondering if the current financials mean we’d be smarter to hold off on the Sam Adams until business is more steady.”

Mallory considered. “I’m estimating an initial 10 percent more outlay, with probably 12 percent more on sales long term. It’d pay for itself in…” She crunched numbers in her head. “I’d say about three months. That’s a quick ballpark estimation,” she added.

“Did you just work that out in your head? Jeez, remind me again why you’re not pulling down big bucks in some corporation somewhere?”

“You have to follow rules in corporations, big brother,” she said with a smile.

“And you never were much on those.”

“No,” she agreed. “Anyway, I’ll run some numbers on it and we can talk about it in more detail. And by the way, business is picking up.”

“Oh, yeah? Is it something you’re doing or is word just getting around?”

“Oh, a little of both.” The corners of her mouth tugged up in a smile. “I just sat down and thought about why people go to bars.”

“For deep philosophical conversation?”

Mallory laughed. “Nope. Drinks, music and sex,” she said matter-of-factly. “We supply the big three and we’ve got a full house every night. Obviously we’ve got the alcohol. We’re licensed for live music, so I’m going to start auditioning bands for Saturday nights. We can pay for it out of the cover charge.”

There was a short silence. “And the sex part?” Dev asked suspiciously.

Mallory grinned. “What did you say? I’m in a dead spot right here.”

“Your reception sounds fine to me. You said business is up and you’re doing something to make it happen. What?”

“I’m losing you,” she lied, smothering a laugh.

“Don’t you try to duck me, Mal,” Dev insisted, his voice rising. “I know you better than that. What are you up to? You’re not going to get us shut down, are you? Mal?”

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying, Dev. I’m hanging up.” Mallory clicked the key to terminate the call and laughed to herself. What she was doing wasn’t going to get her shut down.

She didn’t think.

“THE USUAL, THEN, DERMOTT?” Shay O’Connor looked at the compact, bright-eyed old man who leaned his elbows on the polished walnut bar, tapping his finger to the lilting strains of a pennywhistle and fiddle playing quietly over the sound system.

“Same as your grandfather served me, young Shay,” Dermott returned jauntily, smoothing back what little remained of his white hair. “O’Connor’s is still the only place in town that knows how to pull a pint.”

Shay tilted a glass under the tap and sent Guinness streaming into it. “The only little piece of Ireland in town, Dermott me lad,” he returned in an exaggerated brogue.

“Damned if you can’t sound like you came from County Kerry herself,” Dermott said, turning to survey the cozy pub. Warm wood glowed on every surface, from the wide-planked floor to the coffered ceiling. Lace curtains softened wide windows that looked out on the gathering twilight. Dark wood panels topped by colored glass divided the combination restaurant and pub into intimate seating areas, forming the backs of long padded benches where regulars relaxed, resting their pints on the trestle tables. Shelves ran around the ceiling holding old books, antique toys and bottles, and a sense of time gone by.

A willowy young redhead with eyes almost too large for her narrow face walked up to set her tray on the bar. “Two Bass, a Guinness, and a Murphy’s then, Shay,” she said briskly, the brogue of the West Counties running through her words.

“Quick as you please, Fiona.”

“Quick as I please would have me taking drinks back to me customers right now,” she said with a wink.

Shay eyed Dermott as he let the pint of Guinness settle and started another. “Are all women this impatient in Ireland?”

Dermott nodded vigorously. “Aye, and a good bit worse,” he said. “’Tis what drove me here.”

“I thought you came to seek your fortune, Dermott,” Fiona said with a raised brow.

“That, too,” he blustered.

Shay turned his attention to the other drinks. Painted words flowed across the wood above his head: There are no strangers, only friends that haven’t met. Looking out at the pub, he felt the comfort of tradition filling him like a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning. He put a head on the Guinness and slid it across the bar to Dermott.

A lanky young man with a disordered mop of black hair breezed into the pub. Fiona glanced at him, her eyes lingering just a beat too long. Then she turned, elaborately casual, to check her tray. “Nice to see you’ve decided to join us, Colin O’Connor, a rock star like yourself,” she said, her voice lightly mocking.

Colin gave her an amused glance as he crossed behind the bar. “If I’d known you’d be here, Fiona my love, I’d have left practice early,” he said, mocking her accent.

“Sure, and the pope eats steak on Friday,” she retorted as she took up her full tray and walked off.

Shay eyed his little brother. “You’re late.” Both of them shared the dark hair and vivid blue eyes of their Black Irish blood, though Shay kept his medium length for convenience. There, the resemblance ended. Colin had an open face and a boyish grin full of laughter. Shay’s deep-set eyes and hollowed cheeks promised something altogether darker and more tempting, like deep, rich caramel compared to white sugar.

Colin tied on an apron. “Sorry. Practice ran over. We were in the groove.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “I tried to hurry but I got pulled over.”

The last bits of late summer twilight streamed in through the wide windows. “So anyone know what they’re up to at that new bar on Washington Square?” Shay asked casually, his mind wondering about the SOS phone call he’d received from a friend earlier that afternoon.

Dermott waved a hand and scowled. “A lot of ruckus is what they’re up to if you ask me. I walked past last night on me way home. Half-naked women dancing on the bar, and all the crowd on the street making a right mess of things.” He slurped his Guinness and thumped the glass back down on the bar. “Should shut them down, they should. ’Tisn’t decent.”

Colin looked at Shay and raised an eyebrow. “Half-naked women dancing on the bar, eh? Maybe I should go check it out.” He made a move to untie his apron.

Fiona set her tray down on the bar. “What’s all this about half-naked women?”

“The new bar on Washington Square.”

“Oh, the Bad Girls.”

“What do you know about it?” Shay asked curiously.

She shrugged as she rattled off her order to Colin, then turned to Shay. “Not much. They only started a few weeks ago.”

“Indecent,” Dermott muttered again.

“’Tisn’t,” Fiona countered, leaning an elbow on the bar. “It’s just the bartenders doing a bit of dancing when they feel like it, clothes on. There’s nothing wrong with it, you know.” She flicked a glance at Colin, who was pouring a whiskey. “I thought it looked to be fun.”

“Thinking of joining up, Fee?” Colin asked, setting the shot on her tray and grabbing a glass to pull a pint of ale simultaneously.

She gave him an opaque look. “Maybe I should. They seem to get a good bit more appreciation than a lass can get around here.”

Colin opened a bottle of Newcastle. “Oh, come on, Fee, you’re our fresh-faced young Irish lassie, not a half-naked bad girl.”

“Don’t be so quick to think you know everything, Colin O’Connor,” she said tartly, picking up her tray and walking away.

“That was well handled,” Shay said dryly.

“What did I say?” Colin asked, mystified.

Shay shook his head, untying his apron and mentally vowing to stay out of it. “Never mind. Anyway, you can watch the bar. I’m going to head over to see just what they’re up to.”

“How come you get to do it?” Colin yelped aggrievedly.

“Maybe because I’ve been here since eleven and you’re an hour and a half late?” Shay tossed his apron in a hamper and ducked under the bar walkthrough.

“Yeah? I say it’s because you haven’t had a date in this decade. You’re married to this bar, big brother. It’s not exactly healthy.”

Shay turned to look at Colin for a long moment. “You have any other observations to make about my personal life?”

“Other than the fact that you don’t have one?” At Shay’s glower, Colin backed up. “Hey, I know, I know, the family legacy is in your hands and all that stuff. Anyway, abstinence is very hip these days.”

“Are you finished?”

Colin grinned. “No, but you wouldn’t listen anyway. Go spy on the half-naked women. Be sure to take notes so you can tell me all about it.”

Shay snorted and headed toward the door.

“You watch yourself, now, young Shay,” Dermott advised. “Those bad girls will tempt a man into all sorts of trouble.”

SHAY COULD HEAR THE PULSING music before he drew close to the line of would-be bar patrons standing restlessly near the door, some tapping their feet in time with the monster bass line. If any of them were over twenty-three, he’d have been shocked. He recognized the beefy man sitting at the head of the line. “Hey, Benny.”

“Hey, Shay. Why aren’t you over pulling pints?” Whoops and cheers spilled out of the open door behind him.

“Thought I’d come on over and see what’s new in the neighborhood.” And do a favor for a friend. Six years before, Dev Carson had been a contractor doing renovation work on O’Connor’s. The two of them had clicked, drawn together by a mutual fondness for sailing and music. Now, Dev was calling for help. Make sure my sister’s not getting herself in trouble, he’d asked. Their friendship was too close for Shay to do anything but agree to watchdog the sister he’d never met.

Benny swept a hand toward the bar. “Be my guest.”

Shay walked in through the open door and into controlled bedlam.

The music throbbed so loud that the walls seemed to vibrate with it. Colored spotlights swirled above a long bar that ran the length of the room. At least, he figured it was a bar. It was difficult to tell because of the wall of people in front of it. And above their heads he saw the two women.

They danced up and down the bar, whipping their hair, swaying to the music, throwing in the occasional bump and grind. The crowd of mostly young men whistled and hollered at every shift of the shapely hips above them. Blond and redheaded, the two played off each other, now dancing in synch, now doing their own moves, strutting down to the brass poles at either end of the bar to spin around.

The half-naked rumor was definitely an exaggeration. They wore hip-hugging pants and skimpy tops designed to flaunt cleavage and tanned midriffs. Nothing more scandalous than you’d see in the average shopping mall. Shay gave a wry smile. Perhaps Colin was right about him being married to the pub—the duo on the bar were designed to tease, but to him they looked harmless, more like sorority babes on spring break than anything else.

It seemed to work for the rest of the clientele, though, who surged whooping and cheering against the bar, completely involved in every movement. The redhead crouched down on the bar with a bottle of tequila and poured it into the open mouth of a frat boy who was leaning his head back, swallowing furiously while his buddies counted to ten. Then he straightened up, grinning, holding both hands over his head like a prize fighter.

Shay sighed. Even a half hour of this was going to be too much. It was going to be a long night if he had to hang around more than a few minutes.

A CROWDED BAR, that was what she liked to see, Mallory thought as she poured drinks, her hands an efficient blur of motion. Above her, Kayla swung her long blond hair and danced with redheaded Belinda, while Liane and Michelle worked next to her to pass drinks to patrons.

The buzz of the register was its own seductive music, especially after the lean weeks just past. If she could keep the bar full like this on a regular basis, her financial concerns would be only a memory.

“I’m going to take a quick walk around,” she said to Michelle and ducked under the walkthrough. Part of running her own place meant being responsible for every aspect of it, knowing what was happening outside as well as in. A good manager knew what was going on in her establishment.

She threaded through the crowd around the bar. A glance outside told her the admission line had doubled from when she’d seen it earlier in the night. “How’s the traffic look, Benny?” she asked her doorman in an undertone.

“We’re still at about three-quarters capacity,” he answered.

She could let them all in, but a line created buzz. Mallory checked her watch. “Keep the line at about six people until eleven, then let everybody in up to capacity.”

Benny grinned. “Whatever you say, chief.”

EVEN AS ONE OF THE DANCERS stepped down to go back to tending bar, another jumped up to take her place. Bored, Shay stepped away from the crowd at the bar and began to look around. The space was bigger than it looked on first impression. It stretched back beyond the bar area and widened out into a section filled with a couple of scaled down pool tables and some tables and chairs in an area that could double as a bar or a dance floor. Currently it was only lightly populated; everybody wanted to be by the bar, where the action was.

He grabbed a stool by the wall and sat down to watch the chaos. The servers behind the bar were feverishly pouring drinks. Definitely designed to appeal to the frat boy crowd, he decided, surveying the clientele. It made an impact all right, but for how long? This kind of novelty had to wear off sooner or later. And if it didn’t, what kind of a clientele was it likely to draw into the area once word spread?

The song changed and the blond bartender leaped back onto the bar. Shay scanned the crowd and shook his head. Dev, old buddy, you’ve gotten yourself into a king-size mess. Then his gaze fastened on a woman by the door and he froze.

She was, quite simply, stunning. Beautiful in the larger-than-life way of models and movie stars, in a way that seemed to suck in all available light. She wore a snug leather miniskirt and a short, white tank top that clung to her and exposed a tanned midriff where a gold navel ring glinted. A river of thick, dark hair tumbled down her back. Amid all the noise, it was as though for a moment he was in a cone of silence.

And all thoughts of Dev flew out of his head.

2

MALLORY STOOD BY THE DOOR, scanning the crowd for trouble out of habit. Some nights, the torqued up, liquored up patrons could turn on one another like snapping dogs—a possibility that justified having a second bouncer—but tonight they were content to be entranced by the dancer/bartenders, enticed enough to buy them drinks, tantalized enough to make passes that never succeeded. The girls knew the drill: flirt but don’t fall. Every guy who walked through the door, of course, assumed that he’d be the exception, and so they were happy to stand in line to get in, just for the chance of seeing and talking to the dancers. It was the source of Bad Reputation’s recent success.

Mallory took another glance across the room, and in the sea of faces, one leaped out at her. He wasn’t entranced—far from it. If anything, he looked bored. He didn’t nod his head to the music, but sat against the wall with a kind of stillness, the dim lighting shadowing his deep-set eyes. The beginnings of a beard darkened his jaw and encircled his mouth. And it was a beautiful mouth, she couldn’t help noticing even from this distance.

At the bar, the noise of the crowd spiked as Kayla and Belinda danced together. It was then that she saw it.

A smirk. A head shake. A faintly supercilious look that spread across his face as he took in the scene.

Irritation flashed through her. On its heels came her innate practicality—a bored guy wasn’t going to stick around and buy drinks, and he sure wasn’t going to recommend the place to friends. Part of the path to success was sending everyone out happy and ready to return. Maybe she needed to do something about him.

Just then, he turned and looked at her. The eye contact shivered through her veins, stopping her dead. Those eyes pulled at her in a way that made everything recede until she was only conscious of them and of the sudden thud of her heartbeat in her ears.

Then someone at the bar rang the cow bell signifying a tequila shot and she snapped out of it. Magic eyes or no, he was just another customer, and the thing to do with customers was jolly them into spending money. She hooked a circular tray from behind the bar and walked toward him.

The closer she drew, the more clearly she could see his face, the black brows and the slashes of the high cheekbones that gave him something of the artist-in-a-garret look, an impression enhanced by the white poet’s shirt he wore. His hair appeared disordered, as though he raked his hands through it regularly. But it was his mouth that drew her, full and sculpted with equal parts humor and anticipation hovering around the corners.

She gave her head an impatient shake. This wasn’t about getting distracted by a pretty face, it was about turning a wall sitter into a paying customer. It was time to pull out the charm, blast him with sex. He’d be buying drinks before he knew what hit him. Three, she decided, looking at him under her lashes. He’d buy at least three before he walked out.

Mallory stopped and fixed him with a sultry smile. “Welcome to Bad Reputation, sugar. What’s your pleasure?”

SHAY BLINKED. SHE WAS HIS pleasure, if he was honest, though he had a pretty good idea that she wouldn’t be all that impressed with that response. He’d watched her move across the room in a lithe, flowing walk that managed to be far more provocative than any hip sway might be. Why she’d decided to come his way, he wasn’t sure, but he was certainly interested in finding out. Up close, she was everything the glance from afar had promised and more. In another century, she would have had men dueling over that aristocratic beauty, vying to tease a smile from that wide, mobile mouth with its full lower lip.

One slim brow arched as she looked down at him. “I get the impression from the way you were looking that we’re not doing a very good job entertaining you.”

Shay smiled. “Quite the contrary. I’m very entertained right now. And I’ll take a beer when you get a chance. You have Guinness?”

“No Guinness, at least not yet. We’ve got Bud, Bud Light, Miller, and Heineken.”

“Heineken, then,” Shay said. She was in a whole different class from the rest of the bartenders in the place. Whoever had hired her had known what they were doing.

She leaned over to collect bottles from the shelf behind him, setting them on the tray. “Is this your first time at Bad Reputation?”

Shay nodded, watching her. She had the kind of face that sucked a man in, that made it impossible to look away, because the minute you did, you started wondering if anyone could really be that beautiful. “Just stopped by to see if what I’ve heard was true.” Not just beauty, he thought. Sex. Something in the curve of her lips and the tilt of those dark eyes suggested abandonment, disregard for rules. Come with me, they said, and I’ll show you things you’ve never even thought of.

“And what had you heard?” The brunette propped her tray on the shelf and looked at him under her lashes.

His mouth curved. “Something about half-naked women dancing on the bar.”

“Well, you’ve got to admit, they’re on the bar and they’re dancing.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the blonde was whipping her hair to the music.

“Like college girls having a wild night.”

“You’re calling us girls?” She smiled, but her eyes narrowed a trifle in warning.

“Not you, darlin’.” He ran his gaze from her long, smooth legs to the sleek curve of hip and waist, to the dark hair tumbling down her back, and up to that fabulous face. “You’re a whole different class from girls.”

A little buzz went through Mallory at his look, and she gave herself a mental shake. She might be giving the appearance of flirting, but she was supposed to be working a customer. It definitely didn’t do to get caught up in it. “And here I thought I’d heard about every line out there.”

“I didn’t intend it as a line.” His teeth gleamed, and something of the pirate came out in him then. “Did you want it to be?”

For the first time in years, she found herself at a loss for words. To buy time, she picked up her tray. “Let me go get you that beer,” she said, and turned for the bar.

It was something worth thinking about, that he’d thrown her off her stride. It wasn’t just the good looks—she’d had plenty of handsome men come on to her. There was something about him, some command of his surroundings that made him far more compelling than the usual pretty face. To allow her system time to settle, she stopped for a few more orders on her way in.

When she returned with his beer, he still sat loose and relaxed, observing his surroundings with an almost purposeful air.

“Miss me?” she asked teasingly.

“Every second was an eternity,” he said dryly.

Mallory laughed. “I’ll bet.”

“Hear any good lines on the way back?”

Her pulse jumped. She set a napkin down on the little shelf and placed the beer on top. “I’m at work, sugar. We don’t date customers.” On the other hand, she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t time to reevaluate that policy. She stared at his mouth wondering how it tasted.

“So you’re allowed to tease but not to close on the deal?” he asked in amusement, putting the mouth of the bottle to his lips to take a drink. “You ought to at least come up with a way to let your customers down easy, encourage them a little so you get a lasting draw.”

Mallory raised a brow. “And are you looking for encouragement? That’ll be three dollars, by the way.”

“I’m probably not your target clientele, but yeah,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

It was a challenge. Mallory gave him a smoky look. “So you don’t think I can provide a lasting draw?” She was rewarded when his eyes darkened.

“I get the feeling you can pretty much do anything you want to do,” he said, holding her gaze until she felt something in her begin to heat and soften. “Then again, I haven’t seen you up on the bar.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything like me.” The words were a challenge, the tone a promise.

He looked at her. “You’re right. I haven’t. For you, I’d make an exception and stay. That’s why you should polish up your shut-down line. Teasing is a tricky business. Sometimes people expect you to finish what you start.” He took another drink.

“I never start anything I’m not prepared to finish,” she said coolly.

He tipped his head to one side and eyed her. “Now, that’s a thought that’ll keep me awake tonight.”

“On the other hand, flirting is just flirting. It doesn’t mean I’m starting anything.”

“That’s a pity. And here I was just going to buy another beer,” he said.

Her lips twitched. “And it doesn’t mean I’m not. You’ll just have to buy that beer and see how well I follow policy. Or buy two,” she said, remembering her promise to herself.

“And then do I get to see you dance?”

“I don’t dance,” she said automatically.

He finished his beer and set it down on her tray. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Don’t.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the type who would be afraid to be up in front of a crowd.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Of course not.”

“Get that idea out of your head.”

“I don’t doubt you,” he said agreeably. His smile grew wider.

Was that condescension she saw? “I should take care of the other customers,” she said at last. “Are you in for another beer?”

“Sure.” He eyed her assessingly. “I figure I’ll stick around to see if you get up there. Since you’re not scared.”

Recklessness snatched at her control, but she held on. Mallory turned without a word and went back behind the bar. Normally the routine of drawing beers and pouring drinks soothed her, but not tonight. She wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. He thought he knew something about her from a five minute conversation? He was dead wrong.

The tinny bang of three guitar notes heralded the start of INXS’s “You’re One of My Kind” on the jukebox. The monster groove begged her to move, and without thinking about it she found herself up on the bar.

SHAY’S MOUTH WENT DRY. Had he thought that the dancing was harmless? He’d been catastrophically mistaken. Long and lean and the stuff of men’s dreams, she moved on the bar with lithe grace, whipping her hips and arms to the beat of the music. Raven hair swung around her shoulders, her eyes fastened on his, hot and dark and full of promise. A teasing smile played over her mouth. At that moment, every man in the room might cheerfully have fought to have her.

But she was looking at him.

The song went on, a tale of teasing and seduction, the moan of a man luring his lover. As she was luring him. Moving to the beat, she mouthed the words and slid one fingertip up her leg, over her hip, across the bare skin of her flat stomach with its gleaming gold ring. Trailing her finger up between her breasts to shouts from the crowd on the floor, she slipped it between her lips, pursing them around it as though she tasted something sweet. Shay felt his body tighten.

The blonde and the redhead climbed back onto the bar to flank her and go through their gyrations, but they were like backup singers behind the lead performer, forgettable and easily dismissed. She and she alone had the crowd surging in a frenzy. She and she alone lured him with the hot promise in her eyes.

Need pumped through him.

MALLORY LEANED HER BACK against the brass pole on the bar and slid down it and back up. She was conscious of him watching every move she made, sitting out in the dimness, utterly still. She was up and dancing because he’d goaded her into it. Now she continued because she knew he was watching. Slide over here, and give me a moment she mouthed to him, tracing her hands up her body, then lifting the heavy weight of her hair.

As though their minds were linked, she knew how much she was arousing him. It was as though she were dancing for him alone, swaying for her lover, and her hands were his hands, touching her. The buzz spread through her system.

When the song ended, she found herself stepping down to a roaring ovation. Perhaps she ought to get on the bar more often, she thought. Then again, she’d only enjoyed it so much because of the stranger. She passed out beers and shots quickly, waiting for her system to settle.

“Nice job.” The words jolted her system.

She looked up to find him leaning on the hinged panel of the walkthrough at her side, those midnight blue eyes on her. He might have had her up against the wall, mouth and hands on her, for all that she felt his presence. The air between them almost sizzled.

Liane tapped her shoulder and she jumped. “Hey, the keg on line two is out.”

Mallory blinked, still looking at the stranger, then registered what she’d heard. “Where’s Randy? He’s supposed to be working the back.”

“He’s disappeared. Maybe he’s on a break or something.”

Mallory cursed as she looked for the bar back who kept them supplied with liquor and fresh glassware. Reliability wasn’t his strong suit; strength was. Still, with one tap down, she wasn’t going to stand on ceremony. Not that she was thrilled with the idea of wrestling kegs, but there was nothing for it. “Okay, I’ll go down and take care of it.”

“You’re out of your mind!” Liane hollered. “Those kegs weigh a ton.”

“You want to tell these guys they can’t have their Bud? Send Randy down when he shows up.” Mallory flicked another glance at the stranger, then ducked through the door behind her, heading into the back where she could get access to the cold room in the cellar.

She passed the dishwasher filled with glassware and opened the door to the basement. It wasn’t that her mystery man was so fabulous, she thought as she snapped on the light and clattered down the stairs. It had simply been too long since she’d had a lover, that was all. Taking a lover had just become too much of a bother. For some reason, no matter how often they said a physical relationship was fine, once she started sleeping with a guy, sex wasn’t enough. Suddenly they’d be pushing for more, wanting to get into her head, which was simply not an option. For Mallory, the barriers were high and solid and nonnegotiable. In her world, anything more than sex was impossible. Once you got beyond sex, you ran the risk of giving the other person power over you. The years of watching her father drown his pain in drink were all the proof she needed of that.

The trio of bare bulbs that dangled from the ceiling of the cellar did little to banish the shadows. Along the far wall, the stack of silver kegs gleamed dully. Behind her was the door to the cold room, where the kegs that fed the taps upstairs were kept.

She opened the door to the cold room and stepped inside with an involuntary shiver. Temperatures that were perfect for keeping beer icy cold weren’t quite comfortable if you were hanging out in a miniskirt and thong. The sealed door thudded shut behind her. Even though she knew it had an inside release, it always gave her the willies to be stuck inside what was essentially a walk-in refrigerator. The faster she finished this job, the better, she thought, staring at the neat row of kegs with vacuum lines snaking up through the ceiling. At least they kept a couple of spares in the cold room for easy access. Pulling the tap off the old keg with swift efficiency, she rolled the new keg into place and hooked it up.

Shivering, Mallory stepped outside and stared at the wall of kegs. Now for the ugly part—wrestling a new keg into the cold room. It was her strict policy that anyone who changed out a keg always put a new one in. You never knew how much beer you were going to go through in a night, and nothing pissed customers off more than warm beer. She kicked her heels off and cursed as her bare feet hit the chilly floor.

Then a noise behind her had her whirling with a gasp.

3

IT WAS HIM.

Adrenaline surged through her, mixed with little bolts of desire. “What are you doing here?”

He studied her. “I thought you might need some help. Kegs aren’t exactly light.”

“Customers aren’t allowed in the back. We’re not insured for it.”

“I’ll be careful not to drop the keg on my foot, then,” he said, with a grin hovering around the corners of his mouth.

That utterly delectable mouth.

She looked until she realized she was staring, then relented. “Well, if you want to help, I need two kegs from the stacks on the left. I can roll them, I just can’t lift them down.”

He crossed to the tiers of kegs and brought two of them to the floor with approximately the same amount of effort she’d expend on a bottle of whiskey.

“Guess you keep up your gym membership,” she said, struggling not to be impressed.

“Or something,” he said, grabbing one of the kegs and carrying it in the cold room.

Mallory took the other, tipping it onto an edge and rolling it along. The grating sound it made was magnified in the close quarters of the refrigerator, then he took it off of her hands.

“Just stack them on that side wall,” she directed. “That’ll give us enough for the rest of the night, I think.”

Back out in the storage room, she looked up at him, studying the hard planes of his face. She was tall for a woman; it wasn’t often that a man met, let alone bested her height. “Thanks for coming down to help.”

“No problem.” The bare overhead lights threw his eyes into shadow, bringing out that pirate look again.

It made her heart thud a little. Mallory rubbed her arms and shivered.

The look in his eyes changed. “You’ve got to be freezing in those clothes,” he said, closing his hands around her shoulders.

Heat was all she could register for a moment, heat from his palms flowing into her arms, heat from his body radiating out toward her. It made her exquisitely aware of the fact that a sizable, strong, and extremely attractive specimen of a man was just inches from her. This close to him, she could look her fill. “I wasn’t really thinking about the cold,” Mallory murmured, staring in fascination at his mouth.

“Well, you could use some warming up now.” He ran his hands up and down her arms lightly, chafing the skin into warmth, tantalizing the nerve endings.

“Does that mean you’re volunteering?”

His teeth gleamed in a half smile. “I told you, I’m here to help.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“There are all sorts of ways to warm you up.” He moved in closer to her. “What was it you said about always finishing what you start?” he murmured, sliding his hands down to hers and raising them to kiss her fingers.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “What kind of a finish are you expecting?”

“It changes by the minute,” he said, his voice suddenly sober.

Abruptly she slid her hands up his chest to pull his head down to hers. “I guess we’ll just have to see, then, won’t we,” she whispered, and fastened her lips on his.

Mallory didn’t bother with teasing nibbles and pecks. Since his arrival she’d watched his mouth, wondered how it would feel under hers. Now she would discover. She dove into the kiss with abandon, tasting the tang of beer, the spice that was him. His tongue dipped and circled around hers, the silky stroking making her suddenly greedy for more. She made an impatient noise and pushed herself closer to him. The long cords of muscle in his back were sharply defined under the cloth of his shirt. Against her hips, she could feel him growing harder.

Need sliced through her, sharp and intense. She needed his hands on her, his skin against hers. She needed his mouth on her, hot and wet.

“When I first saw you I wondered what this would be like,” she murmured.

Desire slammed through him. Earlier, he’d watched her dance as though he’d been under some spell. Seeing her sway and tease, he’d imagined what it would be like to taste her, to feel her body against his. Imagination was nothing compared to the reality, though.

Hot and sweet, her flavor infused him, left him craving more. Her wild, sultry scent seemed to be everywhere. He could feel her breasts, warm and yielding against his chest, and the sensation threatened his control. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He wanted her, period, on the floor, against the kegs, anywhere, as long as it was now.

They were in the bar cellar, he struggled to remember, running his hand down her back to where her top ended and warm skin began. He definitely had no business wrapping himself around an employee on the clock and on the premises, but the sound of her soft moan made a mockery of his common sense. Her hands stroked the denim of his black jeans and he felt himself strain against the fabric, against the heat of her touch. Instead of stepping away and getting out, he found himself slipping a hand up under her tank top, sliding his fingers over the soft swell of her breast. With his eyes closed and the noise from the bar only a soft murmur in the background, they could have been anywhere. Then the insistent firmness of her nipples against his palm tore a groan out of him.

Mallory gave a soft laugh of delight. His arousal was an aphrodisiac, and a sudden frenzy of desire tore through her. She wanted to know how he felt inside her, how his body convulsed at orgasm. She wanted to feel him hard in her hand, in her mouth. Hastily she fumbled for his zipper.

Heat raced through him. There was no room for practicality, only for the rush of sensation from her mouth, the warmth of her hand through the denim of his jeans. In the bar overhead, someone began whooping. Then he felt the tug, heard the growl of his zipper. He could tell himself to quit all he wanted to, but his hands still slid over her curves to find the hem of her skirt. “This isn’t smart,” he said, “we’re in public.”

“Not at all,” she said, running her tongue along his neck. “I know for a fact this is private property.”

Shay ran a hand up under her skirt, moving between her thighs to find her already wet. “What’s your boss going to say about you disappearing?” he managed, the slippery evidence of her arousal making his head pound. Feverishly he wondered what it would feel like to be inside her, to have her hot and wet beneath him.

“Don’t you worry about the boss,” she said breathlessly, her gasps catching as his fingers began to slide against her.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he said raggedly, as her clever fingers searched him out and wrapped around him.

Mallory laughed deep in her throat. “Trust me, I know she’d approve.”

Then he felt her begin to stroke and he groaned, abandoning his attempts at control in the face of the delicious friction, the tantalizing touch. He pushed her back against the wall of kegs and kissed her hard.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed open.

“Mallory, get up here quick. We’ve got a fight,” someone yelled down.

They broke apart, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“The bar. Oh my God.” She broke away and lunged past him, rounding the banister and heading up the stairs.

Mallory, Shay thought dazedly, zipping up his pants. They’d called her Mallory. Mallory was Dev’s sister’s name.

Which meant she was Dev’s sister.

Shouts filtered in from the barroom, the sounds of a fracas underway. The noises galvanized him and he ran up the stairs. Whatever was going on, another pair of hands would surely help. He wasn’t much for fighting, but in his years of bartending, he’d learned a few nasty tricks that were useful for dealing with rowdies.

As it turned out, his help wasn’t necessary. By the time he’d ducked out from behind the bar, the bouncers had grabbed the fighters in painful come-along holds and were leading them out the door. No obvious damage had been done, aside from a stool or two overturned. The rest of the patrons were milling around. The redhead jumped on the bar and began to dance, working to bring the energy of the room back up. Slowly people filtered back toward the bar, but the crowed was smaller than before.

Shay saw Mallory in a corner, talking sympathetically to a weeping girl, and he was abruptly furious at himself. Dammit, he’d been the worst kind of idiot. One minute he’d been sitting in the bar checking it out, trying to figure out what to tell Dev. The next, he’d seen Mallory and she’d driven all thought and responsibility out of his head. He’d gone from chatting her up to groping her in the cellar. He could say he’d gone down to help her, but deep down he knew it was because he wanted to be near her. Needed to be near her. And now he, who always prided himself on being the responsible, trustworthy guy, had wound up almost doing the sister of one of his best friends.

He saw Mallory holding the girl’s hands and talking to her soothingly. Just for a moment, the purity of Mallory’s profile stopped his heart. He didn’t date often. His responsibilities more or less precluded it, but it also wasn’t often that a woman captured his interest. All Mallory had had to do was walk into his line of sight. It wasn’t just the face, although admittedly, that had gotten his attention first. It was the intelligence and humor that sealed the deal.

And of course the physical stuff.

That was history now, he thought, slipping unobtrusively out the door. He was going to be smart and stay away. If Dev wanted his input, he’d give it, but that was all. He was going to keep a healthy distance from Ms. Mallory Carson. Certain things were unforgivable, and one of them was sleeping with a friend’s little sister, he thought, as an image of his own sister, Shana, rose in his mind. Especially when you were supposed to be watching out for her.

Out on the sidewalk, Shay shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the ache in his belly. Just for a moment there, she’d had him. Despite his best resolutions, he wouldn’t have been able to stop for his life. The interruption had saved him from doing something he’d really have been sorry for. Walking away had been the easy part. Convincing his body that the time for fun and games was past was a little tougher.

Nice behavior for a local businessman, he thought sourly. Yeah, he’d really make points at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting if word got around that he was entertaining young ladies in backrooms.

Not a young lady, he corrected himself. A woman.

A woman who was going to be on his mind possibly for the rest of his life.

“NIGHT, MAL. SEE YOU tomorrow.”

“See you,” Mallory echoed, locking the door behind the departing Belinda. The lights were on, the harsh illumination giving the bar a very different feel from the intimacy of the night. Scars on the wood and floor showed up, as well as the odd spill. She made a face. Thank heaven for Doug the magical custodian. Cleaning and restocking the bar was one thing—in its own way, it was sort of soothing. However, the idea of facing the men’s room after a night of rowdy drinkers was enough to make her shudder.

She went behind the bar and began checking the bottles of liquor, refilling them when necessary, or bringing out spares for the shelf. Truth be told, she was glad of something to do. Even though hours had gone by since her interlude with the stranger, she was still restless, distracted.

He’d walked away on her. They’d been on the verge of having each other right then and there, and he’d walked away like it was nothing. She shook her head like a dog shaking off water. That wasn’t the way it went in her world. Men didn’t walk away from her. She did the walking away. The one thing she’d learned before she’d even learned to read was that the one who could walk away held the power. The lesson had been branded into her consciousness. She’d learned it and remembered it, and she’d gotten very, very good at it.

The hell of it was, her body still wanted him.

She found herself staring into space and shook her head to clear it. Enough, he was gone, she’d never see him again, and that was that, she thought irritably.

All things considered, she was probably lucky they’d been interrupted. She was a business owner and she had better things to do than make out with strangers in her basement. It wouldn’t do much for her authority over her staff if they came across her and some customer, especially since she’d always decreed that customers were hands-off. Sure, there might have been times in the past, but no more. Certainly not with a guy who’d just walk away like she was nothing. Not that she was, of course. She was the one in charge. That was how it went.

The door to the cellar opened and Randy, her behind-the-bar gofer, came out wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay, I’ve stocked the cold room. There are a couple of spare kegs for every line.”

She nodded and fixed him with a stare before going back to stacking tequila bottles on the shelf in back of the bar. “So where were you tonight just before the fight? One of the kegs ran out and I needed you.”

He shuffled his feet and looked down bashfully. “Sorry, I was out back having a cigarette.”

“I thought you were going to quit.”

He reddened. “One more night. I figure I’ll start tomorrow.”

It was his problem, she told herself, resisting the urge to lecture him. “Whatever. Just keep it to your breaks, Randy, especially on Saturday night. You know how busy we get.”

“I know,” he said, grabbing bottles of bourbon to put on the shelf. “I’m sorry. I saw Shay head down to help you, though, and I figured he could handle things and Benny gave me the high sign to come over and help with those idiots who were fighting, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She raised one hand. “Stop just a second. Who did you say went down to help?”

“Shay O’Connor.”

“Shay O’Connor,” she repeated. “I know that name.”

“Probably so. He’s the guy that runs O’Connor’s.” He looked at her quizzically. “I thought you knew him.”

The burst of anger shocked her. Mallory drew in a breath and worked to stay calm. So the sexy stranger she’d thought was a customer was actually a fellow bar owner from just a few blocks over. She eyed Randy. “You think he was checking out the competition?”

“I guess,” Randy said thoughtfully. “I don’t know, he’s supposed to be a stand-up guy, but that doesn’t mean he has to be dumb. I mean, the place has been drawing a crowd. Makes sense that people are getting curious. You should take it as a compliment.”

Take what as a compliment, that he’d conned her? That he’d gotten himself a discreet look around by playing grab ass downstairs? That he’d walked away and left her? “A compliment, yeah. I’ll try to remember that.” Mallory glanced away. “Look, we’re about done here,” she said abruptly. “Why don’t you head out?”

“Okay.” He rounded the bar and walked toward the door, then stopped. “Hey listen, I’m sorry about sneaking a butt. It won’t happen again.”

“Right. Now go home and get some sleep.” She had a much bigger problem than Randy’s smoking habit, Mallory reflected as she closed up the back of the bar and got her keys. What was Shay O’Connor doing checking out her bar on the quiet? It would have been one thing if he’d introduced himself. The fact that he hadn’t made her wonder just what he was up to.

Someone was playing games, and it wasn’t her.

Yet.

4

MALLORY SAT AT HER KITCHEN table, sipping at a mug of coffee with the newspaper spread open in front of her. She’d taken care of her first Sunday priority—the funny papers—over toast. Now she was on to part two—the New York Times crossword. Staring at the puzzle, she nibbled on the end of her pen before her eyes brightened and she filled in an answer.

Across the room, the answering machine clicked and began to whirr.

Mallory had long ago decided that just because a phone rang, there was no reason she had to answer it. It hadn’t taken her much more time to graduate to turning off the ringer. Now, she was blissfully unaware of a caller on the line until her machine went off, which was fine with her. She had one or two friends who considered her antisocial; she just considered herself efficient.

The machine gave a long beep. “Mal, are you there?” Dev’s voice came out of the tiny speaker. “Pick up the phone. I know you’re—”

She loped over to grab the receiver. “Hey.”

“Why do you make me listen to that stupid message every time?” he asked aggrievedly.

“You know why. It helps me avoid telemarketers.”

“Not to mention other people you don’t want to talk to.”

She permitted herself a smile. “That, too. Anyway, I keep telling you, hit the star key and you don’t have to listen to the message.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what are you up to?”

“Working on the crossword. What’s a six-letter term for a group of crows?”

“Don’t you ever read the news?”

She took a gulp of coffee. “Sure, on weekdays. Sunday’s my official day off from world chaos. So how’s Melissa?”

Dev blew out a breath. “She’s fine now but after you called yesterday, she lit into me as soon as she saw I was hung over. Picked a fight and got nasty.” His tone turned grim. “She saw my wallet on the dresser and said I should take her to her favorite stores to make it up to her.”

“Oh, real nice,” Mallory said sarcastically. “You ask me, big brother, it’s time to walk.”

“Yeah, well.” She could hear a rapid thudding that sounded like he was drumming his fingers. “It ticked me off. As soon as she saw it, she apologized and it was like she was fine. She made breakfast, told me about her day, gave me an ice pack for my head.”

Mallory frowned. “And that’s supposed to make it all better?” It brought out her protective side. Family took care of its own. “Dev, it’s not like getting married is going to change things. You guys are having problems. If things don’t work right now, they’re not going to later.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s great.”

“Yeah, well, is there anything I can do? Do you want to take a break and come up for a visit?”

“Thanks, but it’s my problem and I’m the one who’s got to deal with it. That wasn’t why I called, though.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what’s up?”

“Well…” He hesitated. “I was thinking about the bar, after we talked yesterday. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. It bugs me that I’m not around to help you deal with it.”

“I knew what I was getting into,” she said lightly. “I don’t mind going it alone.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

A shudder of trepidation ghosted over her. “Why do I not like the sound of this?”

“Remember I told you about a friend of mine in Newport who runs a bar?”

“Yes, and remember, I told you I didn’t want help.”

“Just listen to me. He’s got a bar of his own. I’ve asked him to look in on you, see how things are.”

“No!” Mallory said sharply. “This is my show, Dev. I can do this alone. I’ve been running bars for other people for eight years.”

“Relax, he’s not going to run things, okay? But he grew up in Newport, his family’s had a pub there for about sixty years. I think he’s worth listening to.”

“I thought you were going to be hands-off and let me run things. Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked, her voice bitter.

“Look,” he said gently, “we both know you had a rough start.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, I know you told me. But yesterday it sounded like you had something up your sleeve you didn’t want me to know about.”

“Dev, I was just teasing you.”

“Yeah right.” His tone clearly said he wasn’t buying it. “Mal, we both know you have this problem with playing by the rules. And that’s fine if you can get away with it. But you can’t always do that, particularly when it’s your ass and my money on the line. I just want Shay to weigh in before you get us both in trouble.”

There was a sudden roaring in her ears. “Shay?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah, Shay O’Connor. His family owns a pub called O’Connor’s. Maybe you’ve been there.”

Calm, she told herself. The important thing was to keep calm. “I know it. Has your friend by any chance been to Bad Reputation yet?”

“Sure. He stuck his head in last night.”

Damn his eyes, she thought, incensed. He’d flirted with her, come on to her, never once letting her know why he was there. The sudden memory of the heat of his mouth swamped her. She thought of the feel of his hard cock in her hand and a thin thread of arousal twisted through her, despite the wrath and mortification. “What the hell does he think he’s doing, walking around my place like some kind of mystery shopper,” she burst out in fury.

“I asked him to,” Dev interjected before she could say more. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t doing something we’d both be sorry for.” He paused. “Girls dancing on the bar, Mal? Come on, use some judgment.”

“Dammit, Dev, it’s not like they’re stripping or anything,” she said hotly. “I didn’t plan it. But the important thing is that it’s working. The place was packed last night.”

“Yeah, Shay said you also had a fight.”

“Like that’s so unusual in a bar? Sounds like our Mr. O’Connor’s done entirely too much talking all together,” she said cuttingly. “And did he tell you anything else?” Like we were five seconds from getting naked?

“There’s more? Mal, this was supposed to be a bar, not a club with dancing girls,” he said disgustedly. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be concerned if you were in my shoes?”

His words cooled the anger to hurt. “Don’t you trust me, Dev?”

“You know I do.” His voice softened. “I think you’re the best. But maybe we both bit off a little bit more than you could chew this time.”

“I can make this work, I know I can,” she said desperately.

“If you were in a leaky boat surrounded by sharks, you’d still be too stubborn to call for help. I want Shay in there. That way I won’t have to wonder. I’ll know.”

She stared at the phone. “Is this an ultimatum?”

“Mal, it’s not about ultimatums. Just consider him my stand-in. I can’t be around so I’m drafting him to do it for me. He’s going to offer advice, that’s all. Just go talk to him.”

Oh, yes, she thought, she’d talk with him all right. She’d give Shay O’Connor a talking to he’d never forget. “Fine,” she said shortly. “If that’s the way you want it, fine.”

“It’s only for a little while, just till things get rolling.”

“Right.”

“Good.” He waited a moment. “And the six-letter term for a group of crows is a murder.”

SHAY WIPED THE DARK WOOD of the long bar that ran across the back of O’Connor’s and stared moodily out at the crowded pub. Sunday brunch at O’Connor’s was a Newport tradition. People came at noon with their newspapers and sat down to an Irish breakfast, or a Sunday lunch of roast beef and potatoes. All morning he’d been pouring Bloody Marys, Irish coffees and ale to go with it.

Keeping his hands busy hadn’t kept his mind off of his behavior the night before, though. Memories of his colossal blunder still paraded through his head. He liked to think of himself as intelligent, as respectable, as deliberate.

Instead he’d found himself in the middle of an x-rated clinch in the basement of a local bar with a woman whose name he hadn’t even known. A woman who just happened to be the person he was supposed to be there to watch out for.

It hadn’t helped that he’d talked with Dev that morning, blindingly conscious of the fact that he’d gone where no man should ever go with a buddy’s sister. That thought had almost drowned out the fusillade of questions. “How is the bar? How’s the traffic? What is she up to? Is it legal?” Dev’s voice, first filled with anxiety, was then overlaid with relief that Shay was looking out for things. “Is she getting herself in trouble? Is she doing a good job?”

Not nearly as good as the job she almost did on me, Dev old boy. Shay threw his bar rag into the sink with sudden violence. If there was a feeling more unpleasant than that of letting down a friend, he didn’t know what it was. It was rare that he did anything he was sorry for. Maybe he was living too quietly, though, given that the previous night he’d been ready enough to walk into a bar and try to take one of the employees in the basement. No matter how much said employee might have encouraged it, ultimately, he was the one to blame.

“A bleak face you’ve got yourself there, Shay,” Fiona said, setting her tray on the bar. “You best watch out, or you’ll send all these nice, thirsty brunchers running for the door. Two Harp and a Guinness, by the way.”

He started the Guinness and put a second glass under the ale tap.

“What’s put you under such a black cloud, then?” she asked, taking no notice of the fact that he obviously didn’t want to chat.

“What?” He gave her an absent look.

“Why are you in such a mood?” She studied him with a little frown of concern.

“Just galloping regrets.” He gave a shrug, setting the first Bass on her tray. “No big deal.”

“Ah,” she said as though sliding into familiar territory. “Regrets for something you did or for something you didn’t do?”

He finished the second ale. “Something I did.”

“That’s the best sort to have, if you’re having them at all. Better to be sorry that you got out and lived than sorry that you never took the chance, if you get my meaning.”

“Turning into a philosopher, Fee?” Colin asked as he walked up behind her to tug on her long red braid before ducking under the walkthrough into the bar.

“I believe I was talking with your brother, not your troublesome self,” she said tartly.

“I don’t believe in regrets,” Colin said, ignoring her comment. “There’s no point in them. You can learn from mistakes, but it’s everything you’ve done that’s made you who you are, so it’s sort of pointless to be sorry for any of it.”

“Now who’s turning into a philosopher,” Fiona jibed, raising a brow at him. “Are you after putting that into a song?”

Colin stared at her a moment and his eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea.” He seized a napkin and scratched out a few lines then looked up. “So what’s all this talk of regrets? Did you try to get a job as a dancing girl and get turned down?”

Fiona gave him a frosty look. “I’m regretting that I wound up getting a job here with a man who devils me all the time, that’s what I’m regretting.”

“Oh, you’d miss it if I didn’t devil you, Fee,” Colin said with a crooked grin.

“Has your brother always had such an imagination, Shay?” Fiona asked, picking up her laden tray and walking away with a toss of her head.

“You shouldn’t tease her so much,” Shay said, watching her go.

“What?” Colin wrinkled his brow. “It’s just joking around. She can handle it.”

“She’s an employee, Colin.”

“Yeah, right. So what’s put you in such a good mood? Did you have a few too many at the bar last night and wake up in bed with a looker whose name you couldn’t remember?” He tied on his apron. “How was the new bar, anyway? I was thinking I might stop in and check it out.”

But Shay didn’t answer. He was staring at the door and the woman who’d just walked in.

Or stalked, more accurately, like a tiger after prey. Fury shouted from every rigid line of her body. Two spots of color burned high on her cheeks.

When he’d been lying in his bed the night before, searching for the sleep that refused to come, he’d told himself that she couldn’t be as beautiful as he remembered. He’d told himself that her smooth, flawless skin, her haunting cheekbones were just tricks of the light. Her mouth couldn’t have been such a delectable curve of humor and sensuality.

He’d been wrong.

He’d been wrong in so many ways, he thought in irritation, fighting to push down the memory of the heat of her body against him. A face and luscious body alone weren’t justification enough to make a man toss aside the habits of a lifetime. He’d had no business putting his hands on her, whether she was Dev’s sister or not. The fact that she actually happened to be Dev’s sister just made it all the worse. That morning on the phone, he’d done his best to duck out of any further involvement, but Dev wouldn’t hear of it.

“She’s my sister, man. I’m asking you, just keep an eye on her, keep her from getting too far out on a limb. I’d do it for you,” he’d wheedled, and Shay had relented, knowing Dev spoke the truth. Now, as Shay watched Mallory come toward him, he felt that unholy clutch in his gut that had him thinking once, only, and always of sex. But the night before had been the end of it. Dev’s sister was off-limits.

Period.

Mallory approached where he stood by the walkthrough, her stare unwavering as she came to a stop in front of him.

“Hello,” he offered.

Her face was unsmiling, unpainted, and as gorgeous as he’d ever seen on a living, breathing woman. “I’d say it’s time we introduced ourselves. Mallory Carson,” she said without extending her hand.

“Shay O’Connor.” Something in her cocky, go-to-hell stance needled him even as the whispers of her husky velvet voice shivered through him.

“So I’ve heard. It would have been nice to know that last night. What I want to know now is, where in the hell you get off coming into my bar and playing secret investigator, so you can carry tales back to my brother?” Her voice rose with each word.

“Now just hang on,” he began, rankled.

“Don’t tell me to hold on,” she said venomously. “I’m just getting started.”

“Stop right there.” His voice was a commanding hiss that brooked no argument. “You want to talk? Fine, we’ll go in the back and talk. This is a business establishment and you are not going to come in here and make a scene.”

“You have no idea of the scene I can make when I want to,” she said grimly. “And believe me,” her voice rose, “right now I really, really want to.”

Without thinking, Shay slammed the walkthrough back and tugged her behind the bar, ignoring her startled cry as he pulled her into the back. “Take over here, will you?” he asked Colin, who was watching, bug-eyed.

“Don’t you ever go dragging me along like a piece of meat,” she hissed, yanking her hand loose from him.

“Then don’t you come into my bar shouting and disturbing my customers,” he snapped back. “No wonder your brother’s worried about you, if you don’t have any better sense than that.” He led her into a cramped room beyond that served as the pub’s office, closing the door and turning to her. “Okay, you’ve got five minutes to say whatever it is you came here to say.”

“Listen, buster, I’ve got a million reasons to be upset at you right now, so don’t even try to shut me down.”

Shay dropped into the chair behind his desk and eyed her. “Tough as nails, huh?” So long as she acted like a spoiled teenager, it was easier to imagine that he might be able to go more than a few days without having to have his hands on her.

“Don’t push me,” Mallory said. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me who you were last night?” Fury burned in her eyes.

“I was just there scoping things out. I didn’t realize I had to check in at the security desk,” he drawled in a voice calculated to annoy her.

“You weren’t just dropping in at the new neighborhood bar. You were there to review the place for my brother.”

“Who wanted me to take a quiet look and tell him what I thought.” He didn’t bother masking the edge in his voice. The frustration he’d felt all day finally had an outlet.

“I had a right to know,” Mallory said stubbornly, sitting down in a chair by the wall.

“Well I wasn’t about to tell you I was checking out the bar. It was Dev’s place to tell you, not mine.”

“You didn’t think it was a courtesy I deserved?”

“Come off it.” This time, the impatience sounded thick and ripe in his voice. “It’s eleven o’clock at night, the place is packed to the rafters, the last thing I’m going to do is run around looking for the owner. Anyway, I didn’t want to get the happy tour. I wanted to get my arms around the place, see what you were doing with it.”

“Well, you managed to get your arms around a few things quite efficiently.” Her voice was tart.

“I didn’t see you telling me you owned the place.”

“That should make a difference? It’s okay for you to sleep with my employees?”

“Who kissed who first?” he demanded.

If she’d been a cat, she’d have been hissing with her back arched. “You need a razor to help split that hair? You were the one who followed me into the basement and you were just as into it as I was.”

His voice rose to match hers. “Well, one thing I can tell you is it sure as hell won’t happen again. It wouldn’t have happened last night if I’d known who you were.”

“Or if I’d known who you were. And then you’ve got the nerve to call my brother this morning and tell him that I’m not handling things properly.” It rankled even more now that she was looking at him.

“I told him what I saw,” Dev snapped back. But he hadn’t, not really. He hadn’t told him about the way she’d looked in the dim lighting, the way she’d danced like an invitation to sin, the way his mind had already had her undressed, twisting hot and urgent against him. He hadn’t told him that the image had kept him awake all night.

Mallory stood up and braced her hands on the edge of the desk. “Bad Reputation is mine. Do you understand that?” She leaned toward him, her eyes dark with intensity. “I don’t need some stiff-necked son of Ireland spreading horror stories about it. Thanks to you, Dev’s got some crazy idea that I’m going to scandalize the neighbors and get run out of town on a rail.”

“I just told him what I saw.”

She turned around and sat back down, squeezing the arms of the chair. “I don’t know who I’m more angry at, you or Dev.”

“Look, even if he weren’t your brother he’s your business partner, and he’s got a right to information. He’s got a right to have input. Besides, where I come from, family looks after family.”

“I don’t need looking after,” she said icily.

“You may need looking over, though.”

“Not by you,” she retorted.

How could a woman look so outrageously tempting with her jaw jutted out daring him to come after her? “You keep doing what you’re doing and eventually it’s going to come back and bite you.”

“I know the regs, O’Connor. Having the bartenders dance on the bar once in a while won’t get us shut down.”

“I’m not talking about the authorities. I’m talking about customers.”

She gave him a smug stare. “Do you want to know my take last night?”

“You don’t get it. Newport may be a summer town, but you’ve also got people who live here year-round.”

“So?”

“So the summer people are here four months max. The rest of the time you’re depending on the townies, plus some of the yachty set. You’re pitching your place to the summer crowd, but they’ll only keep you in business for a few months out of the year. And if you get a rep as a bar that makes the town look cheap, the townies won’t come.”

Mallory rolled her eyes. “Please. We’ve got universities in town. The students will keep me in business.”

Dev hadn’t told him she was half mule. “Don’t you know the first rule of college? Students always have the most money at the beginning of the semester. After a few weeks, you’ll notice that fewer and fewer of them will show. Your blue-collar guys, if they want to see women, they’ll go to a real strip bar. And you’re cutting yourself out of one whole part of your demographic if you set up the bar so that women won’t want to come alone.” He shook his head. “Not a smart move.”

Mallory studied him and her mouth began to curve. “You know, not every woman is turned off by the atmosphere in Bad Reputation. Some of them like it. We’ve got some regulars—they like the fact that the clientele is mostly men. They like watching the women dance—hell, sometimes they even get up on the bar themselves.” She traced a small pattern on the desk with one finger. “I don’t think using sex to sell the place is a dumb idea, I think it’s brilliant.”

Shay shook his head. “You’re not getting the big picture. You’re setting yourself up for trouble.”

Mallory stared at him for a long moment, then she stood up, the corners of her mouth tugged into a dangerous smile. “You think I’m trouble so far, honey? You don’t know the half of it.”

“Don’t try to turn this into some power game. Let’s just do the best thing for the bar and for your brother, not something that’s bad for both.” Shay watched her walk to the door.

“You want to see bad, sweet pea?” She stood with her hand on the doorknob, eyes flashing. “You just watch. I’ll show you how bad I can be.”

5

THE MIDMORNING SUN SHONE out of a cloud-dotted sky as Mallory ambled along the Newport waterfront, sipping at her coffee. She loved it like this, cool and quiet, empty of crowds. White-topped pilings marched along the edges of docks that were lined with boats bobbing on the blue water. Turn-of-the century buildings ran down some of the older wharfs. Along with the brick sidewalks, still damp from the rain the night before, it took her back to another time.

She settled on a bench that let her look along the cobbled streets and at the old post office, itself a historic landmark. Newport was a town that could be easy to love. Maybe she’d finally found a place she could stay.

She’d grown up first in Newark, then in a dilapidated Philly suburb. After turning sixteen and moving in with Dev, she drifted along from city to city, as they followed his itinerant carpenter lifestyle. Somehow, though, even after she’d grown old enough to strike out on her own, she never settled down. After she’d been in a place for a while she’d get restless, find herself looking for something more.

When the itch hit, she knew it was time to move on. It was part of her nature, maybe, the part that was perpetually dissatisfied with the status quo and craved something different. “Selfish girl. You’re just like your no-good mother,” she could hear her aunt Rue’s sour voice as though she were sitting next to her. “Always looking for something else.” Mallory squeezed her eyes closed.

Maybe the reason she moved so often was to get away from the suffocating sense of negativity that she’d grown up with, their already unstable household torn apart. She remembered the day her world flew apart so clearly: coming home from kindergarten, getting off the bus with Dev, walking into the house, knowing somehow that something was different.

Even at her young age, Mallory already knew better than to expect hugs and cookies when she got home. There’d been times when their mother was at work and times when they’d found her passed out on the couch, a bottle at her side. This time, though, it was different, with an emptiness, a silence that rang in the ears.

And a note on the kitchen table.

Everything after that was a blur—Dev on the phone, the sight of her father’s grief and the arrival of her pinch-faced aunt Rue. Then the move, leaving her friends and most of her belongings behind to crowd into Aunt Rue’s shabby bungalow in a suburb of Philadelphia. And the refrain that had echoed in her ears right up to the day she’d walked out the door with nothing but the clothes on her back: “You’re no good, just like your mother.”

Maybe if Aunt Rue hadn’t practically raised Mallory’s father, she wouldn’t have seen the drifter he married as an evil interloper. Maybe if Mallory had gotten her father’s light hair and blue eyes instead of her mother’s dramatic Mediterranean coloring, Aunt Rue wouldn’t have treated her as a stand-in for all that she hated. Maybe if once, just once, her father had stuck up for her, Mallory would have stood a chance.

“Enough,” Mallory muttered, opening her eyes to stare hard at the water. It was the past, and done. Dev had escaped as soon as he could, unable to continue watching their father’s slide into a silent alcoholism. When a freak dockside crane collapse had killed her father, Mallory figured she had two choices—stick around and see how bad it could get or find Dev and hope to God he’d take her in.

The fact that he had, without hesitation, made her eternally grateful to him. Almost grateful enough to get over wanting to strangle him for his great idea about Shay O’Connor.

Shay O’Connor…a frown settled over her features as she watched a boat come into the dock. How was she going to get him out of Bad Reputation? It was hers, she thought. She was the owner, Dev the silent partner, that had been the arrangement. Only Dev’d never been able to break himself of being her big brother. God knew he’d gotten her out of trouble enough times when they were kids that maybe she shouldn’t blame him for thinking she needed to be bailed out of this one.

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