Jill Shalvis - Kiss Me, I'm Irish

He reached down and slid off his Docksiders and socks and tucked them under the bench next to her loafers. “Let’s go.”

For a moment, he thought she was about to refuse, but then she slipped her hand in his and stayed by his side as they walked down to the sand still packed solid by the morning tide.

“I wisely carried a blanket around in those days,” he said. “Came in handy that night, didn’t it?”

She playfully punched his arm with her free hand. “You won’t let go, will you?” Before he could answer, she slowed her step, shaking her head. “Actually, as I recall, I grabbed the blanket from the bar before we left because it was chilly and you had your dad’s car.”

He frowned. “I thought I had a blanket in the trunk.”

“See?” she said, her voice rich with both humor and accusation. “You don’t remember a thing.”

“Not true. I remember kissing you outside Monroe’s, by that side wall.” She’d tasted like oranges and cherries, as if she’d been sampling the bar garnishes.

“We were in the car the first time we kissed.”

He closed his eyes for a minute. He could remember the taste of her, the need to pull her closer, but he didn’t remember if they were standing or sitting. “Maybe. But I remember the kiss.”

“Me too.” She whispered the words into the wind, but he caught them.

Deuce let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. “You were wearing a little pink top.”

“Blue.”

“Your hair was shorter.”

“In a ponytail.”

He tightened his grip and lowered his voice. “You had a snap-in-front bra.”

“Finally, he gets something right.”

“I bet I remember more details than you do,” he insisted.

“You’d lose that bet.”

“I would not.”

“Cocky and arrogant as always.” She dipped out of his touch and slowed her step. Deliberately, she pushed her sunglasses over her forehead and the look in her eyes hit him like a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball to the chest. “There is nothing, no detail, no minor, incidental facet of that night I have forgotten. Don’t bet me, Deuce Monroe, because you’ll lose.”

He never lost. Didn’t she know that? He took his own sunglasses off so she could see the seriousness in his eyes. “I’ll bet you a reenactment.”

She stopped dead in the sand. “Excuse me?”

“If I can remember more details about the night than you can, I get a reenactment. On the beach. Tonight. Maybe again the next night.”

She shook her head, the only sound she could make was a disbelieving laugh. “And what if I win? What do I get?”

“A reenactment. That way we both win.”

Just as her jaw dropped, he reached down and sealed the deal with that kiss he’d been wanting all day long.

BLOOD RUSHED THROUGH Kendra’s head, deafening her and drowning out the sound of the waves. For stability, she reached up and grabbed Deuce’s rock-hard shoulders just as he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. Wide warm lips covered hers and the tip of his tongue slid against her teeth with unbelievable familiarity, a welcome invasion that made her whole body clutch.

He wrapped his arms around her and eased her against his body with a low, slow, nearly inaudible groan.

“For example, I remember that you like,” he whispered huskily against her mouth as he broke the kiss, but not the body contact, “very deep, very long French kisses.”

Arousal, quick and sharp, twisted inside her, forming a knot in her tummy and between her legs.

She dug deep for sanity and a clear head, but he ran his hands down to the small of her back and pressed her hips against his. Her throat felt as if she’d swallowed a mouthful of sand.

“And I remember,” he said, making a tiny left-right motion with his hips, “that you can have an orgasm fully clothed and in the car.”

Her hips responded with a mind of their own, driving against him with some uncontrollable need to prove him right. She couldn’t argue with his memory. She couldn’t argue with his body, kisses or silky voice either.

Lifting her face to his, she kissed him again for the sheer overwhelming joy of it, stalling the inevitable with one more dance of their tongues, one more minute of heaven.

With a long, deep breath she managed to ease him back and end the kiss.

“All lucky guesses,” she told him. “You could be talking about any of the dozens of girls you seduced on this beach.”

“No,” he denied. “No one on this beach but you.”

Wouldn’t she like to believe that?

“I already told you two things you forgot,” he teased. “And I bet you don’t even remember what I wore that night.”

She frowned and scoured her well-visited memory bank. Surely she knew every thread of clothing he had on that night. But all she could see was his face. His bare chest. His… Oh, of all the things to forget. What was he wearing that night? She had to blame the memory loss on the blood draining from her head to that achy spot between her legs. “Are you asking me if I remember what you wore?”

“You’re stalling for time, Ken-doll. You heard me. What did I have on that night?” He raised a suggestive eyebrow. “That is until you undressed me.”

Oh, yes, they’d undressed each other. She could still remember the feel of his flesh as she pushed his clothes away. As she closed her fingers around his shaft.

Another bolt of that heat lightning singed her at the thought.

She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, infusing her tone with confidence. “A baseball shirt and jeans.”

“Nice guess, but wrong.”

“You don’t remember what you were wearing,” she countered. “You probably don’t remember what you wore yesterday.” But she did.

“Funny thing is, I do remember.” He tunneled his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, his large hands engulfing the back of her head. Her stomach braced for another dizzying kiss. “I’d gone to the bar that night after having dinner with some relatives who were still in town for the funeral.” He did remember that night. The realization that it was important to him made her almost as lightheaded as the way he was holding her. “So I had dress pants on, something like these. I wouldn’t wear those with a baseball jersey.” His smile was victorious.

“Okay, so you remember some things. But if we had a contest, I’d win.” Why she’d admit that the night meant so much to her, she wasn’t sure. Probably because the game was fun. His hands were fun. That last kiss was way more than fun.

“Care to exchange more memories, sweetheart? I’m really looking forward to the historic reenactment of…” He paused for a moment.

Bingo. She had him. “You don’t remember the date.”

“I do. Of course I do. It was June. Before the All-Star break.” He dragged his hands up and down her spine, closing his eyes as though he was memorizing the feel of her, and for a moment she thought she might melt right into the sand. “June twelfth,” he said. “A Friday night.”

“I’m in trouble,” she said with a laugh. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I told you, I remember everything.”

“The date and the style of my bra. Hardly everything.”

He pulled her close again, putting his mouth up against her ear. “I remember what you said afterwards.”

I love you, Deuce Monroe. I’ve always loved you and I always will.

Her heart really did stop, then it thundered in double-time against her chest. She waited for him to repeat her declaration and knew she couldn’t deny it.

“You said…” His breath tickled her ear. “‘I can’t wait for the next time.’”

Yes, she’d said that, too. Maybe he didn’t remember the whole I-love-you-forever-and-always part. She could hope.