Wouldn’t you know it? It seems that most of my Irish and/or St Patrick’s Day themed stories are currently unavailable as yet another of my publishers gets ready to go out of business. Luckily, however, we still have the Walsh Clan cousins at the Wild Geese Inn–although these stories will be going away too, at least temporarily, in another couple of months. So, if you like what you read here, you might want to get them now while they’re on sale. https://www.amazon.com/Games-We-Play-Boxed-Set-ebook/dp/B073FCCDSN/

 

Here’s Brenda and Max in a scene from Two Truths and a Lie, but first the all-important blurb:

All work and no play has been the story of Brenda Donovan’s life for the past few months. Concerned about the future of her family’s inn, she’s been searching for a buyer for the business — without her cousins finding out what she’s up to. She has no time for relationships. But pretending to date sexy Max Murphy, the hotel scout who’s there to assess the property? That’s totally doable. Especially when games, role-playing, and light bondage are included in the package. Falling in love was never supposed to be part of their deal, however, and now her heart’s in play.

Max has no problem with hiding his true identity from Brenda’s cousins. But are they the only ones he’s deceiving? When all is finally revealed, will the cousins lose the Wild Geese Inn? Or will they add another member to their growing family?

EXCERPT:

“Do you come here often?”

Startled, Brenda turned her head to observe the man who’d just slipped onto the bar stool next to her. Max. Her heart gave an odd little leap. What’s he doing here? It was only five days since his last visit, and she hadn’t expected to see him again for another week. Her heart insisted he’d come back early because of her. But she tried never to assign too much weight to that organ of faulty logic. Her heart had steered her wrong before.

She scanned his face, drinking in the sight of him, cataloging everything she saw—from his copper-colored hair and neatly trimmed beard, to his eyes like faded denim, and that odd smile she’d grown used to seeing—the one that made him look like he was hiding a secret sorrow—and made a snap decision.

“No,” she answered. “This is my first time.”

Max frowned in confusion. “What did you say?”

“I said, I’ve never been here before in my life. You?”

His blue eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Oh, uh…yeah, I’ve been here a few times, I guess.”

“Really? That’s wonderful. I love a man with experience. Maybe you can give me a tour sometime?”

Interest flared in his eyes as he smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

Oh yes, it would. Brenda held out her hand. “I’m Donna, by the way. Donna Van.”

“Donna? Oh. Very cute.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“I’m Ma—Mike. Pleased to meet you, Donna. May I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, thanks.” Brenda pushed her barely tasted chardonnay aside as “Mike” signaled to the bartender. “So, Mike, what brings you to Atlas Beach—business or pleasure?”

“Well, Donna, if you must know…I’m here for a conference.”

“Oh, me too!” Brenda feigned surprise as she laid a hand on Max’s arm and inquired, “The Pipefitters Union? I think it’s going to be very stimulating experience—all those pipes and fittings. I understand there’s a demonstration on coupling coming up as well. I’m really excited.”

Max choked back a laugh. Before he had a chance to answer, Kristy had come over in answer to his wave. “Can I get you something?”

“Yes, I’ll have a Guinness, please,” he told her. “And the lady…” He glanced at Brenda inquiringly, but she was already shaking her head. “No?”

“No. Kristy, can you bring us a couple of Car Bombs?”

Kristy’s eyebrows shot up. “You want what now?”

“Irish Car Bombs.”

“You’re kidding. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Uh…ordering drinks?”

“Stop it. You know what I’m talking about. That damn boggart’s gonna be—”

“Kristy,” Brenda snapped, cutting her friend off before she said something they’d both regret. “Let’s not go there now. Okay? And, yes, by the way, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Well, I don’t,” Max protested. “What’s going on? What the hell is a car bomb?”

“They’re disgusting,” Kristy assured him. “Trust me, you’re not missing anything.”

Brenda waved dismissively. “Oh, stop it. They’re not that bad. Besides they’re an Irish tradition.”

Kristy snorted in derision. “They fucking are not.”

Brenda sighed. Of course they weren’t. But Donna, who was a bit of an airhead, would probably think they were. She waggled two fingers at Kristy. “Two, please.”

“It’s your funeral,” Kristy muttered as she moved away. “I just hope your cousin never finds out.”

“What did she mean by that?” Max asked after Kristy left. “What doesn’t she want your cousin to know?”

Brenda pursed her lips. She hadn’t planned for Donna to have a cousin. And they were breaking character by talking about Luke. “I suppose she doesn’t want Luke to know what we’re drinking. Some people find the name offensive.”

“Can I assume Luke is among them?”

“Well, yes, that was her point. I’ve heard rumors that he’s thrown people out when they’ve tried to order them.”

Laughter glinting in his eyes, Max asked, “And are you by any chance trying to get me thrown out? I suppose that’s one way to ensure that your cousin doesn’t speak to me again.”

“Don’t be silly, Mike; why would I do something like that? We’ve only just met. Besides, I don’t even have a cousin.”

“Right. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. So the Car Bombs. ‘Not that bad’ is hardly a raging endorsement. Why are we doing this? Is there an upside to them that I’m missing?”

“Well, they’re very strong, for one thing. They’re made with beer, whiskey, and Irish cream liqueur.”

“Mixed together? Jesus, I’m starting to see Kristy’s point. Are you sure it’s just the name your cousin objects to?”

“I told you. I don’t have a cousin. And, anyway, taste isn’t as much of a factor as you might think. You have to drink them fast—before they curdle. They’re not meant to be savored.”

“Mmm. Appetizing. Sounds like a good way to get drunk.”

“Why, yes, Mike. Yes, it does.”

A slow smile curved Max’s lips as understanding gradually dawned on him. “Ohhh, I get it. Why, Ms. Donovan, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“So I can take you back to my room and have my wicked way with you? It’s a distinct possibility.”

A crash, some distance away, followed by an outcry of alarm caught their attention. Brenda glanced in the direction of the commotion. A flustered-looking Kristy was mopping the bar where it appeared a couple of drinks had gotten knocked over. Looking farther, she saw Gwyn and Luke, apparently in the midst of a heated conversation, at the far end of the bar. Perfect. Just what she didn’t need right now.

“Does that happen often?” Max asked, indicating the new drinks Kristy had poured to replace the spilled ones. “Granted, I didn’t see what happened there, but aren’t you losing money if you replace everyone’s spilled drinks free of charge?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Brenda answered as repressively as possible. This was not a subject she wanted to get into with Max. Luke would claim they had a responsibility to replace drinks that had been spilled by the resident boggart—the mischievous spirit that supposedly inhabited the bar—and Gwyn would back him up. It was a losing battle. Hopefully, in a few months’ time, the boggart would be Fairfax’s problem. “I don’t see how it’s any of our business,” she said in challenge. “Don’t you agree, Mike?”

Max sighed. “You make this hard sometimes; you know that?”

Brenda glanced at his lap. “Do I? Only sometimes? I guess I’ve got some work to do.”

Max groaned in surrender. “I give up. You win. We’ll leave the business talk for another time.” He propped his chin in his hand and leaned in toward her. “So where were we anyway?”

Brenda leaned in as well. “I don’t know where you were, but I was plotting my way into your pants.”

“Okay, well, maybe this will help. You know that lecture you mentioned earlier?”

“Lecture?” Brenda gazed blankly at him.

“Yes, Donna. The one you said you were looking forward to? At the convention?”

“Oh, right. You mean the coupling demo? What about it?”

“As it happens, that’s my event. I’m presenting it.”

“Really? You’re an expert in coupling?”

“I am. And I have all my notes in my room. I’d love to give you a private demonstration, if you have some free time later today.”

“Hands on, I hope?”

“Very much so. So why don’t we skip the drinks?”

“Are you sure? You don’t think we could use the drinks to…lubricate things?”

“No, I think we can sufficiently lubricate each other.”

“Ooh. I do like the way you think. Hey, Kristy,” Brenda called to the bartender. “You can cancel our order. We’ve changed our minds.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Kristy stared at the shot she’d just finished pouring. She shrugged, picked up glass, and tossed back the drink.

“Don’t look now,” Max said as they made their way toward the door. “But your cousins are both here.”

“I know,” Brenda said, carefully keeping her gaze averted from her relatives. “Just act natural.”

“Won’t they think it’s strange if we leave without at least saying something?”

Brenda shook her head. “Nope. We’re doing an Irish good-bye.”

“A what?”

“Haven’t you heard of it? That’s where you leave someplace—a party, or a bar, or a gathering of some sort—without a word to anyone. You don’t tell anyone that you’re going or where you’re going…” Her voice trailed away as she thought about it. Thought about waking to the sound of her cousin pounding frantically on the door to a room that was theoretically unoccupied. Of wrapping a hotel robe around herself and then stumbling to the door with rose petals sticking to her skin.

“Hurry up,” Gwyn ordered, looking more harried than Brenda could ever recall seeing her. We have to clean this place and get you out of here, and come up with a story for where you were, and what you did last night.”

“Good morning to you too,” Brenda answered grumpily, watching as Gwyn began clearing the dishes and stripping the bed. “What’s going on?” When she and her cousin had planned all of this, they’d discussed what they would say and do. They’d rehearsed the stories they’d tell. She was pretty sure they hadn’t discussed anything that included Gwyn showing up early and acting like a madwoman. “Why are you tripping?”

Gwyn shot her an impatient look. “Just…get dressed. All right?”

“Why?” Brenda didn’t want to get dressed. At least not right away. She was experiencing all sorts of interesting aches and twinges in a variety of unexpected places. She wanted a long soak in a hot tub. Then maybe a repeat of last night’s performance. She wanted Noah—rather badly, actually. She hadn’t slept well. She’d kept waking up, thinking she heard voices—his or someone else’s, she wasn’t quite sure—or with another of those damned rose petals tickling her. She scratched absently at her neck.

“Where’s your pendant?” Gwyn demanded, her gaze focused on Brenda’s neck, her complexion suddenly much paler than a moment earlier. “You never take it off. Did the chain break? Is it here somewhere?”

Brenda was uncomfortably aware of the heat rushing to her own cheeks. “No. It-it’s not here. I, umm…”

“Shit. You gave it to Noah, didn’t you?” Gwyn snarled with a surprising amount of fury. “Fuck!”

“So what if I did?” Brenda replied crossly. “And what the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“He’s gone,” Gwyn mumbled, refusing to meet Brenda’s gaze.

“What do you mean? Who’s gone?”

“Noah. And his family. They cleared out and took off last night. Some kind of family emergency, supposedly.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. Someone saw them and asked what they were doing, otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?”

“Otherwise we wouldn’t have found out until later,” Gwyn said. “They didn’t tell anyone, didn’t let anyone know they were going. Didn’t pay their bill. Grams is already fit to be tied on account of that. If she ever finds out about you—” She shook her head. “Well, just make sure she doesn’t.”

“But…” Brenda didn’t really care about her grandmother’s temper at that point. “Noah, gone? No. He can’t be.”

Gwyn gazed at her pityingly. “I’m sorry, Bren. Really sorry. But I’m afraid he is.”

“I see,” Max replied, looking unexpectedly grim. “I take it you’ve had some experience with things like that?”

“Yes,” Brenda nodded, feeling suddenly as sick—as though she’d just downed several Car Bombs in a row. “You could say that.”