Double the Pleasure

Featuring The Luck of the Irish

Kicking off my new series, the Wild Hart Saga, is the novella, The Luck of the Irish, where you'll meet feisty Maggie O'Brien, whose large, loving Irish American family owns the Wild Hart, a pub in the heart of New York City. The O'Briens are a family whose every member is blessed and cursed with classic Celtic traits: passion and loyalty, wit and drama; a family of romantics, rebels, and dreamers who clash with the same intensity with which they love. Small wonder, then, that when strapping Irishman Brendan Kelly walks through the door of the pub, Maggie's finally met her match. But Brendan may not be all that he seems...

Reviews

"Deirdre Martin has created a light-hearted adventure for Maggie and Brendan but in the middle of the smooth-flowing story, there is a lot of emotion that the reader takes in. The story is sweet, yet incredibly sensual; witty, yet caring; well-paced, yet has some depth; and so much more. In The Luck of the Irish, Deirdre has created a wonderfully loving story and has done it with such skill that the reader can easily hear the brogue accent."

—Lori, www.onceuponaromance.net

Excerpt

Chapter One

God, the ass on him. The shoulders. The big calloused hands, the biceps straining against the sleeves of the t-shirt. The dark, tousled hair, the unnerving directness in those sapphire blue eyes. And of course, the easy way with words that all the Irish men she’d ever known seemed gifted with. Brendan Kelly.

Maggie O'Brien hated herself for watching him surreptitiously from behind the bar at her family's pub, The Wild Hart. A revered fixture of New York's Hell Kitchen, the pub was undergoing a face-lift. That's why Brendan Kelly was here: he and his Uncle Joe were doing the work. In the dining area, custom wainscoting and beautiful, dark maple booths were being installed, along with hand crafted crown moldings. Maggie's parents knew Joe from way back; he'd immigrated from Ireland to the States the same time they had. In fact, he'd done much of the original work on The Wild Hart's interior when her parents had bought it in the late 60s. If there was one thing Maggie had learned growing up, it was how tight the Irish immigrant community was. More than half her parents' friends came from "the ould sod." She wasn't surprised they'd once again tapped Joe to perform his fine carpentry magic.

The dining section at the rear of the pub was closed during the day while Brendan and his uncle worked. But this didn't stop Maggie's mother from making lunch for the two of them daily and expecting Maggie to serve them. She was, after all, a waitress in the family business, at least until she got her act together following her ugly divorce from Tom Meyers, the most charming con man on the Eastern seaboard. A real wheeler dealer, he'd crushed Maggie's heart while at the same time managing to run through her extremely hard earned savings. Unlike her parents, Maggie had long since gotten over wanting to kill him. Mostly, she was mad at herself for being so impetuous, marrying the bastard after a whirlwind six-week courtship. Two years of her life wasted. Never again, she vowed. She didn't care if she died an old woman alone in her bed: Never again would she be taken in by a silver tongued charmer.

She considered herself lucky that she had her big, boisterous family to come back to, no questions asked. There were her parents, with their big hearts and even bigger capacity for patience; her big brother Quinn, the hot shot reporter; big sister Sinead, the uptight workaholic slowly wending her way to an early heart attack, in Maggie's opinion; and of course, her baby brother Liam, the bad boy, long time bartender here at their parents' pub. It had been a long time since all of them had been in New York at the same time, and her parents loved every minute of it.

Maggie's mother bustled out of the kitchen, handing a plate of her famous "bangers and mash" over to Maggie. "Give this to Brendan," she said, the soft lilt of her brogue still intact after more than forty years in the States. "He looks famished."

Maggie chuckled. Everyone looked famished to her mother. "Where's Joe?" she asked. The man lived for her mother?s food. You'd think he was starved.

"Out getting some more materials." Her mother smiled slyly. "Don't think I don't see you looking at Brendan Kelly like he's a choice piece of meat you want to devour. What happened to that vow of celibacy you took after your divorce? You seem to have forgotten that pretty quick."

Maggie's brother Liam laughed as he handed her a Guinness to take over to Brendan. Maggie scowled at both of them. Her mother had gotten it wrong: Brendan was the one who'd been looking at her for two days straight. Boldly. Appraisingly. She had a right to look back, didn't she?

Sighing with resignation, Maggie brought Brendan his food. "Lunch," she said, plunking down the plate and beer in front of him as he slid into one of the completed booths.

"Ah, thanks," said Brendan gratefully, wiping sweat off his brow in a gesture Maggie was telling herself was not sexy. He took a long pull off his beer. "Perfect."

"I'll put it on your tab."

Brendan laughed, gesturing at the bench across from him. "Care to join me?"

Maggie's eyes shot to the bar. Her mother had gone back into the kitchen, but of course, Liam was still there, and would tease her like hell if she sat down. In fact, he was watching them right now, an amused expression on her face. Maggie threw her brother her best, "Mind your business?" look and sat down anyway.

"I can only sit for a minute."

Brendan looked perplexed. "You've no other customers."

"So? That doesn't mean I don't have work to do."

Brendan shrugged. "Suit yourself." He cut a piece of sausage, wolfing it down. He was famished after all. "Joe tells me you've just come off a bad marriage."

"What a great way to open a conversation," Maggie replied dryly. God, she'd wring the old busybody's neck when he got back. "What else did he tell you?"

"Things." Brendan looked apologetic. "Sorry if I embarrassed you."

"It's all right. What I want to know is: why were the two of you talking about me?"

"He was just, you know, filling me in on your family."

"He tell you anything else?"

"Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out," Brendan replied with a wink.

Maggie felt unwanted heat flash through her body. "I suppose you think that's flirtatious."

"You don't?"

"I don't like playing games."

"Pity," Brendan murmured sexily. He took another long pull of his beer, his eyes pinned to her. Maggie felt like she was sitting across from him naked. She would not be taken in by this overconfident brazen charmer. She would not.

She tossed back her long, black hair defiantly and folded her arms across her chest. "How 'bout I find out a few things about you?" she challenged.

Brendan shrugged diffidently. "Feel free. I've nothing to hide."

"How long have you been here?"

"About ten years."

"Are you married?"

His eyes danced with mischief. "Why are you asking? Interested?"

"In your dreams," Maggie scoffed. "I was just wondering if you were one of those creeps who flirt with the ladies while meanwhile, you've got a perfectly lovely wife at home."

"Encountered many of these creeps, have you?"

"I was married to one." Jesus, why was she telling him this? She changed the subject. "Do you ever regret coming over? I mean, the economy is booming back in Ireland, isn?t it?"

"Well, it wasn't when I left," Brendan muttered.

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Have I hit a nerve, Mr. Kelly?"

"How do you know I've got any?"

"Don't dodge the question."

"I'm not. It was just a statement of fact. When I came over here—one of the reasons I came over here—was because the Irish economy was in the toilet."

"Fair enough."

Brendan cocked his head. "You always been a waitress, then?"

"Why don't you ask your Uncle Joe, since he seems to know all about me."

Brendan laughed delightedly. "You're very cheeky, you know that?"

Maggie felt another blush overtake her. Cheeky: not a word you often heard American men use. Yet it was one she'd heard all her life, courtesy of her County Cork born father. You cheeky thing, would you ever stop giving me lip and go help your mother in the kitchen? Jaysus help me, the cheek I have to put up with, and from my own daughter. Her father always said it affectionately, the same way the strapping, flirtatious Irishman had said it, too.

Maggie rose, unable to resist cocking her hip. "Does cheekiness bother you?"

"Not at all. Shows spirit."

"So you like spirited women."

"Yes, I do."

They were flirting. Harmless enough, she told herself. Didn't mean she was going to forget her vow not to be suckered.

Brendan's expression was impish as he rolled his glass of beer between his hands. "Would you like to know what else I like in a woman?"

Maggie's mouth fell open in indignation, but inside, her heart was beating wildly. "You cocky bastard!"

"I'll take it that's a no. Though if I may be so bold as to point out," Brendan said as he pushed back from the plate of food he'd just wolfed down, "you're the one who started us down this conversational road with your cheekiness."

"Well, we've reached a fork in that road," Maggie said stiffly as she snatched his plate, "and it's time for you to go one way and me to go the other."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" Maggie scoffed. "I'd just rather not share my "road" with an arrogant Irishman." Or any other man, for that matter.

Brendan shook his head sadly. "Big mistake."

Maggie snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Prove to me you're not afraid, then: Come out for a drink with me tomorrow night."

"I don't need to prove anything to you!" Talk about nerve.

"Then forget the part about proving something to me," said Brendan, draining his beer. "Come out for a drink anyway."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Brendan challenged.

Maggie, never one to resist a challenge though in this case she knew she should, couldn't resist taking the bait. "Where?"

"Maxie's Supper Club? Around eight?"

"Fine."

"Shall I pick you up here?"

"I know where's Maxie's is. I can get there on my own."

"Suit yourself."

"See you at eight tomorrow, then." She began walking away, then abruptly spun back around. "Need anything else?"

Brendan grinned devilishly, not saying a word.

Maggie whirled away from him so he couldn't see her face turn red for the third time. Jerk, she thought. Arrogant egotistical swine.

But if that were the case, why was she already looking forward to tomorrow night?