As Bad As Can Be (6 page)

“I do respect that. I just think there's room for the new as well as the old.”

“I agree. It's just the type of new that we differ on.”

She studied him. “So are you going to grow old and die running the family business before passing it on?”

“I don't know that that's my dream.”

“Oh really?” She leaned forward. “And just what are your hopes and dreams, Shay?”

“Music,” Shay said, apparently deciding to take her question seriously. “Running a club for local music. We could also get some good alternative bands between gigs in Boston and New York.”

She could see him doing it, she realized suddenly, and her picture of him changed. “But what about O'Connor's?”

“What about it? We've been hosting a live music night on Sundays for a couple of years now, so I'm used to booking bands. I've been looking around at local spaces, getting estimates on rebuilding. I tried to get the space you leased for Bad Reputation, only you beat me to it,” he finished with a wicked grin.

She remembered bullying the real estate agent as he tried to stall her for some unfathomable reason. Now she knew why. “There are other places.”

“Sure. Location is the only glitch. It has to be close enough to O'Connor's that I could bounce between the two, at least at first.”

“When's all this going to happen?”

He sighed and tried not to be impatient. “When the time's right. Right now I'm just doing the background work.”

“What's your family going to say? Or do they know about your idea?”

“Not yet.”

Mallory studied him and a mischievous light flickered in her eyes. “You know, if you've never had a chance to say what the hell growing up, maybe now's the time. Maybe this is your chance for big bad Shay to come out in the open.” She leaned closer to him and suddenly her scent was all around. “Or maybe I can be your bad influence.”

Just then, the waitress walked up to set their plates on the table. Shay watched in bemusement as Mallory slathered the various plates with ketchup, then salt indiscriminately. “Purely for purposes of menu research, you said?” he asked, watching Mallory bite into an onion ring and close her eyes in bliss, wondering if she looked the same way when she was making love.

“God that's good. Now what were you saying?” She speared a fry and flicked a glance at him.

 

B
ACK OUT ON THE STREET
, they drifted along together, each reluctant, perhaps, to split up. She'd enjoyed the time far more than she'd expected to, Mallory realized. Granted, she'd been attracted to him, but she hadn't expected to actually like him. It made her a little uneasy. He wasn't going to get over with her, though. He was the enemy and she needed to stick with her plan. She knew he was attracted to her, she'd seen it in his eyes. All that remained was to close on the deal.

“Newport's a mix all right,” she said, gesturing at the line of storefronts on the cobbled street where T-shirt and souvenir shops vied for attention with upscale clothing and housewares stores. It was, she mused, an interesting juxtaposition.

“Something for everybody, I suppose.”

“Well see, that's all I'm trying to do with Bad Reputation, provide something for everybody. You give people family and tradition. We give people a place to get wild and sexy. You don't have anything against sex, do you?”

Amusement quirked the corner of his mouth. “Not in principle.”

“Don't tell me you abstain? Now that truly would be a tragedy.” She caught sight of the next store in the row and her eyes lit up. “This reminds me,” she improvised, “I've been thinking about giving the Bad Girls a uniform.” And she pulled him through the door before he realized where he was.

The store looked like the inside of a Victorian lady's boudoir, all voluptuous femininity underlaid with sex. Lace teddies hung next to filmy negligees, slippery satin bras begged for the touch of a male hand.

“Don't even think about putting your bartenders in lingerie.”

Mallory laughed at him. “Don't worry, I wouldn't. I was just yanking your chain. I need to look at a couple of things while we're here, though.”

“Shopping,” Shay muttered. “What is it with women and shopping?”

“Buying lingerie's more of a gift for the man than the woman,” she pointed out, picking up a transparent babydoll and draping it across herself. She caught the flare of heat in his eyes before he turned away scowling, his hands jammed in his pockets.

“I thought we were going to go look at the books for your bar.”

“We are. I just need to get something and we're right here. It'll only take a minute.” She picked up a
backless wine-colored lace bodysuit that was more open space than fabric. “So, Shay, are you a lace man or a silk man?”

“Try on your stuff and let's get out of here.”

The clerk approached. “Are you looking for anything special?”

Mallory hooked a long, black chiffon negligee that was slit up to the hip and cut down to the waist. “I think I'm all set, thanks. Where can I try this on?” The saleswoman led her toward the dressing rooms at the back of the store, then turned to take care of a pair of women who'd just stepped in the door.

“I'll just wait for you outside,” Shay said.

“Oh come on, stick around. The salesclerk's busy. What if I need a different size? This is going to take a lot more time if I have to get dressed just to go out and get a little skimpy bit of nothing like this.”

Black lace, Shay thought, following her to the little foyer tucked away in the back with the dressing rooms. Why did she have to choose black lace? If she'd stuck with the plain white cotton undershirts at the front of the store, he would have been fine. Instead she was waving around little filmy scraps of midnight designed to make a man's mind into mush.

He listened to the clank of hangers behind the floor to ceiling door and couldn't help imagining her getting undressed, stripping off each garment until she was naked and pulling on one of those skimpy outfits. Lingerie designers understood that the female body was a hundred times more alluring with a few scraps covering it, begging to be pulled off. Something about the tiniest bit of coverage made a man immensely aware of the warm skin beneath.

“Shay. Can you come here a minute?” Mallory's
voice called him softly from the dressing room. He stepped over to the door cautiously. “Can you please get this for me in the next smaller size? It's on the rack by the cash register.” She opened it just a crack and slid the lace bodysuit out. He caught a glimpse of her in a firecracker-red bra and underwear and nothing else.

And all the blood in his body went south.

He concentrated, running through inventory of the beer at O'Connor's, counting the number of weeks until the Christmas season started, thinking about the World Series, thinking about anything other than how she'd looked. When he was sure he wouldn't embarrass himself, he went out of the little alcove and into the store. The confusion of lace and straps and silk only kept his mind running in the same circle, like a hamster on a wheel: the way she'd looked, sexy, reckless and sinful.

He found the suit she wanted and brought it back to the dressing area, pleased that his system was calm. He knocked on the door. Mallory opened it and pulled him inside before he registered what she was doing.

“What the hell—” he began, but she put her fingers on his lips.

“Shh, they're coming. You don't want them to know you're in here, do you?” She pressed him down on a bench in the corner.

Indeed, he could hear the salesclerk approaching with her other customers, unlocking the changing rooms to let them in. That was the last thing he needed, to be found in the dressing room with Mallory.

The clerk knocked on Mallory's door. “Everything all right in there? You need anything?”

“I'm just fine, thanks,” Mallory called, piling her
hair up on top of her head with her hands. She wore a transparent black babydoll over a bra and panties, the filmy material floating over the sleek curves of her waist. Shay's heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he growled.

Mallory gave him a smoldering stare full of promise. “I have a few more things to try on,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It's more interesting to have company.”

“I don't want to see you try things on.”

“Oh, don't you?” She sank down on his lap, straddling him. “I thought you seemed pretty interested the other night. Just because we're working together doesn't mean we can't have a little fun.” She nuzzled his ear and his hands came up around her waist of their own volition.

He forced himself to drop them, forced himself to ignore the husky throb of her soft voice. “Your brother is my friend and I am not going to do this.” Oh, but he wanted to. God help him, he thought as he felt her lips nibble on his jaw, he wanted to.

The noises of the women in the dressing rooms next door came through the walls faintly. Each room was isolated entirely from the next, the walls decorated with gleaming light fixtures and creamy striped wallpaper, and topped with ornate crown moldings. He looked across the tiny room and saw Mallory reflected in the mirror on the back of the door, sleek and curvy and enticing.

“Relax, Shay,” she whispered. “What, you think no one's ever done this before? I'm sure people have had sex in these dressing rooms far more often than you'd think.” She nipped at his lips, sending little
shocks through his system. “And I certainly think they've done this.” And then her mouth was on his.

He tried, oh he tried not to dive into the kiss. There were people nearby, he needed to keep his wits about him. But the silky feel of her lips, the soft stroke of her tongue against his pulled him into the dark quicksand of desire. Her hair slid against his face, smelling of some subtle and utterly female scent. He reached out, intending to put his hands on her waist and stand her up, but instead found himself sliding them around her as she flowed up against him. Sweet and spicy, her flavor tempted him.

A knock on the door made him jump. “Are you doing all right in there?” the salesclerk asked briskly.

Mallory raised her head. “Just fine, thanks.”

When she moved toward him again, Shay put his hands on her shoulders. “No.” The door to the dressing room next to them thumped open and he heard a murmur of voices as the person inside left.

“Why not? You know you want me, Shay.”

The hell of it was, he did, so much that it was like broken glass in his belly. “What I want and what I'll take are two different things,” he told her unsteadily. “We are not going to do this.” He stood up and walked to the door, listening for a moment before slipping out.

 

H
E WAS WAITING FOR HER
at the curb outside of the store. Mallory couldn't resist poking at him a little. “Couldn't handle all that lingerie hanging around?” she asked dryly.

He was furious, that much was clear. “No more little stunts like that, understand? I've got a business
reputation to maintain in this town and I won't see it compromised—”

“—by my irresponsible behavior?” Mallory finished for him in lazy amusement.

He shot her a look. “If Bad Reputation didn't mean something to you, you wouldn't give a damn about me getting involved and you wouldn't be trying so hard to scare me off. Your act doesn't hang together, and frankly, it's tedious.” He started down the street without a backward look.

It took her a minute to recover from his shot and catch up with him. “Lectures, Shay?” Lectures had always given her the urge to misbehave. “Now who's putting on an act? Stop taking yourself so seriously and be flattered that you're so irresistible.” She trailed a fingertip down his cheek and grinned when he swatted it away.

“This isn't a game,” he growled.

“Sure it is. And you're the prize.”

She laughed at his expression. “Look, Shay, it's as simple as this. I don't like you breathing down my neck about the bar. You don't like me coming on to you. So as the old saying goes, I guess we've both got to deal with a few things we don't like.”

“You're making it a whole lot worse than it is.”

“I could say the same to you.” She stopped and faced him four square. “Leave me to run the bar myself and I'll keep my distance. As long as you're coming around, though, I'm going to do my best to seduce you.” She leaned in toward him until her lips grazed his ear. “And let me tell you, Shay, my best is pretty damned good.”

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT
black ink that did a body's heart good, Mallory thought as she entered the previous night's figures in her accounting program, a can of Pepsi at her elbow. According to her spread sheet, Bad Reputation was not only pulling in a profit on the weekends, it was meeting costs during the week. “Up, up, up it goes, where it stops, nobody knows,” she muttered, humming tunelessly. She was on a solid enough footing to stock the kitchen and pay the cook she'd hired to work weekends. When Mr. Busybody O'Connor got around to reviewing the books, he was going to have a surprise coming to him. She smiled, remembering how he had stomped off the previous day.

The phone rang and Mallory picked it up absently, saving her changes in the computer. “Bad Reputation.”

“It's Shay.”

“Why, Mr. O'Connor,” she exclaimed, her voice ripe with false pleasure. “What a coincidence you should call. I was just thinking about you.”

“It's too early in the day for voodoo, Mallory.”

“Now that's an idea with potential,” she said consideringly. “Just think, if you find your physical urges overcoming your principles, you'll never know if it's your own hormones or if it's black magic.”

“Great. Something to look forward to.”

“You play hard to get, Shay, but I know better,” she said teasingly.

“Well, here's something else you should know. I just got back from the Chamber of Commerce meeting.”

“If I'd known you were that hard up for something to do, I'd have come over right away to distract you. You should have called me.” She took a swig of Pepsi.

“You're a regular laugh riot.”

Mallory laughed. “So how was the meeting? I suppose if I were smart, I'd join,” she added reflectively.

“Under normal circumstances, I'd agree. In this case…well, will it surprise you at all to know that Bad Reputation came up in conversation before the meeting?”

It figured, she thought. “I'm pleased to hear we're making a name for ourselves.”

“It was in the context of parking issues, making Newport look bad, bringing in undesirables, etc. There was a movement in some quarters to have the city check into whether bartenders dancing on the bar is legal.”

Mallory's voice was smug. “I'm way ahead of them. Do you really think I'd have something going on in my bar that was against code?”

“Good to know you've done your homework.”

“God lies in the details, Shay, and I look after mine.” Though she tried to keep her voice light, a bit of annoyance slipped it. “So basically what you're telling me is that the local business mafia met and had nothing more productive to do than sit around and
trash nontraditional businesses. And did you join them?”

“Of course not,” he said impatiently. “They were crying wolf about it and I told them so.”

It surprised her. “You came down on my side against the forces of purity?”

“Mallory, this isn't a joke. You need to pay attention to this.” His voice was serious. “You can't ignore these folks. When people like Julius Sweeney and Mary McGuffin talk, the mayor listens. So do the police and the Department of Health. You have to understand how things work.”

“I do,” she said coolly. “Business rackets are nothing new. It means that when word gets out we're starting to have live music, I can expect to have my permits questioned.”

“You already have a live music permit?”

“I applied for everything at the beginning. I figured it was a good way to avoid hassles.”

“Smart.”

“I have my moments.”

“So I'm seeing. Is there any point in suggesting that you don't want to book some death metal band that's going to get everyone all riled up?”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Well, you do know the price of weighing in with your opinion, Shay.”

“I'm willing to chance it.” Humor ghosted his voice.

“Well, if you're dead set on testing yourself, I'm auditioning a band next Monday night.”

“They don't do daytime auditions?”

She grinned at the question. So he'd been hoping for something nice and safe, had he? “They've got day jobs. Besides, I want to see them in action. Bad
Reputation needs a band that's going to drag people onto the dance floor.”

“Have you got someone you can trust to run the place?”

She leaned back in her desk chair and scowled at his question. “It's a Monday night, for crying out loud. It's not like we're a sports bar. I've worked every night since we opened six weeks ago. I'm overdue for an evening off.” Her voice turned silky. “But I can certainly understand if you can't pull yourself away from O'Connor's. I'll be sure to give you a full report,” she added smoothly.

“Don't bother. I'll go with you.”

Too much to hope she could have gotten out of it, she thought. “I admire a man who's not afraid of a challenge.”

“I look at it as less a challenge than an education. Speaking of which, do you have plans for tomorrow during the day?”

Mallory glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Nothing scheduled, why?”

“There's something I want to show you.”

Her mouth curved. “Are you asking me out on a date, Shay?”

“Hardly. Consider it more of a field trip. I'll pick you up in front of Bad Reputation at ten.”

 

M
ALLORY LEANED ON THE FRONT
wall of Bad Reputation, looking out over the tiny park that constituted Washington Square. Traffic zipped around the odd-shaped quadrangle, headed off in any one of a number of directions. Clearly Newport had had some city planning early on, but it hadn't extended to anything remotely resembling a grid. One of the charms, and oc
casional annoyances, of living in a town that had its heyday more than a hundred years before was the tangle of streets that intersected at obscure angles, frequently dotted with parks to further tangle the intersections. The same characteristics that made driving hellish made for charming walks, though, and Mallory figured the good balanced out the bad.

She wondered if she'd ever say the same about Shay. She frowned at the low, black wrought-iron fence that encircled the park, wondering just what he was up to. Be patient, he'd said. That particular quality was not her strong suit, but wondering about it all night while she was pouring drinks had made her none the wiser. In all honesty, she hadn't a clue what to expect. It gave her a little buzz of anticipation.

A gold-colored Volvo station wagon turned the corner and she stepped forward in anticipation. It was so Shay—practical, safety conscious, conservative. She swept her hair out of her eyes, but only watched in surprise as the Volvo swept by.

Perhaps she should reevaluate. He didn't seem the type to put a lot of money into a car. He'd probably drive some midprice sedan, or maybe a light truck. Yep, that was it, she thought, as a turquoise truck swirled around the square with the traffic and slowed as it approached. Practical, but the color was the tiniest bit edgy. That was Shay living wild, she figured. She stood hipshot and gave an inviting smile.

The driver, who wasn't Shay, tapped out his appreciation on his horn as he zipped by. Disgusted, Mallory moved back to her earlier spot against the wall. A late model sedan cruised by, but she wasn't about to bite. Not even Shay would drive that conservatively, she thought. The motorcyclist behind it apparently
agreed, whipping out to pass it on the right, and pull up at the curb. The rider flipped up his visor. “Hop on,” Shay said.

Mallory blinked and pushed away from the wall. It wasn't often that people surprised her. “Nice bike,” she said, admiring the gleaming chrome and black paint. “You know, I was taking bets with myself on what kind of vehicle you'd drive.”

“Really.” He reached behind him and handed her a helmet. “And what did you decide?”

“I figured you'd show up in something witheringly practical like a station wagon.” Mallory pulled her hair back and slid the fiberglass shell over her head.

“In a city with very little parking, a motorcycle
is
practical.”

“You sure that it's not just a little bit of Shay's wild side trying to get out?” she asked, straddling the bike.

He turned and gave her a smile that had her pulse speeding up a bit. “You're just dying to turn me into a bad boy, aren't you?”

She wrapped her arms around him, luxuriating in the solid strength of his torso. “Didn't you know? That's what we bad girls do.”

His bark of laughter disappeared in the rev of the engine. He flipped down his visor. “Well hold on, because we're heading out.”

It had been years since she'd been on the back of a bike, but the exhilaration came back almost immediately: the heat and throb of the engine between her legs, the feel of the wind whipping her face. She was vividly conscious of the feel of Shay's body against her, the heat of his narrow hips between her legs.

To her disappointment, though, he didn't head out
of town or drive along the shoreline highway. Instead he threaded his way through the narrow streets lined with two and three story colonial buildings that made up the heart of Newport's old town. They held the predictable B&B's, antiques stores and galleries, but also flats, launderettes and hardware stores.

He paused at a light, and pulled onto Bellevue Avenue. She'd heard about this part of town; it was impossible to be in Newport and
not
hear about Bellevue Avenue. Fall mums in bronze and gold spilled out of planters in front of the handful of exclusive shops that lined the opening blocks. Ahead of them, the broad road stretched into a residential area, protected with high brick walls on either side, oaks and maples marching along it in a glorious flood of fall color.

But it wasn't the shops or the trees that made Bellevue Avenue special. Once, during the Gilded Age, New York society families fueled by railroad and shipping fortunes fled to Newport to escape the sweltering Manhattan summers. In their cottages by the sea, they'd enjoy the breezes and the summer social season. Of course, some of those cottages, she'd heard, had cost millions of dollars, built at a time when a man might labor all day to earn two.

And they were built as solidly as man could make. Nearly a century later, many of them still stood, palatial and resplendent behind their gated walls. Some were private homes or museums; others played host to a steady stream of visitors hoping to recapture some of the beauty and grace of a time gone by.

“Good Lord.” Mallory practically broke her neck staring at an enormous Baroque town house that stretched a block and easily soared forty or fifty feet high. The owners didn't bother with anything so prac
tical as a brick wall. Instead a wrought-iron fence some eight or ten feet high stretched in front of it so all could see its carved stone glory. Urns as tall as a man flanked the steps to the pillared entrance area, late mums spilling out over the top. It took very little effort to imagine carriages pulling up the broad sweep of the entrance driveway to drop the cream of New York society for dinners and balls.

On the other side of the street, they passed a field-stone Gothic revival that looked like something out of Jane Eyre. She could imagine an imperiled heroine in love with the master, every bit as much as she could imagine an insane relation locked up in the attic. Around the outside marched formal gardens with hedges and reflecting pools; in an elite town like Newport, these acres of open space were perhaps the biggest extravagance of all.

They passed mansion after mansion marked with the banners of the Newport Historical Society. A person could spend days seeing them all, Mallory thought in wonder. The first fall leaves made bright spots of color on the pavement ahead of them as Shay wove his way along a side street to the highest wall, the grandest gates she'd seen yet. He stopped the bike in a parking area and Mallory got off, her legs still vibrating a little from the engine. The crashing of ocean waves sounded in the distance.

“Did people really used to live in places like this?” she asked, pulling off the helmet and shaking her hair out.

“They still do. Take a drive through Bel Air or Grosse Point some time.”

“So is this history lesson day?”

Shay pulled the bike up onto its kickstand and got
off. “If you like. We were talking about tradition yesterday. I thought you might like to see some of it up close.” He led her across the street through the enormous stone arches that protected the drive. Ornate wrought iron gates twice as tall as a man stood open in welcome; in the pattern, a script D and V intertwined.

“What does DV stand for?” she asked as they stood in line at the ticket kiosk.

“DeVasher. They made a fortune in railroads and canal boats. Mama DeVasher was a New York society dragon, so when she decided to build a house up here for the summer season, everything had to be bigger and better than anyone else's.”

And it was indeed bigger and better. The wide cobblestone driveway curved in from the imposing gates, leading to an enormous stone house that rose high overhead to a rounded cap roof of copper that glowed bluish-green.

Mallory glanced at him as they walked toward the front door. “Do you think the staff here went to O'Connor's for a pint when they got off work?”

“Maybe some. From what I understand, the families usually brought along their normal butlers and cooks, but some of the groundskeepers and chambermaids were probably local.”

“So some of the money from the idle rich here eventually found its way into your great grampa's pocket. You could consider yourselves beneficiaries of the DeVasher family.”

“History has a million stories.”

Mallory sighed, looking at the sweep of the driveway and a courtyard that could have housed a football
field. “Yeah, well I expect the people who lived here had the best of it.”