“Hey.” With the side of his finger, he forced her gaze up to his. Instantly, the emotions that threatened to consume her quelled. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
Irish expelled a breath as heavy as the thoughts Kat suspected he had tumbling around in his head. His dark brows almost knitted together and his lips were set in a straight line. She was afraid to know what he thought of her.
“Hey,” Irish said softly. “Like I told you before, I’m no good with words. I don’t know exactly what this is between us, but I do know I’m having a damn hard time fighting it.”
“You’ve been trying to fight it?”
“Well, yeah.” He pushed up on his side a little and bent his supporting arm to hold up his head. “I mean, I’ve been attracted to you for forever, but I respected that you had a boyfriend. Even though he was a dirtbag who didn’t deserve you.”
A little thrill buzzed through her that Irish thought she was at least worthy enough of someone better than Lenny. “And after you found out I wasn’t still attached?”
“Ah, Christ.” He leaned back a bit and gazed up at the ceiling before resuming his original position, a half smirk playing across his lips. “Pardon my being frank, but it was like giving my dick the green light while my brain kept trying to keep my filthy hands off you. You can probably tell by now my brain’s been fighting a losing battle.”
Irish had a no-nonsense way of putting things. He said what he meant, even if what he meant was blunt or crass. That type of talk would probably turn off a lot of women, but his blue-collar roots comforted her. With him, she’d always know where she stood and she didn’t feel like she had to pretend to be anything other than who she was. Or at least who she allowed the world to see.
“Well, I’ve been wondering for a long time what it would be like to have your ‘filthy hands’ on me. Which is weird because…”
Kat trailed off, wondering if too much information was a bad thing. But then his free hand grabbed hers. He kissed the tops of her fingers and then tucked their joined hands to his chest. The moonlight spilling into the room illuminated the honesty in his face as he waited for her to finish her sentence. Not an ounce of manipulation to be found. Only sincere tenderness.
A warmth, intangible and yet no less remarkable, seeped into her chest, further softening the barriers she’d erected to keep others from hurting her. Kat couldn’t explain why, but she felt that if anyone could be entrusted with the horrific details of her past, it was this man. That didn’t mean telling him would be any easier. She still needed time to work her way up to that step if it ever came. But she wanted to tell him the little truths for now.
She took a breath and finished the sentence. “It’s weird because I’ve never desired intimacy with anyone until now. Until you.”
“Never?”
She smiled as she pictured him puffing his chest out like a proud peacock. She hadn’t considered what kind of an ego stroke that would be for a guy, but she kind of liked the idea of stroking Irish’s ego. She liked the idea of stroking a lot of things on him.
“Never.”
Irish wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in flush with his body. Not necessarily in a sexual manner, but a protective one. He seemed to act like that a lot around her. She wondered if he had an innate sense of gallantry around any female or if maybe she might be special. Odds were it was the former. She couldn’t imagine anything about her inspiring anyone to act out of character. He probably helped little old ladies cross streets and retrieved their cats from trees as a hobby.
“Tell me the real reason you don’t like to be kissed.”
His face was set with a strange mix of demand and plea. The answer swelled in her throat until it hurt to swallow. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. But as much as she wanted to shut down, something inside her encouraged her to open her scarred-over wounds.
“My first experience with kissing was with a man I didn’t want to kiss,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotions she’d rather not let surface but was helpless to hold at bay any longer. Much like the pain she could no longer balance on the precipice of her lashes. With her next blink, the first of many drops was overflowed, flaunting her secret shame. “He was much older, and for months he gave me these looks and seemingly innocent touches that made my skin crawl. One day he cornered me. His foul breath made my stomach turn, but I had nowhere to go. He put his lips on mine. I tried keeping them closed, but he pressed his thumb and finger into my cheeks to— Then his tongue— And it was so— S-so—”
She couldn’t complete a sentence to save her life. The nightmares flooded her memory, slicing through the signals in her brain, hindering her ability to speak cohesively. Irish gathered her into his arms, one hand stroking her back while the other pushed the stray hair plastered to her tear-streaked face. He whispered sweet words with his lips pressed to her temple, though he needn’t say anything. A certain amount of calm settled over her just by being wrapped up in his strong arms and his unique scent. With Irish acting as her anchor in the present, Kat took a deep breath and finished.
“It was disgusting. Not only was I unwilling, but he tasted like every bad addiction he had and it felt like he was trying to lick my tonsils. It made me gag really hard, which I guess he took as an insult. He stopped kissing me, but only because he split my lip open when he backhanded me for almost puking in his mouth.”
“Sonofabitch.” His body snapped wire-tight, and she felt the muscle in his jaw tic above her eye where his face was still tucked over hers. “Please tell me the next time he tried that shit, you kneed him in the balls before kicking his teeth in.”
She was surprised when a chuckle, weak though it was, bubbled past the tightness in her chest. “I probably imagined scenarios like that a thousand times, but no. I was only fourteen at the time and he knew all the things to say to keep me compliant.” Clearing her throat, she did her best to put a verbal punctuation on the subject. “So that is why I don’t kiss.”
Inside, Kat gave herself a few pats on the back and even tossed some mental confetti. It was the most she’d revealed outright to anyone. She’d never even told Nessie any of that, though she knew her older sister had plenty of airtight suspicions. Though she hadn’t wanted to tell Irish, a very small part of her felt relief. As though just by sharing it with him, it unburdened her, if even a little.
But that was all she could do for now. All her energy had leaked from the emotional toll, leaving her body wrung out. The only thing holding her on her side was the embrace of the man next to her.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Kat.” He pulled back slightly so he could see her face. Thank God it wasn’t daylight, or he’d see the puffy red mess she’d made of it. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Snapping it shut in obvious frustration, he looked up at the ceiling and blew out a long breath through his nose.
“Irish?”
“Gimme a second.”
Deafening silence filled the room and pressed in on her eardrums. Maybe now that he knew she’d been used at such a young age—even though she’d only revealed the tip of the very nasty iceberg that was her past—he wasn’t attracted to her anymore. And she knew all too well how pissed guys could get when you ruined their plans for a good time.
Suddenly, the idea of Irish reacting that way scared the shit out of her. Not because of anything physically he could do to her in an attempt to assuage his bruised ego—she’d learned how to deal and compartmentalize the physical pain when she was young, no matter how bad—but because she’d thought he was different. She’d thought that maybe he cared for her on some level. Even caring for her as a fellow human was a step above what most people had shown for her.
Kat tamped down the dread creeping up that Irish would ever harm her. She knew better than that. Her past might be shooting off warning flares, but her woman’s intuition recognized them as nothing more than bouts of old fear that had no place in the present.
But now he probably
had second thoughts about getting involved with someone like her and didn’t know how to let her down easily after his bold statements earlier of wanting her so badly.
That’s okay, Kat told herself. She couldn’t blame him. He’d wanted a hot hookup with a woman who could match his heat in the bedroom. He hadn’t signed on for her kind of baggage. So she’d spare him the need to produce an awkward explanation. It was the least she could do after everything he’d done for her.
As soon as she pulled away, his arms tightened reflexively. “Where you going?”
“I guess the emotional roller coaster of the last few days is finally catching up with me. I’m really exhausted, but I’d be more comfortable if I slept in the other room again.” When he opened his mouth, she stopped him. “Please, Irish, don’t argue.” She gave him a smile with a hint of wickedness to it and hoped it was enough to sell him the line of bullshit. “Despite what my brain says, I think my body would be way too aware of you and I won’t get any sleep.”
The part about being exhausted was true, but Kat didn’t think for one second she’d have problems sleeping with him next to her. Something told her she might even have the best sleep of her life lying with him, hearing his strong heartbeat, wrapped up in the warmth of his body.
“I’ll agree on two conditions,” he said.
She raised a wary eyebrow. “Which are?”
“One, you sleep in my bed and let me take the couch.”
Well, that was easy. She trusted him enough now that she didn’t have the same fears of the night before. Sleeping in sheets steeped in Irish’s scent was the next best thing to having the man himself. To hide her enthusiasm, she released an exasperated sigh. “Fine. What’s the second thing?”
He paused before answering, using a finger to trace the scar in the center of her chest. She knew he probably had more questions about her past. About how she got an injury that left her with a thin, puckered line so white it was noticeable against her pale skin. But he didn’t ask them, and for that she said a silent prayer of thanks. She wasn’t ready to delve that deep into her nightmares. Probably never would be.
As though remembering he still needed to state his second stipulation, Irish cupped her cheek and stared deeply in her eyes in a way that both excited and unnerved her. “Let me kiss you, sweetheart.” His voice was a low rasp. He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose caressing hers, his lips a scant inch away. “Let me show you how good a real kiss can be. Will you let me do that, Kat? Will you let me kiss you good night?”
Denying him was futile. She knew every cell in her body would revolt if she even tried to say no. So it was convenient that for once her brain was onboard with her body. Unable to find her voice, she inclined her head slightly.
Irish shook his. “Not good enough, kitten. You need to be clear. If we ever take things further, I don’t wanna misunderstand something in the heat of the moment. So get in the habit now. Say it.”
She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. “Yes. You can kiss me.”
Her insides shook, but her curious desire overshadowed the anxiety. Irish moved up and placed a soft kiss on each of her eyes. The tip of her nose. The corners of her mouth. And, finally…her lips.
The kiss was gentle, sensual. Light grazes that explored her as much as they touched her. His lips were pliant, molding to fit hers.
Kat reveled in such a perfect moment. To most people it would have been nothing more than a simple kiss. But to her, it was an incredible gift. Something she never imagined experiencing. At last, she knew. Knew what it was like to be cherished, revered, and respected.
“You with me, kitten?” he asked in a whisper between kisses.
“Very with you.” In mere minutes his lips had become as necessary to her as air. She hated pulling away, even for the two seconds it took to respond. She could very happily live out her days right here, in this bed, lip-locked forever with this sexy man she barely knew and yet somehow trusted more than any other man in her life.
His tongue licked a wet path in the seam of her mouth. Kat’s body strung tight and her head jerked back automatically, but Irish reacted just as quickly with a hand at her nape.
“Shh, baby, relax. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.”
His words comforted her that he wasn’t about to press the issue if she called a stop to the whole First Kiss Experiment. But at the same time, she flushed with a cocktail of embarrassment and anger. Here she was, a twenty-eight-year-old woman who hadn’t been a virgin for half her life, and she was afraid to let a man truly kiss her because a worthless piece of shit had ruined her all those years ago. Well, Kat was sick and tired of losers dictating how she lived her life. She’d managed to kick her relationship with Lenny to the curb. It was time she started fighting the rest of her demons, no matter how much it scared her.
“No, it’s okay,” she said, forcing her body to relax again. “Please don’t…”
“Don’t what, kitten?”
Meeting his gaze with all the moxie she could summon, she said, “Please don’t stop kissing me.”
“No problem.” He’d barely finished the words before making good on it, and with his mouth firmly on hers again, her insecurities melted into the heat pooling deep in her stomach.
“Kat, open up for me,” he panted. “I need to taste you. We’ll go slow, I promise, just please let me in.”
It wasn’t his plea that had her parting her lips, but her own needs and desires mixed with intense curiosity as to what it might feel like to lose herself in a kiss. To lose herself in his kiss. Remembering he wanted her to be clear, she gave him a quiet “yes” and parted her lips.
He groaned his approval and held her face as his tongue tentatively explored in shallow strokes, giving her time to acclimate to the intrusion. But time wasn’t necessary. Kat was fast learning that this man was like a potent drug: highly addictive and should come with a warning label. She wanted more. Needed more.
Digging her fingers into his back, she succumbed to her instincts. Despite her pulse and the intensity of the sensations climbing in her belly, he kept the pace slow and methodical. Their tongues met and glided over each other again and again in an erotic dance. He tasted like heaven with a splash of cranberry juice, giving her a new affinity for the tart flavor. If Ocean Spray could find a way to bottle it, she’d buy stock in the Cran-Irish line.
When he pulled back, she had to force herself not to follow him, but the ache she felt at the loss of connection with him shocked her with a dose of reality. She’d just experienced her first true kiss, and it had rocked her to her core. If Irish could affect her so well with a kiss, what could he do to her if she gave him her body? A slight tremor ran through her at the thought.
“Wow,” he whispered, clearing his throat. “That was…”
“Really good.” Kat mentally slapped herself in the forehead for such a lame description. English was her best subject, so surely she could have spit out something a bit more profound than that.
Irish smiled widely, his white teeth bright in the moonlight. “Yeah, it was.” He rolled over and got out of the bed. She settled back against the pillow as he leaned over, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her. Then he kissed her again, almost as though testing to see if she’d let him. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the melding of their mouths as they barely interlocked, she embracing his full lower lip while he embraced the opposite. A gentle passion and mutual respect conveyed in one small act.
“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he whispered against her forehead before placing a chaste kiss there.
And with a lump in her throat and a knot in her belly, Kat watched him slip from the room, even as he made a place for himself deep in a corner of her heart.
Chapter Ten
Aiden walked across the gravel drive toward the house. It was only midmorning and already the oppressive humidity was replacing the sweat dripping down his chest just as fast as he wiped it away with the T-shirt balled in his hand.
&
nbsp; “Hey, Ally-girl,” he said to the gator sunning herself. “Must be nice to be cold-blooded, huh? Not even noon and it’s already wicked muggy out here.” She hissed in response, which he took to mean, Like I give a shit, asshole. “All right, I’m going. Don’t need to bite my head off.”
If anyone should be cranky, it was him. After a night of practically no sleep, he’d gotten up around five in the morning and gone for a long run. Then he’d punished himself for another couple of hours in their makeshift gym, flipping tractor tires, swinging a sledgehammer, and doing other manual labor–based exercises. Rich boys could play with their weight machines all day long, but nothing beat the kind of muscle built with good old-fashioned hard work.
But now he wanted to die. Hell, he’d already puked twice. Transitioning from maintenance workouts to training and fight prep always sucked. He’d rest for a few hours and go back out for another round in the afternoon and maybe another in the evening. If he wanted a shot at winning this tournament, he didn’t have time to dick around.
Which also meant changing his diet, he realized as he climbed the porch steps and the rich scent of pancakes made his stomach growl. He figured Xander must be cooking breakfast—the man had culinary talents to rival an Iron Chef—but the scene he walked intoin on took him by surprise.
Standing at the counter mixing a bowl of eggs, Xander was animatedly telling an elaborate story as Kat tried to flip pancakes while doubling over in laughter.
Aiden dropped his sweaty shirt by the door and crossed to the fridge. He grabbed two bottles of water and killed the first one before even reaching the kitchen table.
“Oi,” his roommate called. “Get your stinky shite out of the room, will you? How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your sweaty clothes lying about the house?”