Fighting For Irish (A Fighting for Love Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (10 page)

He almost laughed until he realized she was serious. She had no idea what she did to him. Grabbing one of her hands still resting on his shoulder, he slowly dragged it over his chest and down his stomach until it finally reached his stiff erection straining against the restrictive boxer briefs under his shorts.

Aiden groaned as he molded her hand over his cock. The feel of her gripping him nearly redefined the word “premature.” She drew in a quick breath and raised her eyes to his. Her cheeks filling with a pretty shade of pink did crazy things to his insides. The more her innocence showed through, the more he wanted her.

He couldn’t make sense of it. She was right. Typically he went for the larger-than-life women who treated every day like it was their own personal thrill ride. Kat was something else entirely. Worldly beyond her years, yet somehow more innocent than she should be.

“This is how into you I am, sweetheart. Believe me when I tell you I couldn’t fake this kind of interest,” he assured her.

“Guess I was right after all,” she said.

“About what?”

“Earlier in the garage. I believe my exact words were, ‘It’s so big I can barely close my fingers around it.’”

He let out a strangled chuckle. The woman he thought didn’t have a teasing bone in her body picked now of all times to prove him wrong. Then again, maybe she wasn’t trying to be funny because she effectively cut off his laughter when she gave his cock a light squeeze. A low growl emanated from deep in his chest. If he didn’t fuck her soon, he’d explode.

“I want you, Kat. Wicked bad. But I don’t have anything more to offer you than one night. That’s me being honest. So if you wanna give me the red light now, I’ll understand, but you gotta let me know while I still have use of some of my brain.”

“Green.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What’s green?”

Her shy smile revealed so much. “I’m giving you the green light.”

Images of all the things he planned to do to her in the next several hours flashed behind his eyes. Anticipation like nothing he’d ever had made his balls draw up tight with a delicious pleasure/pain.

Dipping his head, he closed the space between his lips and hers—finally he’d kiss her, taste her—but at the last second she dropped her head back with a sigh and offered up her throat instead. He growled his complaint and intended on rectifying the missed opportunity when her sweet lilac scent drew him in like a bear to honey. Okay, he’d kiss her later. He wasn’t too hard to please. At the moment, he was just plain hard.

“I want you so bad right now I can’t fucking think straight,” he rasped under her jaw. Latching onto the sensitive place below her ear, he tasted inch after inch of her skin as fallen wisps of her hair tickled his face. Fingernails bit into his shoulders where she gripped him, the slight pain igniting sparks of pleasure that raced down his spine. He kissed lower to the hollow of her throat, then down between her collarbones, until further efforts were thwarted by the damned cotton of her shirt.

Grabbing the hem, he pulled it up and off her in seconds, only to be pulled up short by her bra. A part of him said he should take his time, explore her slowly. But as more blood flowed from his brain to his balls, that wasn’t the part he listened to. All he could think about was getting her naked and burying himself so deep inside her she’d feel him for days.

His fingers attacked the front closure. The plastic clasp snapped from his hurried motions, but he didn’t care. A broken bra meant she couldn’t put it back on, which was just fine with him. He yanked it from her arms and let it fall to the floor as he got his first glimpse.

Her skin was like cream accented with apricot flecks surrounding the pale pink nipples of her sweet breasts. Breasts he could spend all night teasing with the pads of his fingers and the tip of his tongue. But not right now. Now he needed to devour them. Devour her. There would be plenty of time to torture each other later.

Aiden attacked her like a starving man offered his favorite meal. His lips sucked, tongue flicked, teeth scraped. As he kissed his way back up her neck, his hands roamed…and that’s when he noticed it.

Something was wrong.

Drawing back, he studied Kat’s composure. Her head was turned to the side and her eyes were closed. Not like they’d drifted down in the heat of passion, but like she’d shut them on something she didn’t want to see. Even worse, her hands were down at her sides and clenched into fists.

Aiden cupped her face in his hands and gently brought her back to center. “Kat?” Her eyes opened, but they weren’t focused. She could’ve been looking right through him. His chest tightened. She was scaring the shit out of him. “Katherine!”

That seemed to get through to her. At least enough that she blinked and focused on him again, but her body was still tense enough to be in rigor. “Hey, there,” he said softly. “You with me now, kitten?”

She nodded, scanning the room nervously before meeting his eyes again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He arched a brow. “I don’t know. I was kinda hoping you could tell me. Looked like you went somewhere else for a minute there.”

She was getting skittish. Like a trapped animal itching to escape. If he didn’t lighten things up, she’d probably bolt in the next thirty seconds. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s been so long I think I forgot how these things work. Was I supposed to take you to dinner before or after I ripped your bra off?”

His bad attempt at humor paid off in the way of a small grin. “You’re a moron.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that, sweetheart,” he quipped. Now that he knew she wasn’t about to take off on him, he dropped his clown act. “Seriously, though. What’d I do wrong? And don’t even try telling me nothing, ’cause I swear I’ll tan your hide for lying to me.”

She gasped. “You would not.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow in challenge. “Try me.”

Headlights swung through the windows in the living room with the accompanying sound of a ’72 Nova. He muttered a curse under his breath. “Xan’s home.” He reached down to where her shirt and bra lay in a heap by the door and placed them in her hands. “Go on into my room. I have to talk to him for a few minutes, but then I’ll be in.”

“Maybe you should just take me back to my apartment.”

“Not a chance. I’ll take you back tomorrow if you want, but you’re staying here tonight.” He placed a kiss where her shoulder met her graceful neck, then farther up where her pulse beat a rapid tattoo. He tilted her chin up and skimmed his thumb over her bottom lip. “With me, remember?”

“Irish, I don’t—”

“Please, sweetheart. Go and wait for me.” Her features softened and, with a resigned sigh, she crossed to his room and shut the door behind her.

Kat MacGregor was becoming more mysterious by the minute. They say ignorance is bliss, but they also say knowledge is power. There was no way he could ignore the red flags now waving in his head. He had to talk to her. Had to find out what set her off like it did and how to make sure it never happened again.

But first he had to talk to Xan about getting him into that tournament, or demystifying Kat would be the least of his worries.

Chapter Nine

Kat stood at Irish’s bedroom window, staring through the glass panes at the ghostly scenery. Murky browns and greens of the bayou had turned into hues of gray from the pale moonlight. Cypress trees wept with moss frozen in time without even the barest breeze to give them life.

Lifting her eyes, she gazed up into the night sky to admire the waxing moon. She exhaled and sagged against the wood frame, imagining the soft illumination wrapping its protective rays around her. As a teenager, Kat had found solace in the moon during some of the darkest times in her life. It passed her window most nights, like a glowing guardian in its ever-changing forms, there to center and ground her.

Something that seeing Irish at the bar the last several months had also done for her. No one had had that effect on her since Nessie. But did she dare trust the feeling? That was the million-dollar question.

She didn’t see a clock anywhere, but she guessed it had probably been about thirty minutes or so since Irish had left to talk to Xander. She wondered what that was all about. Maybe he was telling him about the shitstorm she’d gotten him into. She liked Xander. It’d be a shame to have him hate her. Then again, it wouldn’t matter much anyway, since she was planning on leaving town soon. Hell, if she had the means, she’d be on her way now, but as it was, she couldn’t go anywhere until Irish took her back to her car.

God, how embarrassing. She couldn’t believe she’d actually slipped inside herself as he was ravishing her body like she’d wanted him to. Well, maybe not
exactly
like she’d wanted. Her body had been totally onboard with the ravishing—her wet panties could attest to that—but something had triggered her mind to hop off the Sexytimes Train.

Leaning a hip against the wall, she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself and the soft cotton of the T-shirt she’d pilfered from Irish’s dresser. Unfortunately, her own arms didn’t offer the sort of comfort she longed for. Ducking her chin to the side, she inhaled the purely male scent deep into her lungs.

What was it that had set her off? She remembered him kissing his way down her neck, feeling the rasp of his five o’clock shadow on her sensitive skin, the sensual heat of his tongue.

Then he’d pulled off her shirt and attacked her bra so hard and fast he’d broken the clasp. She’d heard the snap of the plastic just before he yanked it down her arms…and that’s when things started to get fuzzy.

She remembered turning her face to see the moon out of habit, but they weren’t in her old room on her old bed, so when she didn’t find it her eyes squeezed shut. She vaguely recalled his mouth on her breasts, but not much else. Not the techniques he used. Not the way it felt. Nothing.

It must have been the intensity that had set her off. With a past like hers, it wasn’t natural to trust a man. Wasn’t natural to believe he’d only take as much as she was willing to give.

She’d been just as eager to be with Irish as he’d been for her, but it hadn’t mattered. The minute things became frantic and seemingly out of control, she’d regressed within herself. Just like she had all those times as a teenager.

Back then it had saved her.

Now it just made her a damaged freak.

The sound of the door opening in the dark behind her snapped her spine a little straighter. Would he still want to be with her or had he reconsidered? Maybe that’s why he’d been gone so long. He’d changed his mind and was hoping she’d fall asleep so he wouldn’t have to backpedal.

Without turning around, she listened to his bare feet pad across the wood floor to her. Strong hands settled on her shoulders, then stroked down her arms to envelop her in the comforting embrace she’d been unable to give herself. Her body melted into his, her softer frame conforming to his ridges and planes. He nuzzled the side of her neck, his warm breath causing shivers to race over her skin.

His thumb stroked over the inside of her forearm, then paused. He pulled her arm away from her body and turned it toward the window. “Does this hurt?” His voice sounded unusually tight.

“What, that?” she asked, looking at the small bump shaped like a Tic Tac. She’d noticed it a couple of weeks ago. “No, not really. Only a little if I press on it. I think it’s a lipoma—a fatty cyst. My mom used to get them.”

Cradling her arm, he bent his head and lightly pressed his lips to it in a tender kiss. A kiss meant to soothe and comfort. And miracle of miracles, it did.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he said gruffly in her ear as he lowered her arm back into their embrace.

“You don’t owe me an apology, Irish.”

“Bullshit,” he said, turning her in his arms. “I said I’d be a few minutes, not forty-five. Things took a lot longer than I expected. So I’m sorry, all right?”

His attempt to atone for such a minor infraction made her belly flip and coaxed a smile from her lips. “All right.”

“Good,” he said with a short nod of his head. “Now, about before—”

“No, let’s not analyze it, okay? I was nervous,” she supplied quickly with a smile she hoped appeared reassuring. “It’s been so long for me, I’m probably re-virginized, and you’re a pretty intense guy.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it. I got carried away and scared the shit out of you, is what I did.” Placing his large hands on the side of her head, he gave her a crooked smile. “Can I try again if I promise to control myself?”

Deep breath in…and out… “Yeah.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, giving her a clear indication of his first move. Anticipation and anxiety collided in her chest, battling each other as he lowered his face to hers.
I can do this
, she told herself. She could absolutely… Warm breath bathed her lips.
Shit!
Kat pushed against his chest until he yielded.

His eyes probed hers in confusion. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”
Liar!

“Then why can’t I kiss you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t like kissing on the mouth. Is that a big deal?”

He studied her for long moments. Finally, he said, “Depends.”

“On what?”

“The reason.”

She took a step back until his hands dropped, and then crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t get the attraction of having my face eaten.”

“Face eaten. You been kissing zombies?”

Zombies, no. But, monsters? Definitely.
Trying for sarcasm she didn’t feel, she said, “Very funny.”

He crossed his arms over his muscled chest and mimicked her stance as he narrowed his eyes slightly to study her. She imagined what they must look like as they faced each other, leaning on the wall with arms folded defensively. The window spilled moonlight onto the floor like an un-crossable canyon yawning between them.

At last he said, “Sounds to me like you’ve never been kissed by a man who knows what he’s doin’.”

Memories reared up of hot breath, heavy with the stench of cheap whiskey and chewing tobacco, tainting her air and assaulting her nose and lungs. Bruising lips and choking tongues. Sloppy wetness and vile tastes that had starred in her nightmares for years.

Turning away from him, she faced the corner of the room. Kat stiffened when his arms snaked around her waist.

“Don’t shut me out, kitten.” Irish nuzzled her neck and held her tight. “Talk to me.”

Damn him. She didn’t want to talk about any of it. Didn’t want to
remember
any of it. If he knew about her past, he’d be disgusted. He’d never want to touch her again.

And she needed him to touch her. She couldn’t explain it. Knew she didn’t deserve it. But needed it all the same.

Distract him. Get his blood pumping and he’ll forget all about talking.
She turned in his arms and trailed kisses along his chest as her fingers explored the contours of his defined abs. Her lips found one of his pierced nipples and she tongued the barbell before sucking it into the heat of her mouth. He groaned in appreciation, and his strong fingers contracted at her waist. The heady feeling of a power she’d never known before—the power to make a man twice her size heel—gave birth to a desire to take the reins even more. To see how far she could go.

Irish cursed, grabbed her arms, and set her back from him. Frustration and probably more sexual tension than she wanted to think about tightened the lines in his face. She was way out of her league here.

“As much as I was enjoying that, distracting me is only going to get you so far, Kat. Because eventually I’m gonna get wrapped up in what’s happening and scare you again or try something else you don’t wanna do. So unless you tell me what’s going on with you, everything stops right here.”

“Fine,” she said as she backed away from him. “We’ll stop, then.”

He advanced, his stare solid and unwavering. She retreated farther. Not out of fear that he would harm her but of what he’d pull out of her. No one had ever chipped away at her defenses before—no one had given a damn enough to try—and now she realized how weak they truly were. She needed an upgrade and fast, or this man would topple them like a house of cards.

When the corner of the room met her back, his arms caged her in, his large frame invading her space and making it impossible to ignore him. With a strength and resolve she didn’t feel, Kat tilted her head up and met his intense gaze.

“What?” she demanded.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

With one hand, he trailed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, a tenderness that belied the rough feeling of his scarred knuckles. “Tell me what happened to put those ghosts in your eyes.”

She bit down on her lip. “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t make me talk about it.”

“Ah, kitten, I’d never make you do anything.” Irish gathered her against him. Though she kept her arms tucked between them, she rested her head on his chest and sank into his embrace. “But that’s why I wanna know things. I don’t wanna do anything to hurt you. You understand?”

She nodded.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Kat’s stomach dropped out when she became weightless as he cradled her against his chest. She looped her arms around his neck and held on, checking her distance from the floor as he crossed the room.

“Any tighter and you’ll have me in a decent choke hold. You afraid I’ll drop you?”

A flush of embarrassment heated her face despite the humor in his eyes. She loosened her grip and apologized. “Maybe a little. Which I guess is stupid. You’re probably strong enough to carry Ally.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but I’m definitely strong enough to carry a little thing like you.” Stopping at the side of the bed, Irish looked down at her with renewed seriousness. “But all that aside…I’d never let you fall, kitten. Not ever.”

Naht evah.
His words rolled around in her brain, looking for a place to settle and take root. Unfortunately the dark memories grew rampant in her mind like weeds choking out any bloom of trust that tried thriving for very long. She could only enjoy it for as long as it took for history to repeat itself, proving she’d been wrong to hold out hope that this time would be different.

He gently lowered her onto the bed, then joined her and propped them up with pillows as they lay on their sides facing each other. She kept her focus on his chest, hoping to avoid revealing the riot of emotions that fought within her. Desire, shame, anticipation, anxiety… She couldn’t make heads or tails of what she
should
be feeling, which she guessed added confusion to the volatile mix.

“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.