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.
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.