Chapter Five
By the time they left the ER, it was after three in the morning. Kat had been petrified in the hospital, though she managed to do a pretty good job hiding it. When the nurse called her name to head back for her stitches, Aiden casually offered to go back with her so she “had some company.” The relief that flooded her eyes before she could feign indifference with a shrug—something he was beginning to realize she did often—spoke volumes.
She’d done pretty well, all things considered. Though he was pretty sure his hand would disagree. If she’d squeezed it any harder he would’ve been sticking around to get it set in a cast. But ten minutes and twelve stitches later, exhaustion finally beat out anxiety.
Or so he’d thought.
She may have relaxed somewhat while they listened to the nurse go through after-care instructions and waited to be released, but as soon as they stepped foot outside those hospital walls, her entire demeanor changed. Her back muscles strung taut under his hand where he guided her across the parking lot. Though she tried to be subtle, he could tell she was scanning the area for something, or someone. And when a nearby car alarm went off, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
If her skittish behavior at work had been for fear Mullineaux would return, then there’d be no reason for her to still be anxious. Not to mention his gut was shooting up warning flares. He could feel the eyes on him like a scratchy tag on the back of his neck.
But who was doing the watching? And why?
They pulled out of the hospital parking lot and hadn’t gone very far before his suspicions were validated in the form of a tail. And not the furry kind.
“What kind of trouble are you in?”
She stopped biting her nails and cut him a sidelong glance from the passenger seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the shit, Kat. You’ve been acting nervous all night. I wanna help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
She turned in her seat, putting her in the corner of the seat back and the door, and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t think last night is reason enough to be a little off my game today?”
“Yeah, I do.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Still there. “But I don’t think Mullineaux is the reason you’ve been looking over your shoulder.” Stopping at a red light, Aiden laid his hand on the back of her seat and turned to face her. “Don’t look now, but I’m guessing your problem is in the Cadillac XLR that’s been tailing us since we left the hospital.”
Kat started to twist in her seat and do the very thing he’d told her not to do, but he’d been ready for that. He caught her face with his right hand and leaned in close to make it seem like they were merely kissing. “I said not to look. Now face forward and pretend like you don’t know they’re there. Got it?”
She swallowed hard, then nodded her understanding just before the light turned green. Only a few blocks away from her apartment. He had to know what he was up against before he did anything.
“Are they here because of your boyfriend?”
She didn’t turn her head, but from the corner of his eye he saw her stiffen even more. “What do you mean?”
“He’s in prison. Are these his buddies looking to cause trouble for anyone they suspect might be taking his place while he’s in the big house?”
“Oh,” she said, studying her hands in her lap. “No, I don’t think they care one way or the other about that.”
He gave a quick nod. “Good. You want me to lose them?”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“For multiple reasons.” Her tone was changing to one of aggravation. He liked that a hell of a lot better than the defeated one from before. “For starters, Mario Andretti couldn’t lose anyone driving this piece-of-crap car.”
“And if that wasn’t an issue?”
She shook her head and peered into the side mirror. “There’s nowhere to go where they won’t find me now. Even if I could hide out for a day or two, it would only be stalling the inevitable.”
Inevitable. He hated that fucking word.
Mark my words, one of these days you’re gonna hurt someone with that temper of yours. It’s inevitable.
Joey Patterson, his lifelong best friend, had been right. So goddamn right. And ever since, he’d done everything in his power to make sure it never came true again.
“What’s inevitable?” he asked. Keeping her eyes turned to the window was her only answer. Whatever hot water she was in, it couldn’t be anything small.
Aiden flexed his fingers and gripped the wheel until his knuckles blanched. He barely knew her, but the thought of anyone hurting this woman was enough to trigger his old instincts. He hadn’t felt the need to protect anyone since that night with Joey’s little sister— Don’t go there, asshole. Keep your head in this moment.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” he said as they passed the turn to her street, “but we’re gonna do things my way.”
“What exactly is your way?”
“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I wanna help you.” He glanced over to meet her speculative gaze. “Can you trust me, Kat?”
She didn’t speak for an endless half a minute where he counted the white dashes in the middle of the road like the ticking of a clock on fast-forward. Finally, she said, “What have I got to lose?”
Not the encouraging answer he’d hoped for, but it’d do for now.
Keeping to the speed limit, he continued until they got back to Lou’s. If these people were following her now, he could only assume they’d been following her before. Which meant they’d expect her to drop him off at the bar so he could pick up his bike and go home.
As he predicted, when Aiden turned into the parking lot, the Caddy kept going. They’d probably turn around a ways up the road, pull off to the side, and kill their lights while they waited for Kat to go back home.
He parked the Celebrity in the back and turned it off. “Come on,” he said.
She got out of the car and met him around the back. “We’re going to hang out at work? I’m no expert or anything, but if I had to guess, I’d say this plan kind of sucks.”
A wry grin twisted his lips. “That’s not the plan, kitten. Stay here a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Using his keys, he ducked into the back of the bar and grabbed his helmet out of his locker. Usually he rode his Panhead, but he’d been tinkering around with the engine, so lately he rode his Suzuki GSX-R1000.
He locked everything back up and crossed to where she stood by her car, arms crossed over her middle like she was trying to hold herself together.
“Put this on.” She accepted the royal blue helmet and followed him to his bike.
“Irish, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I don’t understand the point of going someplace new when they’ll just follow me there, too.”
Aiden unlocked his seat and retrieved the clear glasses to protect his eyes from the wind, since he didn’t have another helmet. After sitting astride the bike and knocking back the kickstand, he took the helmet and helped her put it on so she wouldn’t tear her stitches.
“You’re probably right,” he said, as she sat on the seat behind him. “But they’ll have to catch us first.” He inserted the key, flipped the switch, and pressed the start button. The engine roared to life, and he used the throttle to give it a couple of quick revs.
Kat leaned forward, pressing the front of her body to his back and sliding her arms around his waist. Though it wasn’t the time or the place, he’d have to be missing a pulse not to feel the hard points of her nipples through their thin shirts, or how her groin fit against the curve of his ass.
Stop thinking with your dick. He was looking into things too much. Trying to see and feel shit that wasn’t really there because it’d been so long since he’d had anything more than a superficial relationship.
But those were the only kinds he could afford to have. He needed to focus on helping Kat and getting back to that simple and detached way of life. End of fucking story.
She tightened her arms and something about the way she held him felt like more than just a way to stay on the bike.
End of story? Yeah, right.
“Hang on tight, kitten.”
…
Kat’s stomach fluttered so hard she was positive he could feel it where she pressed against his back. Not only had she never ridden a motorcycle before, but now she worried they wouldn’t be able to shake Sicoli’s watchdogs and she’d only succeed in pissing them off for having to chase her.
He turned his head to the side and looked at her from the corner of his eye through the clear wraparounds. “Relax, Kat. If you’re stiff it’ll make it hard for me to turn. All you need to do is lean when I lean, okay?” She nodded, unsure if he’d be able to hear her through the closed helmet.
As he rode them through the parking lot, she felt a little silly for being so nervous. It wasn’t nearly as scary as she’d thought. They stopped where the gravel lot met the paved road. Kat turned her head to the right and squinted. She couldn’t see any sign of—
Headlights switched on about a half mile down. Apparently seeing her break routine was enough reason to drop the espionage thing. Irish revved the engine several times, reminding her of a bull pawing at the ground in warning before charging those who threatened his territory.
Then all at once the bike took off in the direction of the Cadillac. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she was fairly certain her stomach lay on the ground back at the entrance to Lou’s. Thank God she’d been holding on as tight as she was, or she’d be lying there next to it.
Whoever sat behind the wheel of the car must have anticipated their move and put his foot to the floor. The tires spun, kicking up dirt as the ass end of the car swung around to point its nose right at the motorcycle. As soon as the tires caught purchase, it lurched into the street as though trying to cut them off.
Kat screamed and squeezed her eyes shut, preparing to feel her bones shatter to dust from the impact, but all she felt was a quick right-left swerve of the bike and then…nothing. Well, nothing different. She still felt the vibrating hum beneath her and she definitely felt Irish’s hard body against her smaller one. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes to see the landscape rush by in a blur of shadows on either side. Laughter bubbled in her chest, but where it came from or why now was an appropriate time for it to surface, she hadn’t the slightest idea.
Before she had the chance to let it out, twin beams of light crept up around them. Kat glanced back to find the Cadillac slowly gaining on them, choking her burst of joviality at its source.
“Irish!”
“I got this!” he threw over his shoulder.
Serious doubt filled her veins with ice as the car was now less than two lengths behind them. She had no idea how fast they were going, but surely this couldn’t be the fastest they could go. Weren’t crotch rockets known to be fast as hell?
Just as she started to contemplate the scraps of knowledge she had about the machine under her, a familiar yellow street sign snagged her attention. Oh, shit. Death Wish Turn.
So far they’d been on a complete straightaway, but up ahead lived a hairpin turn that got its nickname twenty-odd years ago when a local teen took it going too fast, wrecked his car, and died. Everyone said he knew better and therefore must’ve had a death wish.
Kat’s life might not be caviar dreams and champagne wishes, but she sure as hell didn’t have a death wish. “Slow down! You’re going to get us killed!”
Before she had time for a second appeal, Irish leaned deep to the right and she had no choice but to do the same. They leaned until she swore they were more than half the distance to the ground, and visions of them falling from the bike and losing their skin to the gravelly back road sent tremors down her spine. But even with the din of gloom-and-doom thoughts racing in her mind, logic stayed in the forefront, assuring her that Irish knew exactly what he was doing and despite their crazy angle, the bike was taking the super-tight turn with inexplicable grace and speed.
The Cadillac wasn’t so lucky. The sounds of squealing tires and brakes locking up reached her even through the thick helmet, followed by a crash and crunching metal.
She didn’t dare look back. It was enough that the beams of light no longer stabbed the darkness around them. Irish let up on the gas, taking them from warp speed to merely light speed, allowing her stomach to settle…ish.
She’d always wondered why some women chose to ride on the back of a motorcycle instead of riding their own. But wrapped around Irish with the vibrations from the engine radiating through her body, she understood.
Though they were barely more than acquaintances, there was an intimacy in riding this way. The ridges of his abs undulated beneath her splayed hands as he leaned in different directions to move with the bike. Her breasts were pinned against his back, and with her tight skirt riding up her splayed legs, the sensitive area between her thighs pressed into his ass. Every move he made was like a sensual touch that shot pulses of electricity through her erogenous system.
It made her feel all tingly and needy. And frustrated as hell because she didn’t know what to do about any of it.
About fifteen minutes later, they turned off the main road onto a graveled drive that wound its way through a tunnel of Spanish moss hanging from the bordering cypress trees. They came to a stop in front of a small ranch home, almost cabin-like, with dark wood siding and a wide front porch. Off to the left was a garage and an old barn.
Irish cut the engine and helped her off the back before doing the same. The way he swung his leg over the back of the bike made her think of a modern-day knight dismounting from his armored steed.
Oh, hell. Maybe her hand wasn’t the only thing to have been damaged earlier. Her common sense had taken a serious hit, too, if thoughts of him—or any man for that matter—as some sort of white knight come to rescue her from her stone tower were flitting through her head.
He helped her out of the helmet, and she prayed her cheeks weren’t as flushed from the ride as they felt.
“Come on,” he said, turning to walk up the porch steps. “Let’s get you inside before Hissing Ally wants to investigate the newcomer.”
Following him, she tried to run her fingers through the knotted ends of her hair before giving up, snapping an elastic off her wrist and throwing her hair up into a sloppy ponytail-bun-thing. “Who’s Hissing Ally?”
“A stray with an attitude problem. She hangs out under the porch.” Pulling open the squeaking screen door, he paused and gave her a half grin. “She’s okay with Xander and me because we ply her with chicken, but she’s not real friendly to strangers.”
“Maybe she’ll like me,” she said. “I’m pretty good with cats.”
He chuckled and opened the heavy door, holding it open to let her in first. “I bet you are.”
Kat walked in and looked around, trying to decide if the place matched what she knew of the man. It didn’t take her long to come up with an answer.
No.
If she were a real-estate agent, she’d advertise it as an open floor plan. Mainly because there weren’t any walls in the main living area. The kitchen on the right was sectioned off only by a small dining set sitting in the middle of the room. It looked like it originated from a secondhand store and had then been given to a pack of teething puppies as a chew toy.
The living room took up the left half of the room. A couch and loveseat upholstered in buttery-brown leather were placed perpendicular around a gigantic matching ottoman. Scratch that. The ottoman was merely large. The flat-screen TV was gigantic.
She briefly wondered if men were known to compensate for certain things with electronics like they did with fancy cars. The shirtless image of Irish stood proud and masculine behind her eyes… No way.
Along the back wall, three doors were spread out in equal increments as though they should have signs with bold numbers on them, offering people one of three choices like on a game show.
“This is nice,” she said lamely.
“Xander likes the creature comforts in life,” he said.
“Everything in here is his?”
“No.” He pointed to the dining set. “That’s my contribution.”
She smiled widely. “Ah. So that would make you Oscar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, Felix and Oscar from The Odd Couple.” She waited for recognition to set in. When all she got was a hitch of his eyebrow, she added, “It was a Broadway play, movie, and TV show about two roommates. Felix is a clean freak who likes nice things and Oscar is super laid back and kind of a slob.”
He braced his feet shoulder-width apart and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Did you just call me an uncivilized slob?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth and felt her eyes go wide. He’d helped her more in the last six hours than anyone had in the last six years, and she’d insulted him in less than six minutes of being in his home. Her social etiquette wasn’t merely lacking. It was practically nonexistent.
“Irish, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean anything by it, honest.”
“I’m kidding,” he said, breaking his tough-guy routine with a sexy smile. “Besides, the Felix and Oscar thing is pretty accurate. Xan bitches at me all the time.”
He hadn’t gotten offended or angry. He hadn’t thrown back an insult of his own or kicked her out of his house to sleep with Hissing Ally under the porch. It was…not what she was used to. She actually had to stop and think how to react.
Kat settled on taking a deep breath and giving her muscles the command to relax. The breath went well. Filling her nose and lungs with the spicy scent of Irish’s home helped clear her mind, like hitting a mental reset button.
The command to her muscles was blatantly ignored, but she’d known they wouldn’t comply. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever felt relaxed. Constant muscle pain was her “normal.”
The feel of callused fingertips brushing her jawline from ear to chin sent shivers down her spine and goose bumps down her arms. But when those fingertips lifted her chin and his deep blue eyes found hers, the shivers turned to sparks, heating her from the inside out until every goose bump had melted back into her flesh.
“Kat?”
“Huh?” All coherence had fled her. She’d been lucky she’d made any sort of sound whatsoever. She’d never realized how beautiful he was. And she meant “beautiful.” Because for all of his ruggedness with the tattoos, the piercings, and the ever-present scruff he sported, Irish had very aristocratic features.
His forehead was wide and smooth until it revealed the three lines that creased from one side to the other whenever he raised his brows. High cheekbones framed a long, straight nose that refuted her assumption he’d lived a life where a few breaks from neighborhood brawls would be expected. His lips were a perfect match, equally full and tempting, and hiding in his barely there beard was a cleft in the center of his chin that deepened when he smiled.
But his eyes were the most stunning things she’d ever seen. Almond-shaped and lined with thick black lashes, they would have looked feminine if it weren’t for the hard edge emanating from them.
If someone asked her to describe the color, she’d call it “fire and ice.” Yes, she knew that wasn’t any color Crayola had ever defined, but that’s what they reminded her of.
Sometimes they were an icy blue that could freeze the biggest asshole in mid-swing and cause him to rethink his actions. Kat had thought his eyes were his secret weapon as a cooler on more than one occasion.
And other times—like right now—they reminded her of blue fire, the hottest part of a flame, with the power to melt anything in their path. Including her.
“Kitten,” he whispered, “you with me?”
Nickname, plus three simple words she’d started to believe were only for her, equaled butterflies and warmth in her chest she couldn’t remember ever having before.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m with you.”
“Good.” His hand lowered and wrapped around her good one. “You’ve had a long coupla days. We can talk about things after you’ve gotten some rest. You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She’d barely opened her mouth to protest when he held his hand up and started leading her to the door on the left she’d thought of as Door #1. “No arguments. I might be rough around the edges, but I’m not a total asshole.”
Kat’s heart raced as they got closer and closer. His bedroom. His bed. His domain. Locked door. No escape.
She teetered dangerously between flight or freeze. Most people had flight or fight responses, but she’d learned a long time ago that fighting only made the inevitable worse. If she didn’t force herself into flight mode fast, she’d freeze, and then the safety she’d felt so far with Irish would vanish like a morning fog burned off from the sun.
Digging her heels in and yanking her hand from his, she said, “No, you don’t understand. I can’t.”
He narrowed his eyes as though trying to crack a code on an encrypted message, which was as close to the truth as anything. “You can’t?”
She took two small steps back while shaking her head. “I’ll be fine on the couch, really.”
“Kat,” he said gently, “I’m not gonna come in there, I swear. I’ll stay out here.”
She believed him, she really did. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t willingly put herself in a position of such vulnerability for bad memories to come crawling out of the shadows to haunt her.
“Please, Irish. Just let me take the couch.”