Page 37 of Fighting for Irish
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…”
