Page 33 of Fighting for Irish
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.
