Page 34 of Fighting for Irish
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!
