She was still pressed up against the side of her car. She hadn’t even turned her head to see what had gone down or where her attacker had disappeared. He looked her up and down, trying to see if the bastard had hurt her in any way. Her standard-issue short black skirt was still in place, but the fitted white T-shirt had been pulled from her waistband.
His gut churned at the thought of anyone, especially Mullineaux, pawing at her like a piece of meat. Physically, she had the look of young innocence and natural beauty, which put her at odds with her surroundings. But her eyes told a much different story. They clearly showed she was haunted by her past, and in that respect, she fit right in with the rest of life’s misfits who found themselves at Lou’s.
“Sydney?” He hated using her fake name, but as far as she was concerned, he was just another work acquaintance who barely knew her, and that’s how it needed to stay. “He’s gone now. It’s okay.”
Nothing.
Shit.
She was shaking. She reminded him of the time he and Mary Catherine had found a tiny kitten hiding in a corner behind their school. It had curled itself into a quaking little fur ball, hiding its face like if it couldn’t see the threat, it wouldn’t be real. He remembered how Mary Catherine had crouched in that corner, petting and whispering to the tiny thing until it finally felt safe enough to come out.
Aiden had never been the logical and reassuring type. He’d been more of a barely contained powder keg. It had served him well in his professional fights, but outside the cage he’d always punched first and asked questions later. Eventually, it ruined his life and the lives of those he loved.
Since then, he’d been trying his best to be the exact opposite. He’d managed to keep his temper locked down, and now he hoped he didn’t totally fuck up the calm and gentle thing.
Channeling Mary Catherine with the kitten, Aiden eased up behind her, hoping to coax her out of her metaphorical corner. Hesitantly, he reached out to stroke the length of her back. As soon as his palm flattened between her shoulder blades, she gasped as though breaking through the surface of the Boston harbor in February.
She spun around and hissed. “Don’t touch me.”
Seeing her now, with her back plastered against the car and her eyes wide with fear, Aiden wanted to crush Mullineaux’s windpipe with his bare hands something fierce. It had been years since he felt the urge to pull a woman into his arms for reasons other than satisfying the basest of sexual needs, but in the past several months, he found himself wanting to just hold Kat and offer her comfort for whatever she might need.
Now was no exception. But he couldn’t give in to the urge for multiple reasons, not the least of which was his refusal to get too close to her.
So instead, he held his hands up with palms facing out and prayed the talking part of Mary Catherine’s method worked better than the petting had.
…
“I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear.”
The deep voice slid into Kat’s ears and brought the world around her into focus once more.
Ahm naht gonna huhrt you, I swea-uh.
The Bostonian accent registered in her brain as belonging to only one man. A man who, despite his reserved personality, always seemed to be at her side whenever a customer got grabby or even too bitchy—whether she wanted him to be there or not.
A man whose blue eyes could make her feel naked and protected all at the same time from a single glance across a crowded bar.
“Irish?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Relief started in her toes and worked its way up her body, reawakening her nerves and chasing away the subconscious paralysis she hated more than anything. She started feeling somewhat normal…until she noticed Rick sprawled on the ground behind Irish, and her pulse spiked again.
“Hey, don’t worry about him.” Irish stepped to the side, his palms still held out in a nonthreatening gesture, and blocked her view. He pointed two fingers at his own eyes and said, “Stay right here with me, kitten.”
Stay with him? What did he mean by that? Before she could do something stupid like swoon over what was most likely a meaningless phrase, the last part registered in her brain.
“Kitten?” Oh, no. Had he discovered her real name? Was this his way of letting her know? Then a thought crossed her mind that made her blood run cold. Maybe he’s one of Sicoli’s men. “Why would you call me that?”
The right corner of his mouth curled up. “What, are you kidding? One minute you’re cowering in the corner, the next, hissing and scratching.” He shrugged one heavily muscled shoulder. “Sorry, it just slipped out. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Kat relaxed a few degrees again and offered a weak smile. “That’s okay. It’s better than Sydney anyway,” she muttered.
He slowly dropped his hands to his sides and took a small step forward. “You don’t like your name?”