Not that he was respecting the boundary for the guy’s sake. He could give two shits about him. But he respected Kat, and even if he couldn’t understand her reason, the truth of the matter was she’d chosen to be with Lenny. So he’d keep his hands—and his lips—to himself.
He might be a lot of things, but a man who took advantage of a woman wasn’t one of them. Being raised by his mother and helping care for two sisters ensured he acted like a gentleman, even if he’d never looked like one.
“Sorry, that was—” Aiden cleared his throat and stared at a knot in the wood floor. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” she said, folding her arms around her middle. “Don’t worry about it; it’s no big deal.”
Wanting more and more a woman he couldn’t have was a huge deal. But he’d just have to embrace the blue balls until this thing was over.
“Do you wanna take a shower? My sister left a pair of her sweats here, and you can wear that T-shirt I gave you. Not the fanciest of outfits, but at least it’ll be clean.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Aiden nodded, then crossed to the bathroom to get her set up with everything she’d need. Xander even kept extra toothbrushes on hand for when he had overnight guests. Aiden hadn’t needed anything like that. There hadn’t been a woman who caught his attention since he laid eyes on a certain redheaded waitress.
And at the rate his interest in her was climbing, he’d be lucky to look at another woman ever again.
…
Kat finger-combed her damp hair in front of the bathroom mirror and cursed her old habit of turning her face before a man could kiss her. Not that her aversion for kissing had magically gone away, but she could have guided his mouth somewhere else if she hadn’t let herself go on autopilot.
God help her, but Kat wanted Irish’s lips on her skin so badly. To know how it felt to have a man like him—a man who cared enough to help a virtual stranger in a dangerous situation—touch her. Not as something to be used and discarded. But as though she were his lover.
Cherished. Revered. Respected.
And she’d been so close. The fresh scent of his soap lingering from his shower had drawn her in like a magnet. Her stomach had fluttered as Irish had bent over her. It felt like five years rather than five seconds for him to close the space between them. She’d closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment.
When a sudden chill had settled over her, she opened her eyes to find he’d let her go and taken a step back, glancing everywhere in the room but at her. All thanks to old instincts.
Then again, maybe he’d simply come to his senses at the last second. Getting involved with a plain waitress in trouble with the Tennessee mafia—if that’s what they called themselves—wasn’t a good idea no matter how you looked at it. She never should have let herself think she could have even a sliver of the fantasy.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Kat checked her borrowed outfit one more time. What Irish referred to as sweatpants were actually a nice pair of black Capri yoga pants. The comical part was the large black T-shirt that hung to her knees with white block letters across her chest that declared her as Tattooed and Employed.
Clothing as a subtle thumbing of one’s nose at those who would judge a man by his cover. If she had to guess, she’d say it was either a misguided gift from a concerned relative or a gag gift from a good friend. Subtlety wasn’t exactly Irish’s way. She pictured him giving people the finger if they looked at him wrong.
She snapped off two of the several hair elastics she always had on her wrist and used one to throw her hair up into a ponytail. Then she gathered the excess material of the enormous T-shirt at her waist, doubled it over, and used the other elastic to secure it so she no longer drowned in cotton.
Sighing, she grabbed the doorknob. She had to face her failed make-out humiliation eventually. Holding her head high, she entered the main room but found it empty. Disappointment at not seeing Irish squashed any remaining embarrassment.
He must have gone outside, though why he’d willingly go out in this heat she had no idea. Only one way to find out. Slipping on her shoes, she stepped onto the porch and took a second to acclimate to the suffocating humidity. In the distance, heat waves blurred the gravel drive lined with thick layers of moss-draped trees.
Clanging sounds came from the direction of the garage. Smiling, Kat jogged down the rickety stairs and halfway to the garage when something in the grass caught her eye and stopped her cold.
Five feet away from her, the biggest alligator Kat had ever seen was either sunning itself or laying in wait for a clueless city girl to happen by and offer herself up as lunch.
With its mouth wide open and making an awful hissing sound, the beast took a deliberate step in her direction.
She held her breath for fear even that might antagonize it somehow. What the hell was she supposed to do? Run? Stare it down? Play dead? Hypnotize it with a flute? She’d never watched Crocodile Hunter and couldn’t remember a damn thing from the one time she saw Crocodile Dundee.