Fighting for Irish (Fighting for Love, #3)

Late that night, Aiden and Kat pulled into the small parking space she had behind her apartment. He’d taken her to her car still at Lou’s and then followed her home. Cutting his engine, he swung off the bike and waited for her to get out of the car. She’d tried convincing him he didn’t need to see her home, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. It was bad enough he couldn’t give her a good enough reason to stay at his place without raising suspicion. He wasn’t taking any chances he didn’t have to with her safety.

When he’d seen Mullineaux’s marks on her earlier, he’d almost lost it. After she’d gone back to the house, he’d had to count to more than a hundred before he trusted himself to not get on his bike and hunt the prick down like the cur he was. Aiden’s mom had raised him to know that a man’s place was to protect and cherish the women in his life. He couldn’t fathom consciously choosing to harm a woman in any way. It was not only despicable, but inexcusable.

Unfortunately, Aiden’s actions, though not a conscious choice, had results that were just as devastating. When he reacted to situations without thinking, those around him got hurt.

Or worse.

And there was that harsh reminder of why he couldn’t let himself get too close to Kat. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her while he was trying to protect her. He couldn’t handle another situation like the one with Janey. Not again. Not fucking ever.

The sobriety and complete lack of fighting had helped keep him in check the last several years, but the biggest reason he hadn’t had a meltdown was because he held people at arm’s length. If he didn’t care about them, he wouldn’t snap. Simple as that.

The night before, he’d convinced himself that he could pretend for one night with Kat. Allow himself to believe that none of that stuff in the past existed. But as soon as he glimpsed the skeletons of her past, putting his aside was no longer an option. Comforting her was all that mattered.

When they saw each other that morning, it was obvious the sexual tension hadn’t dissipated overnight. Still, he hadn’t meant to act on it. Had even warned himself off several times during their self-defense lessons when it would have been so easy to pull her in and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. As long as he’d focused on the lessons—and the reason she needed them—he’d been strong enough to keep things platonic.

But he’d proved too weak when her body signals went from learning to arousal as he stood pressed against her from behind. And he’d tapped out the moment she leaned her head back, inviting him to sample the smooth length of her throat, to feel her pulse jump beneath his lips. In seconds he’d been drunk on the taste of her and lost in the moment.

Until he’d accidentally hurt her.

The last thing Aiden wanted was for Kat to be harmed, mentally or physically, by anybody, least of all him. However, a small part of him had been thankful for the bruises that jerked him back to reality before he took her against the barn wall like a fucking animal. If the night before was anything to go on, that for sure would have set her off. She didn’t deserve that type of careless treatment. He’d never been the romantic type, but something about Kat inspired him to want to care for her, be tender with her. Make love to her.

Make love. He’d never used that term before, much less done anything close to it. There’d been women he cared about before, but he’d been careful not to throw the L-word around. Now, two days in with this girl and he already had the word in his head, regardless of why.

“You don’t have to come up, Irish.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said. “Besides, if I didn’t make sure you got in safely, my mother would box my ears.”

A grin hitched up the corner of her mouth. “Your mother isn’t here.”

“You don’t know my mother. She has a sixth sense for when her children aren’t acting the way she raised us. I’d get a phone call, believe me. Now scoot.”

Chuckling, she walked ahead of him toward the door in the alley that led to the inside stairs. Aiden’s senses were on high alert, making sure nothing and no one was lurking in the shadows with bad intentions. She unlocked the door and swung it open, but just as they were stepping through, he heard something so quiet he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination.

“Wait a minute.”

“What—”

“Shh,” he said, holding up two fingers and turning his head toward where he thought the sound had come from. Several long moments went by with nothing. He was about to give up when he heard it again, more distinctly this time: a tiny mewl coming from a dark corner.

Aiden crossed the alley and reached down to pick up the scrawny gray tiger kitten. He only got it a few inches off the ground when he was pulled up short. The kitten hissed and clawed at his arm until he set him back down.

Using the light from his phone, he took a better look. Seemed the frayed ends of the rug the kitten had been laying on had tangled around his back leg. Probably hurt like a bitch, or might even be tight enough to cut off circulation.

Aiden stepped over to his bike and retrieved the pocketknife from under the seat. A single slice and he had the kitten free. He squirmed and hissed some more, but settled down as soon as Aiden cradled him against his chest.

Gina L. Maxwell's books