Kat studied him, searching for the telltale smirk that meant he was making promises he didn’t intend to keep in order to get his way. But she didn’t see it. The heat left his eyes and was replaced with something else. Something more tender.
“Kat, I missed you today. I don’t wanna waste any more time being away from you.” He braced one hand on the wall above her head and leaned in close. The fingers of his free hand stroked her cheek lightly. “Lemme take care of you.”
If she’d thought before that she had the strength to deny this man anything, she’d been a fool. In truth, she hadn’t been able to deny him from the very beginning. Not when he insisted on looking after her in the bar. Not when he demanded he take her to the hospital for her hand. Not even when he insanely wanted to handle her situation with Sicoli’s men.
And she hadn’t a prayer when he asked her to stay and be with him.
A part of her said she should be concerned that her will seemed to evaporate around him. She’d spent her entire life bending to the will of others and her conviction to never allow that again was only months old. But another part of her knew Irish was different. He wasn’t like the others. Nothing he wanted her to do benefited him. It was always about her.
She smiled up at him from under her lashes. “Okay.”
He thanked her with a gentle kiss, then took her hand and led her into the bathroom. He started the shower, letting the water warm up while they undressed. It was a relief to peel off the stench of the bar. Since she hadn’t planned the trip, she’d have to borrow some of Irish’s clothes again. The thought of wearing his scent on her skin made her nipples pebble. Then she took in the sight of his naked form—all hard and sinewy with his cock rigid and jutting out from his body—and warmth pooled between her legs.
Holding the curtain back, he offered her his hand. Her gaze moved from his eyes, to his erection, then back up. An amused, lopsided grin appeared on his face. “Getting hard when I’m around you is inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I have to do anything with it.” When she placed her hand in his, he drew her to him and whispered in her ear, “Yet.”
A fluttering stirred in her belly at his wicked promise. To hide her reaction, she slapped his chest playfully and stepped into the tub. He chuckled and followed her in, drawing the plastic lining across the rod. Eager to feel the warm water, Kat moved under the spray. Her lids slid closed on a sigh as she lifted her face to the ceiling. Using her hands, she pushed her hair back from her face.
“Jesus.”
Her eyes snapped open to find him devouring her with his eyes, one hand gripping the curtain rod and the other pressed against the white fiberglass wall.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”
She didn’t. She knew she was average, maybe a little better on a good hair and makeup day, but she was no beauty. Only, when Irish complimented her, it never sounded fake or said for her benefit. It was genuine. Real. Just the way he looked at her made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. And she was never sure what to do with that.
She sensed the color heating her cheeks and lowered her eyes. Shit! That was a mistake. Seeing his thick erection had only served to make her flush even more. There was no way they were getting through this shower without screwing each other’s brains out. There was probably an old proverb that said lovers couldn’t shower together without having sex. Like the one that said men and women can’t be just friends.
Stepping back, she gestured for him to take his turn under the water. He rinsed off the grime from his night, being careful to avoid direct contact with the cut over his eye. She picked up the berry-scented shampoo (Xander kept the bathroom stocked with “girl crap” for his frequent house guests) and poured some into her palm.
“So,” she said, “did you win?”
“Yep.”
He scraped the shampoo from her hand into his, then grabbed the bottle from her and squeezed out more before putting it back. Pointing his index finger up, he twirled it in a circle, silently instructing her to face the other direction. With the water now sluicing down her front, Irish gathered the length of her hair and piled it atop her head as he worked the soap into a lather.
The steam floated around her, caressing her skin where the water didn’t, carrying with it the wafting scent of ripe summer berries. His fingertips massaged her scalp in slow circles, drawing out the tension in her body little by little.
Keep talking. If you’re making small talk you won’t want to jump his bones every five seconds. Probably…maybe. “So,” she forced herself to say, “isn’t this where you give me a play-by-play of the fight?”