He made an X over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She gave him a wan smile, but he wasn’t about to get choosy. He’d take what he could get. Using the heel of one hand, she wiped the wetness from her eyes, dragging any remaining mascara down her pink cheeks. “Come on, kitten,” he said, scooping her up in his arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Like a child, she curled into him, already half asleep from the exhaustion of reliving her nightmares. He carried her into his room and laid her in the center of the mattress. After removing her damp towel and drawing the sheet over her small frame, Aiden sat next to her and lightly brushed the hair away from her face that had freed itself from her braid. Her lashes stood out in wet spikes and her lips were red and swollen from crying.
If he had any artistic talent whatsoever, he’d paint her tragic beauty, hoping to purge the image from his mind. But as it was, Aiden knew he’d never be able to forget the way she’d looked as she broke down and bared her soul-deep pain to him in the bathroom of a rented cabin in the swamplands of Louisiana.
When he was sure she slept, he stretched out next to her and continued to stroke her hairline as the waning moon traveled across the sky. To the marrow of his bones, he resented that he couldn’t take away her pain or go back in time and prevent that bastard from ever touching her. He was a hell of a lot better at tearing people apart than he was at putting them back together.
God help whoever tried to hurt her now, because there was no doubt in Aiden’s mind…he’d kill them without even blinking.
Chapter Fifteen
Kat sat on the trunk of her car and watched Irish roar up the road on his Suzuki. She loved how he looked on it, all stretched out, his body in total sync with the machine as he leaned into the turn that brought him into the parking lot at Lou’s. He parked next to her and swung his leg over in a graceful arc that belied his size. Pushing his sunglasses onto his head, he strode toward her with that sexy half grin hitching up one corner of his mouth.
Damn, the man still gave her butterflies just by looking at her. There was rarely a moment in the day or night when she wasn’t thinking of him. She wasn’t an expert in the area of romance and love, but just by going on basic knowledge, she’d guess she was falling hard and fast for a certain Southie fighter.
“Hey, there, beautiful,” he said as he stepped between her legs. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Kat beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I know. It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”
“Oh, yeah,” he played along. “It’s gotta be, what, like an hour or something by now. Which is pretty close to forever by my standards when it comes to you.”
She laughed and eagerly accepted his kiss. He wasn’t kidding. It’d been at most an hour and a half since they’d seen each other. That’s how it had been practically all week. The only time they were really apart was when one of them needed to return to their own place for a change of clothes. They even transported Murphy back and forth, depending on where they were spending the night.
Being with Irish was as easy as breathing for Kat. He wasn’t the most romantic guy in the world, or even the most affectionate. But he understood her on levels she wasn’t even sure she knew herself. He was so in tune with her, as though he sensed exactly what she needed and when.
As for him, he was still mostly a mystery to Kat. She knew only a few things about his background and when she asked questions, he changed the subject or skillfully distracted her with several orgasms until she couldn’t think straight enough for a decent inquisition. As much as she longed to know more about him, she found it hard to complain about his manipulative tactics when they felt so good.
“Ready to go to work?” he asked after finally releasing her lips.
She raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “That depends. How many tips are you going to cost me tonight?”
“Depends on how many assholes try to play grab-ass with you.”
She huffed out a breath and planted her fists on her hips.
“Okay, tell you what,” he said, pulling her in until their chests rubbed together, the friction causing her nipples to pebble beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. “You keep track of how many dickwads short your tips because of me…” Leaning in, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth before releasing it with a quiet pop. “And that’s how many times I’ll make you come tonight.”
Suddenly, losing tips didn’t sound like such a horrible thing. With a slight squeak in her voice, she agreed to his compromise, then sealed the deal with a scorching kiss to rival the bayou’s midday heat.
After they came up for air, Irish helped her down from the car and grabbed the nylon pack strapped to his gas tank. He used it to hold his wallet, sunglasses, and an extra shirt in case some drunk spilled his drink—or his blood—on the one he wore.