Page 62 of After Indigo Irish Nights
“My bed is bigger, and so is my shower,” he added. “Plus, it has more hot water. No immersion heater.” They both hated having to wait fifteen to twenty minutes to take a longer shower and savor each other.
For a moment, the only sound in the car was the rock music on the radio. Then she said, “Are you making breakfast, or do I have to sneak out the window after we have sex?”
She got a good squeeze for that on her cute little knees peeking above her boots. “You thinking I’d kick you out? I might be thick in some things, but I’m not going to miss the opportunity to spend all night with you in nothing but one of my T-shirts. It’s my second most favorite way of viewing you.”
“What’s the first?” Her voice had turned sultry.
“Completely naked, what else? Sometimes it’s the image I bring to my mind when I’m so tired after my training that I can barely see straight. It helps me get to your cottage—and to you.”
She snorted. “Let me make sure I understand you. My naked body helps you see straight? I’m going to have to write that down.”
He laughed. “Come on. You know how much I love your body. And yes, I’ll make you breakfast. But honestly, you’d be better off if Brady or Liam cooked for us. I usually try to time my visits to the kitchen for when I can smell cooking in my room.” Not that he was home for breakfast much these days. He was always at training.
“You’re just like a couple of my brothers. I swear, they get out of cooking and cleaning by perfect timing, and they’re proud of it.”
“It’s an art.” He slowed his speed since she hadn’t answered. “Does that make me an artist?”
Her gusty laugh had his heart turning in his chest. “In your dreams, Ace.”
He could handle that nickname sparingly, he supposed. “So are you coming home with me, or am I going home to yours?” He trailed a finger over her hand before clasping it.
She tapped her newly painted nail against the dashboard, the line of red flashing in the dark car. “We’ll try out your bed. And shower. Only I reserve the right to climb out the window. After.”
There they were again. Talking about what to do after spending time together in the quiet, indigo Irish nights.
He knew she was mostly teasing, but it bothered him. They might be finding their way, but they were still as shy as horses in some areas.
“I’ll make sure to knot the bedsheets myself if you feel you must lower yourself from the second story,” he added, releasing her hand to shift gears as he turned toward Summercrest.
“I might take you up on that, just to see you do it,” Kathleen said, chuckling. “I’m going to have the walk of shame in the morning in these clothes. Maybe I can borrow something from Ellie.”
He didn’t like that phrase coming from her lips. There was no shame between them. “I can stop by your place if you want to pick up a bag. You can even have a drawer if you fancy it. Since you’ve given me one.”
That had been quite a moment. Fraught with tension, with as few words as possible, she’d pulled open the empty drawer and gestured to it before walking out of the room, leaving him to stand there and stare at it with slack hands. She hadn’t seen his smile in the end.
He looked over to see how she was taking his invitation to share his space. Her brow was raised. Yes, trust was as hard won with her as it was with him, but each victory was like winning a championship match. She was no pushover in love.
Love!
His hands tightened on the wheel. God! He couldn’t believe it had happened so quickly, but there was no denying that’s what it was. Wasn’t he making arrangements to bring her into his life?
“I’ll take the drawer, but if you touch my underwear, you’re a dead man.”
Her feisty humor always helped him settle in moments of intense emotion. He wondered if she knew. “What do you mean? I touch it all the time.”
“No, you take it off or play with the edges when it’s on my body. When I fold it and put it away, it’s different. You don’t mess with that.”
And she said men were thick? “You’re a mad lunatic, aren’t you?”
Her throaty chuckle filled the car. “And you’re a real romantic.”
For her, he seemed to be. Wasn’t he picking up daisies off the road and arranging for an autographed Chieftains CD? “I took you on a date where you wore a skirt. That’s what you asked for. Some would say that’s romantic. What can I do next? Sing you a ballad? Pack a picnic basket?”
He would do it too and likely enjoy it. He enjoyed everything they did together. The lengths he’d go to for this woman.
She kicked her feet out as he turned onto the road to Summercrest. “Honestly… I’ve had a song written for me and someone has also packed me a picnic. My feeling is that those kinds of gestures don’t amount to shit without any sentiment behind them.”
Was it any wonder she was perfect for him? “That’s one I’ll need to write down.”
