Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Kate, sweetheart. I need to move.’
I wake slowly, gathering consciousness about me, dragging myself from a dream where, on last night’s boat, Kai marries both Sofia and myself. Niamh in attendance, her plus one Rob, wearing a tux and a gimp mask. Then I notice the lump under my waist.
‘Sorry.’ I yawn, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I lift my body from Kai’s arm as it curls around me.
‘I didn’t want to wake you.’ He smiles a little sheepishly. ‘But I also didn’t want to lose the use of my arm.’
‘Are you saying I’m heavy?’ I mumble, still not completely sentient and trying to ignore the events of last night, dream and otherwise.
‘No.’ He laughs. ‘You don’t eat enough to be heavy. You eat like a bird.’
‘Yeah, a pelican.’
‘I’ve seen you eat. You eat next to nothing.’
‘Must’ve been on my best behaviour,’ I mumble. ‘Wait till you see me on a Macca’s run.’ I duck my head into the pillow. Seems sleepy Kate over shares, subtlety definitely not one of her strong points.
Peeling the pillow from my head, Kai throws it over his shoulder and onto the floor. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Anything sugary. Chocolate, especially.’
‘A sweet tooth?’ he murmurs, pushing a wayward lock of hair from my brow.
I roll onto my side, away from his gaze. ‘Got a whole set of them.’ I yawn again.
‘Kate?’ As he props his chin against my shoulder, I’m pleased he can’t see my face as apprehension swells. Oh, God, please let it not be anything to do with last night. It wasn’t my finest moment. His either.
‘Depends,’ I murmur cautiously.
‘I need food,’ he growls. ‘I have appetites beyond the bedroom, woman.’
Relieved at the lack of startling or profound statements, I gesture vaguely to the door. ‘Kitchen’s over there. Help yourself.’ Though I doubt he’ll find much to sustain him. My cupboards would still make Old Mother Hubbard’s look like Paula Dean’s—I have only done one grocery shop. There’s probably muesli, but no milk and I know there’s peanut butter, but definitely no bread.
‘You mean you aren’t going to provide for your guest?’
‘This isn’t a hotel,’ I drawl, pulling the sheet over my head. ‘It’s purely self-service around here.’ I nestle further into the pillow, smiling to myself. Bet he doesn’t even know what a toaster is for. But he has other talents, so that’s okay, I suppose.
‘Really?’ he murmurs, that one word brimming with scandal. ‘So you won’t mind if I help myself to some of this!’ Smacking his hand against my butt, he grabs a handful.
‘Ow!’ I yell loudly, jarred upwards from the bed.
‘Fuck, I’m sorry!’ He moves his hand as I turn awkwardly to face him.
‘I’ll live.’ Strangely, I feel sorry for him. Odd when it’s my arse that’s smarting.
‘Does it hurt very much?’ he asks, clearly wary.
‘I’m not sure what you want me to say. It hurts so good or it hurts so bad? What’s the correct response for this situation?’
‘Just answer me honestly. How do you feel?’
‘Well, it’s not comfortable... now.’
His fingers rest on my cheek for a moment, eyes sincere. ‘And last night?’
‘Can we not. Talk about it, I mean?’
