Chapter Fifty-Three
We dine on the terrace in the cool air of the desert evening. Lights around the pool highlighting the planes of Kai’s face as he stares up at the night sky. The sky is pitch, but he was right, it’s jewelled, by a million stars glimmering in the heavens like some celestial light show.
‘Madam?’
The butler breaks our contemplative silence, a bottle of champagne in his hands. Ruinart. I vaguely remember mentioning to Kai that I like this brand. This bottle is a vintage, though, 2002. Not that I would know the difference. In fact, I’ve only had this champagne once and mentioned it only in passing.Better this than mentioning my wine-in-a-box.It’s not only my tastebuds that are appreciative of his care and attention, I’m touched that he remembered it at all.
‘Please.’ I reposition my glass.
The remains of dinner are cleared from the table; several delicious courses of Omani lobster, monkfish and salads. Sipping the cool bubbles, I return to my meditative quiet as the butler reappears with a plate of cheeses. European and local selections displayed artistically alongside some strange looking pickles, olives, and an arrangement of fruit complete the culinary work of art.
‘It’s so quiet here,’ I remark as the butler silently retreats.
‘I love the desert. It clears the mind. It’s almost cathartic. Do you know some sand dunes sing in the wind?’
Unintentionally, I pull a sceptical face.
‘W’allah,’ he replies, his expression warm. ‘I swear.’
‘It is very beautiful. I’ve had a wonderful time.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ he replies, his face taking on a serious edge. ‘I hope.’
My stomach does a small, eager flip as his tone triggers a sudden memory, an almost tangible thing—Kai lying between my thighs, staring up at me through his dark, dark lashes.Where the hell did that come from?There’s barely a breath of desert wind in the air, but gooseflesh dapples my skin as I wonder what’s to come.
And yes, I hope it’s me.
‘Was... was there a purpose to tonight, I mean the clothes and everything?’ I ask, distracting us from our individual thoughts. I expect his are more sensible than mine.
Yet we are dressed dramatically for an evening of room service, sort of. And, yes, aesthetics are his thing and I like... pleasing his thing. Like pleasing him, dressing up for him. Even if it’s a bit theatrical sometimes. But still, this evening feels different. In fact, the whole day has been different: the visit to his mum and how he’s opened up to me. He’s certainly a planner—nothing is ever random with this man—and I can’t help but think he’s put an awful lot of effort into this evening for it to end up with a regular tumble in bed. Not that this is an accurate description of sex with Kai in the least.
‘You don’t like dressing up—’For him, he means. ‘—for me?’Like I said.‘As for a purpose, I’m always full of intentions where you’re concerned.’ He glances at the glass in his hand, turning the delicate stem. ‘I just seem to have trouble putting it all into words around you.’
‘What?’ I ask softly, intrigued by his sudden change in demeanour.
‘Out loud, I can’t explain how you make me feel. How you’ve filled my life, when I didn’t even realise it was empty.’
‘I can relate to that.’
‘Can you? How exactly do you...’ his voice trails off as he runs his finger around the glass rim.
‘Feel?’ I finish. ‘Like I never have before.’
‘Not even with Shane?’ As his cautious gaze lifts to mine, I laugh. Without humour.
‘This issonot the same. And that’s so bloody scary.’ I’m unable to hold his gaze. I take a mouthful from my own glass.
‘You’re scared of being with me?’
‘No,’ I reply softly. ‘I was with Shane for a long time and I’ve only known you five minutes and I feel like...this.’ One hand rises and falls without any real significance. ‘I think... that is, I’m afraid of losing myself in you.’
He smiles briefly, rubbing a hand across his chin before his face falls into a more serious line. ‘I can relate. I’ve never felt like this before. Never needed to be inside someone as much as I do you... physically, metaphysically. I can’t get enough. You...’
I feel rather than see him shake his head.
‘What?’ My voice is small despite equal measures of thrill and panic twisting my insides. I’m desperate to hear his words, hear him speak, long to tell him how I really feel.
‘This,’ he says, reaching out to the pendant between my breasts. The gravity of our conversation tells me he isn’t about to make a joke. He stares down at the row of pearls lying against his finger, almost as though he’s weighing their worth as well as his words. ‘When I put this around your neck,’ he murmurs eventually, ‘I said you’d known possession.’ His eyes rise slowly to mine. ‘But it’s the other way around. Kate, it’s you who have possessed me.’
