Chapter Sixty-Two
‘Mrs. Khalfan.’
My heart jumps, like an engine that has stalled, lurching as it misses a beat, quickly righting itself when Kai’s hand rests against my shoulder.
‘Did I wake you?’ His fingers seek to confirm his apology with a light squeeze.
I see we’re back to the correct endearment, at least.
I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out; my throat dry. I can’t remember when I last had something to drink. Sometime yesterday? It was light then, anyway. Now it’s mostly dark, though the room is tinged with blue, everything shadowy, a sort of pre-dawn light. I shiver, suddenly feeling a little cold, reaching behind me for the sheet, though it isn’t in reach.
Rolling over to face him, I can see why. The bedclothes are all heaped at the foot of the bed.
‘I needed to see.’ I hear his smile, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I can see the suggestion of it hiding in the corners of his mouth. ‘Make sure you’re real.’
‘I’m real cold,’ I answer, rubbing my eyes. ‘You pulled the doona—the quilt—off? What was that flash?’ I grasp at the disjointed reason for my waking.Lightning?Before my question is fully formed, I see the answer in the phone in his hand.
‘I couldn’t resist.’
‘Pervert.’ I stretch my legs out along the bed, yawning, while trying to keep my mouth closed.
‘Takes one to know one, and my darling sings a siren’s song.’
There doesn’t need to be much light in the room to see his eyes tracing the outline of my body. His carnivorous smile. Those gleaming white teeth.
Not sure if that was a compliment or a jibe, I ask, albeit haltingly, ‘Did I hear you call me Mrs. Khalfan?’ Did I dream it?’
‘Too soon?’ Another smile, this one sheepish, almost.
Evading the question, I recall a fragment of a conversation we’d once had. ‘I thought Arab women didn’t change their names after marriage?’
‘And?’ His tone is gently mocking. ‘When did you become Arab?’ He rests his phone-holding hand lightly against my waist, as usual, reading my mind. Or possibly my face, though I try to keep my expression blank. ‘Don’t you want to be Mrs. Khalfan?’
I close my eyes, thoughts pulling together immediately. The answer is, yes. I do. Really I do. I’d just prefer to avoid the negotiation of all the obvious obstacles between now and then. If we could just get married, live in a bubble made just for two. After all we’ve been through, is that too much to ask? Besides, I’d planned one ruined wedding already recently. A less than stellar experience, for sure.
‘Is it very wrong to want you to take my name?’ He reaches out, pressing a finger to the crease between my eyes.
‘Itisa bit prehistoric,’ I say, aiming for a more neutral expression. I won’t tell him I’d planned on taking Shane’s. What would stop me from taking his?
‘So then I’m a caveman, because you’re mine and I want to belong to you. Two halves of the same whole.’
My heart flutters at his words, unexpected tears springing at my eyelids as the bed dips under his weight. Leaning over me, he uses his thumb to wipe away their evidence.
‘Hey, no tears. It’s a new start, and it’s time the world knew.’
Dark, wet hair clings to his forehead, water beading at the slight bristling on the side of his face. His eyes are warm, so different from yesterday. As he leans over, kissing my brow, I get a whiff of toothpaste and expensive bathing stuffs.
‘You’ve showered.’ It sounds like an accusation.
‘That I love you.’
‘You’ve showered and I’m so feral. God, I must reek.’ When was the last time I’d seen the inside of a shower, again?
Sudden kisses bloom across my skin. ‘That you’re mine,’ he growls, the slight reprimand implied.Why tell me off, when it’s him I’m trying to protect?
His mouth works its way to the top of my breast where he bites; not hard, just a lingering nip and, I swear, my thoughts fall away, disintegrating into the ether. He’s my Achilles heel, only not, because in the place of weakness, I find strength. When he hurts, pushes me, I find passion and bliss. I find love. And me.
I moan quietly, teeth clasped tight to my bottom lip. ‘I am yours,’ I whisper, aiming for words without breath. ‘Getting married won’t change that.’
