‘Such a clever mouth,’ he sneers. ‘It will get you into trouble someday.’
‘Stop it. Please.’ Her little pink paws levitate higher, tiny sharp claws beginning to cut through the air. ‘You’re hurting her!’
‘I have imagined it often, that mouth, wrapped around my cock, choking back your clever words.’
Batool squeals and the tiny but frantic sound steals my breath.
‘Come,habibti, take. It isn’t nice when someone takes away your playthings.’
‘That had nothing to do with me—’ My throat constricts, and I swallow hard ‘—take it up with Kai.’
‘I’m over this.I have moved onto other things.’
‘Kate?’
‘My parents,’ I say, glancing quickly over my shoulder to my mum’s call. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ I turn my head and call back. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
‘I know what he is,’ Essam adds unaffected, his gaze following the path of my own. ‘I’ve watched him over the years. Watched his, shall we say, his tastes refine? For myself, I am not one for strange practises, but now I find myself with more time, I am curious.’ He crushes Batool to his chest once more, the poor thing too distressed to put up a fight. ‘And if I know what he is, then by default, I know what you are.’
‘Give her back to me.’ My heart hammers against my chest like the hooves of a runaway horse.
‘Do you like pain,habibti?’
He stretches out the false endearment as I bite back the instinct to ask him the same thing, to tell him I’m gonna cause him a whole world of the stuff if he doesn’t give me my damn kitten back.
‘It’s unnatural. No?’
‘Essam, just give her to me. Please.’
‘I want to hurt him and it is almost karmic that you, Katherine, like to be hurt. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.’ My brow furrows. What is he on about? ‘You see, it’s interesting what you can obtain with a little digging. Of course, both myself and Kai have long had an appreciation for... art. Do you like art?’
‘I—I’m not much of a follower,’ I reply, hating how I stumble over my words. My gaze flicks upwards to his, a face whose lines echo the one that I love. Even his expression has a certain resonance, like a hawk eyeing something tasty and small.I lower my attention to the cat squashed against his chest, her body rigid and frozen, like she’s anticipating more hurt.
‘Here.’ He slides his free hand into the back pocket of his pale, loose fitting jeans, pulling out something folded and a little dog-eared at the edges. He slides one finger down the crease, turning it towards me. A photograph. Of me. In all my naked eight by ten glory. A photograph Shane took that day at the beach.
My heart plummets, roiling now in stomach acid.
‘Where did you get this?’
Gripped in between his thumb and forefinger, he turns the image back to himself, studying it with dispassionate eyes. ‘Your hair was shorter then. I think I prefer it.’ His gaze rakes over me again. ‘There are more, of course. Six, I think. Very tastefully done. I commend the photographer, or was there more than one?’
Ignoring his insinuation, my mind races, trying to recall what other images he could have; their levels of lewdness. I’d been drinking—not a lot, but after a day in the sun, a couple of cruisers, a beer, and a cocktail or two, my inhibitions were swallowed along with the booze. Shane was the man I was marrying, and though he wheedled and coaxed, I saw no harm in those few shots he took with his phone. I maybe even encouraged him. Maybe I felt they were a barrier I was breaking, or maybe I was trying to be someone else. Someone more daring.
‘The question is, what shall I do with them?’
My tongue darts out nervously. ‘What have you got planned?’
‘I could keep them for myself, of course, but what good are mere images when the subject keeps me at arm’s length.’
‘No, Essam. I’m married—’
‘I do know that. It is what makes this all the more fun. I was contemplating making them an early wedding gift. But to you, or to him?’ One brow rises in malevolent enquiry. ‘You don’t like the idea of my gifting them to him?’
My breath and heart cease to exist for a beat. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘You know me better than that, I think,’ he says, chuckling softly in the face of my horror. ‘Who shall it be—you or him?’
‘What do you want?’ My tone is flat, my head a mess. I can’t let these be seen by Kai, not after the conversation we had. We’ve had enough mistrust and hurt between us. I can’t go back on what I said—that I’d never had photos taken of me before. I wasn’t lying, not really, because with Kai, those moments—those photographs—were filled with intimacy and love. Not five minutes of cajoling and half-drunk, naked fumbling.
