by Alam, Donna
‘I—I thought you were in Africa?’ I say, my fingers straightening the pale leather table mat.
‘And I thought I could trust you to tell me the truth.’
Seems we’re going straight to the heart of the matter. I shake my head, feeling the blow of his words, wondering exactly what it is he knows.
‘Where did that come from?’ Not really a question; more like an evasion.
‘From the place of requiring explanations. From the place of wondering what the fuck has happened while I’ve been gone.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I counter lightly, cursing the tremor in my voice.
Kai pushes away from the wall with the air of a sullen teen.
‘No, that’s not how this goes,’ he says, folding his arms once more, his long legs beginning to pace the room. ‘You’re going to tell me everything that happened this morning, right before you tell me why I haven’t yet heard it directly from you.’ He comes to a stop standing by my chair. I don’t look at him. Not until, that is, his fingers grasp my chin.
‘Let go.’ I’m surprised how cool my voice sounds, despite the blood pounding between my ears.
‘Then tell me.’ His fingers tighten and then release just as quickly. ‘In your own words.’
Clarification and justification. But of what? Exactly what? How can he know when I haven’t even decided myself?
I sit back in my chair, not sure which direction to expect a further attack. ‘Why are you behaving like this?’
‘Babe, you can be more original than that.’ Hurtful. The word hits like a barb.
‘Kai, don’t do this.’ Please don’t call me that.
‘No, you don’t get to be defensive,’ he growls. For the first time.
‘How about you stop attacking me, then?’ I thread my palms between my legs to stop them shaking; to stop myself from throwing them into the air.
‘Attack—you think this is an attack? How about subterfuge? On your part. What happened to “you shouldn’t hide things, ever”?’
His words slash through the air like a knife as he throws back my own words. Subterfuge and denials. Attack and retreat. Why does this feel like a battle?
‘I’ve got no idea—’
‘Right. I see. So you haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ The look he wears is almost murderous, words barely concealing an anger fit to overflow. ‘You want me to tell you I saw Essam? Fine. I did, but you already know that, or you wouldn’t be here having a go at me. I expect you hopped in your little plane the minute Rashid squealed.’ The words leave my mouth in a rush with a lack of either finesse or thought. ‘Oh, but guess what? I saw him last week, too. Quite the persistent caller he is.’
‘Twice.’ The word is short and explosive, akin to a spark; his voice simmering with barely suppressed emotion. ‘You’ve spoken to him twice, but didn’t think to tell me?’ Another lick of fire in his words, threatening to burst into flames. ‘The man who attacked you, the man responsible for you fucking off halfway around the world.’ With each word spoken, not only does his tone alter, but his volume increases until he’s yelling, his words ringing around the room. ‘You had . . . congress with my fucking cousin, but you didn’t think to mention it to me!’
‘Congress? You make it sound like I was screwing him on the front lawn!’ I bring myself up off the chair, my fingers grasping the table in an effort to hold on, hold back. ‘You said you’d take care of him. You said you’d . . .’ I begin to tremble at the shock of this encounter. At the fact that I’ve kept all this inside. Sinking back into my chair, I wonder where the words are spewing from. ‘You shouldn’t have left me alone for almost a month. Not while he was still here.’ My hands still hold the table’s edge and I spread my fingers wide as I continue to speak. ‘And now he’s gone and fucked it all up! I’ve fucked it all up.’ My hands contract into fists, my final words ending in sob.
‘He’s not supposed to be here.’ Kai’s words are strangled now, and though I don’t look up, I can sense him pushing both hands through his hair. I can see it in my mind’s eye, standing on end and I feel the urge in my fingers to brush it back again. ‘I didn’t expect to be gone so long.’
‘Gee, I wonder who could’ve managed to orchestrate that.’
‘You promised you’d take care.’
His footsteps draw closer, the sound of something being laid quietly against the corner of the dining room table, though I don’t raise my head as he moves away again.
‘I can’t do this right now.’
Despite the softness of his words, cold dread sinks to my stomach. His phone lies on the corner of the table and I reach for it as he opens the door. As I swipe my finger across the screen, I’m greeted by a familiar screensaver: my soft porn portrait. A replica of the print copy I’d torn and flushed down the toilet.
‘Because it hurts to look at you.’
And with that, he walks out the door.
I’m out of my seat as the front door closes, darting out into the front yard, and calling his name. That he has this photograph . . . I don’t know exactly what it means, or even what he’s thinking, but I can’t let him walk out on me.
‘Kai, wait, please!’
As I reach the front gate, a dark-coloured low slung car moves slowly from the curb. Its windows are blacked out so I can’t see in, but I can see my reflection, the panic and bewilderment staring right back at me. I turn and watch it leave, hoping he’ll come to his senses—change his mind—but the tail lights are bright in the darkness, dimming and dying until they can be seen no more. And still I stand, watching, hoping, and then wondering. What the hell do I do now?
Slowly, I retrace my footsteps back to the dining room, finding myself sinking back into my chair. I feel suddenly lightheaded, as though I haven’t eaten in days. My hand works on autopilot as I reach for his phone, forcing myself to face my downfall. As I stare, I know Kai can’t have convinced himself that Essam had any part in taking this. Apart from the fact that I know him not to be an idiot, it’s obvious this was taken some time ago. My hair is shorter. On my head at least. But I haven’t worn such . . . such full coverage below the waist for quite some time.
I begin flicking through the images, expecting to torture myself and to be reminded of happier times. Instead, I’m stopped short at an image of myself taken a few short days ago. A screenshot of our last long distance encounter. I’m wearing the blindfold, and though I can’t see the embroidered words, there’s a certain resonance about them.
Action is eloquence.
And his earlier words echo through my head.
You promised me you’d be safe.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
I can’t bear to look at you.
My thoughts begin to draw together, like drops of quicksilver rolling around and gathering in my brain.
Kai. The love of my life. My husband. A man I really don’t know well at all. The bits I do know probably wouldn’t even be enough to fill out an online dating profile.
Insanely handsome and incredibly wealthy (wouldn’t that catch attentions).
Kinky with a side of dark and dominant (maybe this advert should be on fetlife).
Kind (a bit of a sweetheart, actually).
With a fondness for flash cars and Saville Row suits.
An expensive taste for rich reds and smooth malts.
Incredibly intelligent (with a partiality for obscure literature. Usage in the bedroom, where possible).
An appreciation for aesthetics.
Possessive.
Funny.
Incredibly warm.
Protective.
Loving.
Honourable.
The best of men.
My man.
And I wouldn’t be writing that advert at all.
What if the reason he can’t bear to look at me is because of something he feels he’s done, rather than me? What if he’s running away because he feels he has failed?
‘Rashid!’ I begin to call for him before I’m even out of my seat, finding him almost immediately.
‘Madam.’
‘Where’s he gone, do you think?’ Rashid’s expression doesn’t falter, but for something sliding through his gaze—a fleeting sense of discomfort? ‘The hotel?’
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. I already know the answer as my stomach plummets.
‘Take me. Please?’
I haven’t changed my clothes. Not since this afternoon when I’d peeled the photograph from my skin, ripped it to tiny pieces, and showered to wash away Essam’s touch. I’m not the dressing for dinner type and I feel a little underdressed as I cross the expansive lobby of the hotel. The hotel. The one I never thought I’d ever enter again.
My stomach stays on the ground floor, my nerves rising with the elevator as it climbs. Unsteady legs and good memories forced over fleeting images of the bad get me to his room, where I swipe the key-card against the door. Unsuccessfully, I find, several times. I begin to wave it a bit desperately, trying to find the correct hotel-key-card-semaphore-code for ‘let me the fuck in’. Maybe it needs to be recharged? Frustrated, I level my narrowed gaze on the patch of plastic housing the tiny red light—the one that I want to turn green—when the door suddenly opens, and I almost fall in.
Catching myself on the doorframe, I stare at Kai’s waistband for approximately, oh . . . three million minutes, before straightening. Frantically scanning my brain for suitable words, Kai beats me to it.
‘How—why are you here?’ He doesn’t sound pleased.
‘I’ve left my pipe and deerstalker at home,’ I say straightening. ‘Not that it took much detection.’ The huff in my words is audible.
He doesn’t answer; his gaze weighty and potent. And also a teensy bit pissed, if the slight glaze is anything to go by. Plus the tumbler half-full of whiskey dangling from the end of his wrist. Who needs Sherlock Holmes?
‘Feel like revisiting old times?’ he eventually says, his words almost leaving a physical sting across my cheeks.
‘My, you’re all about the feels tonight.’ I breeze past him when it becomes obvious he isn’t going to invite me in.
‘Kate, please. Not now,’ he says, despite closing the door and following me into the room.
‘Why?’ I ask, planting my arse on the sofa. On the table in front stands a half-full bottle of Jamesons. ‘Normally, you’d be up for eating chips out of my knickers anytime of the day.’ It’s one of Niamh’s. She has all the best lines.
‘Look,’ he says with a small sigh and an absolute reluctance to meet my eyes. ‘I’ll come back to the house tomorrow, but tonight—’
‘Tonight?’ I repeat with one raised brow, as he opens his mouth to speak again. ‘Tonight, I think you’re going to keep quiet and do what I say, for a change.’
My stomach is knotted, but I’m relieved I didn’t stumble over the words. Kai’s mouth snaps closed like a trap as I rise to stand in front of him. He watches me through those dark, inky lashes, and despite my heels—I may not have changed, but I know my man—my head barely reaches his chin. Leaning forward, I place my lips against the hollow in his throat.
‘Kate,’ he whispers, a sound all gravelly and bordering on a moan. A sound I’d bottle, if I could. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
‘Why?’ I whisper, placing my palm over his heart. ‘This tells me I need to be here.’ At the same time, I reach into his pants pocket, pulling on the black silky edge of something I’d noticed at the door. Because it’s not the steady beat of his heart that tells me I’m doing the right thing, or even the erratic pulse in his throat.
Welcome bondage, for thou art a way to liberty, the scarf reads as I pull it free.
I exhale a shaky breath, relieved I’ve followed my heart. He didn’t leave because he couldn’t bear to be near me, and tonight Kai will welcome bondage, because tonight I know he needs to be free—free from guilt.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Kai’s lips tremble almost imperceptibly, and a pulse hammering in his neck. His long eyelashes cast dark shadows under his eyes, his gaze almost bruised and definitely reluctant.
‘What’s this?’ I ask softly, running the embroidered silk through my hands.
His gaze flicks to mine, a definite frown marring his gorgeous face. ‘You know what it is.’
And I do. It’s the scarf he used to bind me to a chair in his bedroom at the beginning of this whirlwind relationship of ours.
‘A scarf?’ My question is part sweetness, part tease, as I take the glass from his hand.
The corner of his mouth quivers again, this time the result of repressing a smile. ‘Something like that,’ he answers, his voice low and a little rough. He inhales then, as though to speak, before finding my finger pressed against his lips.
‘Shh. You don’t need to say anything. Besides, you know that’s not right. You told me so.’ I loop it over his head as I speak, my fingers then moving to my denim shirtdress, where I begin to loosen it, button by slow button as Kai tries not to watch. I’m left inches from him in my underwear and nude heels, very aware of the rise and fall of my breasts, encased as they are in a blue lacy bra.
It helps that Kai seems pretty aware, too, his chest so close and moving almost as rapidly as my own. I pull the silk from his neck, the room silent but for the sound of our breath and the soft susurrus of silk against skin.
‘It can’t be a scarf,’ I repeat. ‘Because a scarf’s purpose is to keep you warm. That leaves only a restraint to tie, or a blindfold to steal your sight, to increase your pleasure tenfold.’
Kai’s eyes burn with the weight of his sudden expectation; confusion clouding the gold as I begin to fold the silk in half, before tucking it into my elastic waistband. I lean against him, my lips hovering just over his.
‘Looks like you’ll have to wait and see.’
It’s hard to resist, but I don’t kiss his pillow soft lips, instead lowering my mouth to the hollow of his throat. My fingers make short work of his shirt buttons as his hands find my hips, the heat in his large palms making me jolt. With each button loosened, I place a kiss against his warm caramel skin, until I’m able to pull the cotton free of his pants.
‘Will you . . . let me?’
The hard planes of his stomach contract under my fingers as I run them up his torso, wrapping my hand in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. In the absence of a reply, I pull him to me, past his hesitancy, until our mouths meet. I kiss, petal soft lips and teasing slides of tongue, controlling the rhythm, because this dance is ladies’ choice.
His hands slide to cup my arse but I pull away, my hands drifting to his shoulders as he groans. I slide the shirt down his arms, but not all the way. As the fabric reaches his elbows, I move around his body, pressing myself against the warm solidness of his back.
‘Do you trust me?’ Kai shivers as my breath meets his skin.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’ His words sound almost like a lament, but as he doesn’t try to step away, I ask my question again. ‘Of course I do,’ he says, rougher now. ‘That’s not—’
I steal the words from his mouth when I grasp the shirt hanging from his arms, and pull tight.
‘Kate.’ My name carries a warning. One I won’t heed.
‘Not a scarf and not a restraint,’ I say, twisting and tightening his custom tailored shirt, around and around, until his wrists are bound. Trailing my finger down the long line of his spine, I taper it around to his waist as I move. The hairs on his arms prick and stand, before I’m in front of him once more.
His gaze pins mine, no longer confused or hesitant, but darkly dilated and framed by those lashes of inky black. Knots of muscles strain his shoulders, while veins and tendons stand to attention in his throat. I swallow thickly at the sight of him. He’s never once been anything but in control, but right now bound—however unconvincingly—he’s the kind of beautiful that hurts my heart. Powerfully beautiful.
My body hums with ne
ed and I almost throw myself at him right then. The only thing holding me back is the thought that, while I’m sure it’s something we both want, it’s maybe not what we need.
‘You know what I’m thinking?’ I whisper.
‘That you find you like the sight of a tortured man?’
Not what I was expecting, my mouth curling along with his. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I say quietly, an echo of something Kai once said resonating. ‘This isn’t torture. At least . . . not yet.’
‘Kate,’ Kai says again in warning, though I note his shy smile hasn’t gone.
Taking the length of silk from my waistband, I feed it between my hands once more. ‘I’m thinking we’re wearing far too many clothes.’
Looping the length around his neck, I begin walking backwards into the master bedroom, pulling him with me.
Two small lamps are lit; one on a nightstand, the other on a chest. The drapes are open; the windows covered by gauzy voiles which mute the city lights below. This room is familiar, but its memories are tainted now. Sensory memories. Cigar smoke and hurt. The low velvet chair Kai once tied me to rests in front of the same large gilt framed mirror, but both pieces are now sullied by other memories. It’s almost as though the room is filled with ghosts.
‘Why here?’ I find myself asking. Surely there were a hundred more places for him to turn.
‘I thought—expected this would be the last place you’d come.’
‘You thought I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to?’
He nods, unspeaking as I lay my own head against his solid chest.
‘Then maybe you don’t know me very well, because I think I’d follow you into hell.’
Kai’s laugh is short and bitter, echoing in my chest.
‘I’m surprised you don’t feel I’ve already led you there.’
My fingers still hang from the ends of the silk as I lift my gaze, Kai’s head turned towards the window, only the graceful curve of his jaw in my line of sight. I yank the material hard, forcing his head down—forcing his gaze back to mine.
‘You don’t get to choose. I do.’ I press my lips against his, using the moment to slip the silk from his neck. ‘Close your eyes. You’re about to have your pleasure increased. Tenfold.’ And with that, I tie the silk in place, and lead him blindfolded to the bed.
