by Alam, Donna
‘Yeah, and you’ll be disappointed ‘cause I’ll have frigged myself into an early grave by then.’
‘Come on, Kate,’ he says in that tone, the one that usually makes me promise him anything. ‘You won’t be suffering alone.’ And with a wicked smile he adds, ‘After all, there’s no i in team.’
I lean forward, balancing the screen on the pillow between my legs.
‘You’re right,’ I say with a small sigh through a maliciously mean mouth. ‘But there’s a u in cunt.’
And with that, I end our call.
Chapter Eighty-One
I am not a happy bunny.
And this isn’t something I’m suffering silently. So far this morning, I’ve been short with Rashid, which I feel terrible about, snapped at Martha, which I don’t give a monkey’s arsehole about, and almost drop-kicked the cat over the garden wall.
Oh, and after getting me naked for yesterday’s debacle of doucheiness, I haven’t once spoken to Kai.
I’ve received his texts, but I haven’t responded, and I’ve ignored his calls. I mean, who does that to a person? Gets them so worked up that they’re writhing in a puddle of their own need, so worked up they’d sell their granny just to get to come? Who does that . . . just to then pull the plug?
God, I was so angry. I still am. I’d lain on the bed after Kai’s little experiment; the one where I was to be the monkey in the lab, cigarette balanced in hand. And even that’s not a very good analogy, because let’s face it, it’s not like I got to smoke one at the end.
How was it for you, darling?
Unfulfilling and frustrating and just bloody unfair! I couldn’t even finish the job myself. I was just too fricken’ annoyed—or too annoyed to frig!
No good crying over a spoiled orgasm, though, eh?
I’d say he probably timed his experiment to perfection, because I’ll need at least a week to calm down. If he were to arrive home sooner, I expect he and I would not be on good terms.
But I can’t stay angry forever, especially as a massive bouquet of flowers arrives. It’s so large I can barely see the delivery guy behind the massive glass bowl, filled with tropical blooms of all kinds. My feelings are softening somewhat as I open the card, even though I’m mentally preparing myself for the note. I’m guessing something along the lines of: Roses are red, Violets are blue, when I use my hand, I’m thinking of you.
Anything’s likely after yesterday.
As usual, I’m off by a mile. Kai’s note is much more literary.
I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes.
I am forever yours,
K x
Though a beautiful sentiment, sort of, he’s not out of the doghouse yet. And I’m no expert on flowers, but as I rearrange the stems, it seems to me that a few of these blooms look suspiciously like lady-bits.
Forsooth; flowers from the lady garden.
‘Madam.’
‘Bugger! Rashid, I didn’t hear you there.’
Rashid looks askance at the water that I’ve sloshed onto the, no doubt, irreplaceable antique hall table, his gaze flicking to the flowers that I now have in my hand. Well, the heads of a few blooms that I seem to have yanked from the bowl in shock.
‘Madam,’ he repeats, now handing me a box. A new iPhone if the box is correct.
‘What’s this for?’
‘Mr. Kai has asked that I give this to you.’
‘Hmph.’ It’s more of a sound than a word. I remove the phone and place the box down while noticing the lack of cellophane. ‘Sim card?’
‘Inside, Madam.’
‘And the number?’
‘Same-same as before; your own.’
‘Any idea why?’ I ask, frustration flooding my tone.
‘Madam?’
‘Never mind,’ I add, knowing exactly why. ‘Thanks, Rashid.’ No need to get the shits with him.
Quelle surprise? Nope, not a bit of it as it begins to ring.
‘I’m amazed,’ I say, tone flat in the extreme as I answer it.
‘And that would be because . . .’ he asks, suspicious and amused.
‘Nice ringtone. I see you were going for a theme.’
‘A theme?’
‘Flowers like fanginas and Talk Dirty to Me for the ringtone.’ Jason Derulo and Kai can both kiss my arse.
‘Did you say—fanginas?’ His words ripple with barely suppressed laughter.
‘Yes,’ I reply, the word all sharp edges. ‘D’you have a problem with that?’ Even as I speak, I feel my cheeks heat. Fanginas, for the love of God. Have a word with yourself, Kate!
‘I prefer the language you used last night, even if I thought its delivery a little harsh.’
‘Hmph.’ Harsh my arse. Try well deserved.
‘So you got my flowers?’
‘I bet you’ve got a book somewhere, Elizabethan Smut to Woo.’ Try saying that ten times fast; it sounds a bit like the noise an owl makes.
‘You didn’t like my note?’
‘Apart from the bit about dying in my lap.’ Anyone who studied Shakespeare at high school knows dying is code for the big ‘O’. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did die in my lap when you finally get home.’ I’ll probably smother him in all the excitement.
‘Have I yet given cause for concern?’
‘Just last night,’ I answer wryly. ‘Concern for your sanity.’ He chuckles softly. I’ll credit him as trying to muffle it. ‘If you’ve plans for further, let’s say, spoilage on your return, you’d better be able to run fast, that’s all I can say.’
‘You’re still mad?’
‘Just a bit.’ Try foaming.
‘Good job I’m not there?’
‘Nope. Quite the opposite.’ I’m surprised as this comes out in a growl.
He laughs freely then. ‘It’ll be worth the wait.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a threat.’
‘Perhaps a little of both.’ Excitement, like quicksilver, rolls down my spine. ‘I’m not a selfish lover.’
‘No, just one that doesn’t believe in suffering alone.’
He chuckles, a throaty hum, but this time he isn’t laughing alone.
‘There was a point to the experience. Delayed gratification can have the most amazing pay off in the end.’
‘Hmph,’ I answer, not for the first time.
‘No, really. The fault was mine. You were just so into it, and I was so caught up. I wasn’t paying attention to how close you were. I was so mesmerised. I just miss you so much. The taste and feel of you, the sounds you make when I slide in deep. I truly was going to—’
‘You were going to let me come? So why make me stop?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t going to let you,’ he answers darkly. ‘Just work you up to that edge a few times more.’
‘Why?’ I don’t wait for an answer before exclaiming frustratedly, ‘You’re just a great big clit tease!’
‘Careful, Kate,’ he warns, oh-so sensually. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of.’
I swallow thickly, because he’s right. This isn’t the first time he’s surprised me. This is just the first time I haven’t been stoked by my surprise.
‘It hasn’t got one of those GPS thingies, has it?’ I ask, looking at the empty iPhone box, attempting to turn the conversation.
‘Are we talking about your clit, or the phone?’
‘Funny,’ I reply, though clearly I don’t mean so.
‘The phone,’ he says softly, ‘is because yours was looking a little tired.’ Try bashed. And stuck together with sticky-tape. ‘And yes, because you weren’t answering yours. I was making a point. Besides,’ he adds, his voice betraying a smile. ‘You know your clit is always at home when I call.’
‘And the flowers?’ Change the subject, Kate, if you want to keep the upper hand!
‘An apology, not a statement. I didn’t request erotic blooms.’
‘I might just have fanginas on the brain,’ I say, with a sig
h signalling that fail.
‘Sweetheart, was that your way of telling me you’re interested in a three-way.’
‘You must be dreaming,’ I say with an inelegant snort. ‘There’s no way I’d be up for any kind of delayed gratification again.’
‘Meaning?’
‘In a threesome, there’s always going to be someone left out at one point or another, isn’t there? All three participants can’t be engaged all the time—especially if it’s a girl-boy-girl deal. Someone would be left third-wheeling it a bit.’
God, I am such a loser. No wonder he sounds like he’s choking on laughter. He’s probably taken part in dozens of these, while the only threesome I’ve ever experienced is taking my latest book boyfriend to bed with Shane. And I mean it just like that, a boy in a book. As in, not real. Why isn’t my mouth attached to my brain?
Kai composes himself audibly across the line, and as he speaks, it’s with a whole other tone.
‘What makes you think that would ever be you?’
His sensual words wash over me and my eyes flutter closed as I recall the way he looks at me. Sometimes it’s with a sort of warm indulgence. Other times like he’s starving and I’m gorgeously edible.
‘Is this something you’ve thought about?’ He’s using that tone still, but I can’t tell whether he’s being serious, or winding me up. Regardless, I find that I’ve crossed my legs where I stand, my thighs pushing together almost of their own accord.
‘That would be telling,’ I reply, trying to respond in kind.
‘The turn in the conversation is doing nothing for my self-control, kitten.’
‘Is that your way of telling me you’re hard?’ Please, please tell me you are.
‘Always, when thinking of you. Maddening and frustratingly so.’
‘Ah, so you do know what it feels like?’ I tease.
‘You’ll be the death of me, and while I really don’t want to, I must go.’ My heart plummets south. ‘But I wonder if you’d do something for me.’
‘Oh, no. Not after last—’
‘I want you to christen your phone,’ he says, carrying on as though I haven’t spoken. ‘I’d like another photograph, especially as you’ve so much to say about your clit.’
‘You want me to—’ I’m suddenly all kinds of excited. ‘I get to—’ Pet the pussy? Paddle the pink canoe? All while thinking of him?
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘Why?’ I whine. No, no, no!
‘Teased, but unfulfilled. I’ll make it worth your while . . .’
And I know he will.
Chapter Eighty-Two
‘Eww, don’t put it next to the toothbrush!’
‘A bit of pee never hurt anyone. It’s sterile.’
‘Coming out of your vag?’
‘Blue line—it has a blue line.’
‘Ow, you’re pinching my arm! And I thought it was supposed to go pink?’
‘Nope, that was the last one. No, sorry, the one before that.’
‘Ah, shit. That’s three out of three.’
‘Go for a fourth?’
‘We’re not playing rock-paper-scissors, here! Face it. I’m screwed.’
‘I think you mean, you have been.’
‘Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Why don’t you just pass me the razor while you’re on a roll?’
‘Legs could do with a shave.’
‘Could’ve done with keeping them closed, more like.’
‘And you’ve got hairy toes. They look like pork crackling.’
‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with the sex?’
‘That you’ve got hairy toes? Like that urban myth, if you wank too much, you get hairy palms? Ha-ha! You looked!’
‘Really? Jokes at a time like this?’
‘Calm down. Didn’t they have sex-ed at your school? Condoms on bananas and that god-awful DVD. The miracle of childbirth through a muff that looks like a seriously mad wig?’
‘Like a merkin?’
‘No, like the black forest of pubes. I’m surprised the midwife didn’t get out the garden shears and give her a trim. Poor baby could’ve gotten tangled and trapped.’
‘Don’t mention childbirth, please. Anyway, that’s not what I mean. The colour thing. Do you get a pink line for a girl, blue for a boy?’
‘I think he must’ve banged your head against the headboard way too hard. For fuck’s sake, the thing’s still just a tiny collection of cells, no bigger than a bean!’
‘If I’d half a brain, I’d’ve stuck to flicking my bean.’
‘Maybe I should pee on the last test. Maybe you’ve got a duff batch.’
‘Duff. That’ll be the thing I am.’
‘Don’t be like that. We all make mistakes.’
‘Up the fucking duff. That’s not a mistake. It’s a great fucking catastrophe.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
Chapter Eighty-Three
‘My goodness, it’s so warm out here.’ Yes. Warm. Something to do with living in the Middle East. Deserts, palm trees, dromedaries, and that sort of stuff. ‘It must play havoc with your coloured laundry. Katherine, you didn’t say you lived in a mansion!’
‘Mum, let Rashid past with your bags.’
Mum steps out of the doorway, murmuring her apology and thanks to Mr. Rashid, who deposits the two massive suitcases, each complete with a yellow ribbon tied to the handle—so we can see them on the revolving thingy, silly—into the hall.
Rashid then gracefully refuses the few dirham notes Geoff tries to shove into his hand. It’s barely enough to cover a cup of coffee, and I’m guessing Rashid is paid more than decently, judging alone by the way he dresses.
I smile awkwardly at the man while wanting to melt into the ground as visions of next week’s wedding flashes behind my eyes. It’s turning into something beyond my control. Not that it’s ever been in my control, because I’ve quite happily floated along, letting other people decide things for me. Colour schemes, flowers and venues; I just haven’t given a stuff. But now I see how badly it could go; a weekend of my folks faux-pas and guests who’ll think we’re all terribly gauche. Dubai people are pretty sharp, and my olds, well, a yearly cruise to Fiji hardly constitutes well-travelled.
‘Excuse me, Madam, I shall take these to which of the guest rooms?’
‘To the pool house, please, Rashid.’ With a smile as wide as it is fake, I address my mum. ‘It’s outside the main house, but I thought you might like to be able to do your own thing.’ More like the more distance we have between us, the better we’ll get along.
Geoff pulls a handkerchief from one of his cargo pants’ many pockets and begins mopping his brow.
‘Good idea, Katie. I expect it’ll take us a while to get our body clocks in line. No use creeping around here in the middle of the night, eh? That was some flight.’
I don’t bother telling him there’s not much chance of him disturbing anyone in a house built as solid as this. But the pool house seems to suit us all, so that’s where they’ll go. It’s more like a cottage than anything else and very self-contained. Besides, if we’re to all keep our sanity, we’ll each of us need space. Dunno about them, but I can feel my temper being frayed. The “massive” flight is all he’s gone on about since the airport; a car journey full of his observations of international travel, not that I listened beyond the first few minutes.
‘Yeah, it’s a killer,’ I answer, not really listening. As per, again.
‘Seventeen hours, wasn’t it?’ Mum adds.
Geoff confirms. ‘Straight through. We did it in style, though, didn’t we, darl?’
‘A plane with a shower. Who’d have thought?’
‘And champagne and caviar.’ Geoff’s voice comes out in a rumble, my mum gravitating to him. As she stares up at him all dreamy-eyed, I wonder if I’ll see my lunch making a reappearance real soon. I’m not sure whether it’s the recurring begonia dream, or the
fact that Kai and Niamh’s words have somehow poisoned my mind, because that’s all I can see. My parents, the kinksters. Please, no.
‘Yes, yes, champagne and cashmere jammies,’ I say in a rush as she slides her arm through his. ‘Let’s just get you settled before—’ I lose my salad ‘—shit, there goes the cat!’
The little fuzzy bastard speeds through the still open door, and as I’m nearest, I take off in hot pursuit, calling behind me. ‘I’ll get her. You follow Rashid to your rooms.’
I catch the swish of her scrawny white tail as she dashes over the ornamental bridge and disappears through the bamboo screen. I mean, I don’t love her, but it’s not like she’s some street cat ready for the open road, and—
‘Habibti.’
My stomach rolls as I turn the corner and reach the open gate.
Can this day get any worse? If trouble comes in threes, I’m way over my limit as Essam stands, cat in hand, in the shadow of the solid wooden gate, not quite in the front yard, but not quite out. No national dress for him today; jeans and a white shirt, looking every inch the sophisticate, from his Gucci loafers to the carelessness of his curling and overlong locks.
‘Give her to me.’
His smile is feral, like I’ve just asked him if he wants to fuck.
‘What? This little thing?’ He holds my kitten in his palm, pressing her close to his chest. He says something in Arabic, which I can easily interpret by his obvious leer as he stokes one long finger down her tiny back.
‘Give her back,’ I repeat, my words coming out less strong as he links his thumb and forefinger around her thin neck, lifting and almost dangling her over his other palm.
‘Come. Take her.’ His tone is treacle sweet, but I don’t budge, memories of that night—the darkness, the smell of the leather sofa and of his cloying cologne, rising before my eyes like a storm. ‘It can be frustrating when someone has what you want, no?’
My immediate instinct is fleeting, the second is the conviction that I’ve somehow misunderstood. But as his gaze rakes over my body, I realise instincts are there for a reason; it seems I misinterpreted what he wanted the other day. Perhaps I’ve always misunderstood.