“That’s not what I meant.” She leaned her back against the railing. Her feet ached, and she knew that she’d pay tomorrow for the day of constant walking. “We should get married. Yes. I accept.”
Talen swung her into an embrace, lifting her right off her feet. The scent of warm citrus and spice, undeniably his scent, surrounded her. The bag of books fell to the pavement, momentarily forgotten. “It was the book, wasn’t it? I knew the right courting gift would open your heart.”
The book sealed the deal but wasn’t nearly all of it. “I can’t believe you remembered me talking about that book. I don’t even think I told you the title,” she said.
“I didn’t do the legwork. I just described what you told me. Maxis did the rest.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to give you an answer. I already knew, really. There was never any doubt, but I was scared. Everyone leaves. Everyone. My father. My mom. My stupid ex-boyfriend.” She huffed, torn between the urge to laugh and sob. Speaking her fears made them seem so small, trivial even. “Quil left before he even had a chance to meet me. It’s like something innate in me.”
“You are wrong.” His arms tightened around her.
“If I used the baby to bind you to me, you’d end up hating me. When you left anyway, it would hurt too much. I couldn’t bear it.” Ah, the truth at last. “I love you. I think I have since the bookstall in the market.”
“You carry my heart,” he said, and she wanted to believe.
“But only because of the baby.” He loved her now, but the excitement would fade and then what would they have?
“I think since that first morning when you yelled at Quil.”
“Oh God,” she groaned. “Not my finest moment.”
“I disagree. I was fully prepared to clean up my brother’s mess and tend to a broken-hearted female. To be her champion. Instead, I found a female who was her own champion, saying everything I wanted to say and saying it so much better. My very own Persistence come to life.”
Her heart thumped. He was talking books and it was the sexiest thing she ever heard. “I don’t recall Persistence having a temper.”
“She gets riled up. It is one of her challenges.” He tucked her head under his chin. “Now you see how serious this is for me.”
“Comparing me to the main character in your favorite book? Yeah, I see.”
“I can never leave you, for you carry my heart. I will be at your side until the light leaves me and I will keep repeating this until you believe me.”
“Thank you. I love you more than I can say.” She intended to show him.
Chapter 18
Georgia
“We will marry today,” Talen announced the moment her eyes cracked open.
“Okay? I mean, sure, let’s get a license.” She yawned, stretching and rotating her feet. “I don’t particularly want a big fuss. We can get a justice of the peace. Do they do that here?”
If they went to the courthouse and applied for a marriage license that day, they could schedule an appointment with a judge, but she had no idea what was a reasonable amount of time to expect to wait. A few weeks, most likely. Maybe she’d find a dress, not that she wanted a fancy wedding gown, but it would be nice to be married in something other than yesterday’s sweater and leggings.
They went to the courthouse and had an appointment with a judge that afternoon. Amazingly.
Georgia sat at the café table, nursing her cup of tea. The brew was a rich, sugary, black tea that zipped through her veins. She recognized the sweet ambrosia of caffeine at the first sip. She’d keep that revelation to herself, lest Talen take the cup away, but she wouldn’t have more than one cup. Moderation was fine. Freema, a genuine human doctor, said one cup a day would be safe.
She inhaled the aroma, enjoying how it was the opposite of lawn clippings. Maybe she could get some to take home.
Talen drummed his fingers on the tabletop, ignoring his own cup.
“It’s getting cold,” she said.
“I have two confessions,” he blurted.
Something akin to dread curled in her stomach. They were getting married, he asked, she said yes. Now he had something to tell her and it couldn’t be good. “You better not have another wife.” She blinked, surprised at herself. “Sorry, I thought I was over that.”
He looked around the café and leaned in conspiratorially. “Talent Achaval is not my birth name.”
As far as secrets went, that was a dud.
“I knew that,” she said with relief.
“How?”
“Well, you told me that your parents were murdered. You fled your planet and moved around a lot. I assumed a new identity was part of all that.” She kept her voice low and confidential.
He nodded. “My parents did name me Talent. That remains true.”
She didn’t ask for his original family name. As hard as it was to imagine danger in a bright, sunny café with the perfect cup of sugary tea, there could be danger yet in the events that took his parents two decades ago.
“Do you want to know who I am?” he asked.
“I know who you are.” The father of her child. Her husband. Her love.
The noise of the café surrounded them, the murmur of voices and the clatter of dishes. A door opened and cool air wafted in.
“You carry my heart.” He reached across the table for her hand. “I am honored you have chosen me. My spirit is filled with joy. Every day I think this the happiest a male could be, but I am wrong because what I feel today pales with my love for you tomorrow. And I am terrified of being a father.”
Not a dud secret. Not even a little bit.
His grip on her hand tightened, waiting for her response.
“I’m scared, too,” she said. “Being a parent is scary.”
“But I do not know how to be a father.”
“Well, no one really knows until they do the on-the-job training.” She stroked her thumb across his wrist and his grip eased. He was such a large man, absolutely massive. Sitting at this tiny table, in a tiny chair, drinking from a toy-sized cup, he should have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t. He looked like a man who was comfortable with himself and his place in the world. She couldn’t imagine a stronger, safer person, or a better dad. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
His tail thumped against the thin legs of the table, rattling the cups sitting in saucers. “I would sit with my father while he worked, as long as I remained quiet. How is that enough? Maybe I would have seen my father more if I was older, but I don’t think he spent much time with Quil, either.”
“But he was there, and he wanted you there.” Which was more than her father ever did.
“He tolerated my presence when I was old enough to sit quietly. That is not the kind of father I want to be.”
“I think that counts for a lot, knowing your strengths and weaknesses. Usually, people just imitate what their parents did,” she said. Her father yelled, stank of beer, and came and went with the seasons, sweeping chaos into their lives. Her mother endured with tired eyes until he left for good. “I don’t want to be the kind of parent my parents were, either.”
He stared at her as though she just babbled nonsense. “My parents were no parents at all. They hired a nursemaid.”
“There you go. Do that.”
“No! I will not hire a stranger to raise my child,” he said, genuine anger seeping into his voice.
“I mean ask for help, fuzzy britches.” She nudged his shoulder. “We’re not alone. Bright raised you. For all intents and purposes, she is your mother.”
“I suspect she will monopolize the kit.”
“And Quil will be a good uncle.”
He huffed.
“Not for discipline. Can you imagine? He’s going to teach our kid to cheat at cards and then drag them to every garden and arboretum on the planet.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “But no one is going to love this kid harder than Quil.”
“This is true and Charl is a suitabl
e challenge for a curious kit to climb.”
She grinned, imaging Charl as a very surly, four-armed jungle gym. “We got this.”
His communicator chimed and he checked the device. “Five-minute warning. Ready to be my mate, officially?”
Yes.
* * *
Talen
* * *
Later, once he became a properly married male, he stretched out in the hotel’s bed next to his mate. The room felt stiff and formal, the bed too soft, and the blankets scratchy. It wasn’t home but as long as he heard the beating of his mate’s heart, he was home.
Georgia propped herself up on one elbow. Her hair, a delightful, bed-rumpled mess, framed her face. “Why do the Tal kiss?”
“We like it. Why do humans kiss?”
“Was that a rude question? Sorry.”
“Not rude.” Unexpected, not rude, considering he had first kissed her months ago.
“I was curious, because some cultures don’t,” she said. “So, is kissing a thing that Tal do or is it something you picked up on the street?”
Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a soft glow over half her face. He searched for some hint of amusement or an indication that she teased him.
“You’re serious,” he said.
She flopped down onto her back. “Never mind. Ignore me. I get all goofy and day-dreamy after sex. I got to stop blurting out everything that pops into my head.”
“No, I like that about you.” He pulled her to him, her back to his chest, and nuzzled her hair. The scent of sleep, sex and dreams clung to her. “It’s biology,” he said, rubbing his jaw and pheromone glands along her bare shoulders. “Your poor human nose is completely blind but mine detects pheromones. I want to mark you with my glands.”
“How delightfully savage of you,” she said and squirmed. He growled a warning for her to stay put until he was done marking her.
“Kissing is one way to mark you,” he said, placing a light kiss on her shoulder. “And it’s pleasurable.”
“I just thought the fangs might get in the way.”
His fangs… might get in the way? His mind blanked on a response. “I have not been that clumsy since I was an adolescent.” And even not then, not really. “Do humans have that problem?”
“Oh yeah.” She rolled to face him. “First kisses are notorious. No one knows what they’re doing so it’s like they’re trying to eat your face.” She snapped her blunt, harmless human teeth.
“You jest.”
“I’m not! My first kiss was terrible. Our teeth kept bashing into each other and there was way too much tongue and it was gross and slobbery.”
He hated that someone else had her first kiss and possibly shared in other first experiences with her. Such jealousy served no purpose. His mate was a grown female, beautiful, clever and desirable. The male before him had been a fool to toss her aside—and he distinctly ignored that his brother had been the male before him—so he should not feel jealousy over the opportunities the fools had squandered. He should be thankful.
All he could manage was a growl.
Georgia placed a hand on his chest. Green eyes, bright and clear as spring leaves, watched him. “Hey, that was a long time ago. You’re the only man I want to kiss.”
“I’m not your first.”
“And I’m not your first, either.”
“I will be your last,” he vowed.
“Okay,” she breathed.
Then he kissed her, because it wasn’t their first or their last but simply one of a million brief moments that tied them together and that was reason enough to rejoice.
Chapter 19
Georgia
My mate,
Quil will try to convince you that Erection is a traditional family name, having to do with standing tall and with pride.
He lies. It is an elaborate ruse and I refuse to allow our kit to be named after a dick joke.
-Talen
* * *
Georgia slept late the next day, slept during the two-hour drive back home, and then took a nap in the drawing room. Climbing the stairs to her own room seemed an impossible feat and curling up on the fainting sofa was a much better idea.
“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” she said, pulling a quilt over herself.
“You are with kit,” Talen answered, because that was the correct answer. She wore herself out the last two days and paid the price today.
“Tomorrow, I’ll get back to work.” Just contemplating all the things on her plate exhausted her.
“You will sleep if you need to sleep.”
Snuggling down, she considered that a day off wasn’t a bad thing before she drifted off and woke in darkness. She slept the entire day away.
She folded the quilt and draped it over the back of the sofa, before wandering out. Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting pools of pale light against the floor. Conversation drifted from the direction of the kitchen and she followed the sound.
White blossoms caught her eye and Georgia found herself pulled into the conservatory. Moonlight combined with round lanterns strung from the ceiling created patches of luminous greenery and deep shadows. The moon violets blossomed, their pristine petals turning toward the moon.
During the day, the cacophony of sight and scent overwhelmed the space. The color green and the lush floral aromas threatened to overpower her. At night, it was peaceful. Still.
“Hiding?”
Georgia raised a hand to acknowledge Quil. He joined her, standing at a respectful distance, and they admired the moon violets.
“Any luck?” she finally asked.
“Not in any of her usual haunts.” He looked tired; it had been a long two days with little sleep. “Though I did find a few debts she skipped out on.”
“Did you just return?”
“Still have dust on my boots.”
“Mud, more like.” She refused to worry about the state of the floor on her day off. Muddy floors would be there in the morning.
“I know you were not flirting,” Quil said.
“Good. I wasn’t. You were cheating, badly. I’m disturbed by the lack of quality.”
“Standards have fallen.” Amusement slipped into his voice but vanished quickly. “She planned her exit.”
Georgia wanted to protest that Fiona didn’t seem the type for planning or plotting, but that would be buying into the shallow, empty-headed persona she obviously honed. Fiona slipped away too easily, vanishing off the planet when she should have stuck out like a sore thumb. “I suppose she did.”
“I’ve ruined us.”
Georgia tossed him a sharp glance. “As much as I’d love to watch you heap abuse on yourself, cut yourself some slack. You’re tired. I’m sure there’s something tasty in the kitchen that Bright would be more than happy to shove down your throat. I’m all for it if that keeps you quiet.”
He gave a thin-lipped smile. “Such tender maternal instincts.”
“Oh, fuck off already.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in your pity parties. People make mistakes and trust the wrong person all the time. You’re not special.”
He huffed. “Talen is right. Your brand of affection is harsh.”
“Stop trying to flatter me. Now, let’s eat.”
* * *
Talen
* * *
Talen climbed into bed next to his mate. “I think we should share this room and let the kit have mine. Your bed is much nicer than mine.”
“Of course, it is. Your mattress feels like it’s stuffed with rocks. Are you ready to sleep?” She partially closed the book, marking her place with her index finger.
He cringed at the unneeded stress to the spine but felt pleased that she read his gift. The clerk at the bookshop assured him that the series was popular and locating a copy in Georgia’s original language took no effort. Georgia could mistreat that book and he could replace it a hundred times over.
His bibliophile gut cringed at that. Perhaps he c
ould procure a set for display purposes and try to ignore his mate’s mishandling of the books.
“Read to me, please. I want to know the story of the orphaned wizard.”
“I’ll start at the beginning.” She held the book in one hand, in such a manner that put too much pressure on the spine.
He tried to look away. He tried to focus on her voice and the story, but his eyes kept drifting back to the book’s spine. It would crack. The glue and binding would come undone.
“Hold it like this,” he said, moving her other hand to the book. “Both hands.”
“You’re so fussy tonight,” she grumbled but held the book correctly.
With that minor atrocity rectified, he fell into the story. Georgia briefly had to pause and explain the physical appearance of a Terran owl and how they were wild predators, not suited to deliver mail. After two chapters, her voice grew thick from use and she closed the book, using a scrap of paper to mark her place. He barely noticed, really, but left a stack of suitable bookmarks at her bedside.
“Hairy seems an unusual name,” he mused. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“It’s pretty common, actually.”
“Why would humans wish their children to be hairy? It is a strange aspiration.”
“Not hairy like hair.” She touched her own chestnut hair. “It’s short for Harold. Maybe Harrison.”
“Would you consider it a good name for the kit?” He rolled to face her. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her stomach. Visually, her stomach appeared only slightly more rounded, but the tactile sensation had changed. Before, his mate had been all softness and pliable. Now, her belly felt denser. He thrilled to feel the changes in her body as the kit grew and could not wait to see her grow large.
“That’s sweet. Harry is a lot nicer than Correction or Obedience,” she said.
“Those are no longer fashionable. Names tend to be more hopeful now, rather than disciplinarian.”
“Discipline isn’t bad,” she said. “As a name, I mean.”
Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates Page 20