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I still hadn’t said anything because I was shocked.
He reached around me, picked up the ring, took my hand, and slipped it on my finger.
My eyes went from his face to the ring and back to his face. “Can I say yes first?”
He shrugged. “Sure. You can say whatever you want. But we’re getting married in nine minutes.”
It took me another minute before I threw my arms around him, shock shifting to joy. Then we got married on the beach with Delara next to me. I found out later that Kilter had told her about it the day before. I was guessing he was leaving no room for anyone to thwart his plan.
And why Waleron wasn’t told. Finding out we were married, maited as the Scars called it, two weeks ago had a good chance of not going down very well tonight.
My finger slipped from his mouth and his eyes smoldered with that panty-melting, stomach-whooshing look. “You know, he might be happy that we aren’t living in sin anymore. He seems a little old-school.”
“Babe, he’s an Ancient. One of the first Scars. His mother was the first. He’s definitely old-school. Doesn’t mean he’ll like it any better.”
The warm saltwater breeze sifted across my bare arms and goose bumps rose. Kilter noticed. He always noticed things when it came to me, and I liked that. I’d never had anyone who looked out for me like that. He didn’t do it to get anything out of it; he did it because he cared. He ran his hands up and down my arms then bent and kissed my bare shoulder.
Waleron had yet to speak to Kilter after the Liam and Jasmine thing. I didn’t think he was exactly angry with Kilter for anything in particular, but Waleron liked control. He liked order. He followed the laws. Kilter wasn’t big on any of those things.
His finger slipped underneath the spaghetti strap of my pink dress. “Why don’t I take this off you now, have my way with you, and then you put on something else.” The strap slipped off my shoulder as he turned his attention to the other one.
“He’ll be here in an hour.”
“Cooking’s done, babe.” He pushed off the other strap.
The cottage still had the lingering aroma of the spicy pasta sauce he’d made earlier this afternoon. It was delicious, and I’d dipped my finger in it numerous times, to which he’d scowled. When I’d moved on to dipping a piece of bread into it, he’d picked me up off the counter, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me out the sliding glass doors, down the path to the beach.
I flailed and screamed and giggled. The giggling stopped when he walked into the ocean and tossed me off his shoulder into the water.
There was no more dipping into his sauce.
Kilter had been teaching me to cook. Well, he was trying. I discovered I was better watching him and being a taste tester than cooking. And he loved me sitting on the counter while he cooked as long as I didn’t dip too much. I loved when he got that smoldering look in his eyes and stalked toward me. It happened often while he was cooking.
That smoldering look was happening now. So was that smug grin. I loved the smug grin, which had appeared more often since we’d been here.
He bent and kissed my shoulder, drizzling kisses across my collarbone to my other shoulder. I moaned, tilting my head back.
“Cancel,” he said
I drew back and his head lifted. “Cancel?”
“Yeah, babe.” With his hand on my lower back, he roughly yanked me in to the length of him.
“I can’t cancel.” Waleron had never been to the island; therefore, he was unable to Trace here, which meant he had to get on a plane and fly here. This was a big deal. “Are you scared to tell him?”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound was deep and raspy, and I loved it more than his smug grin. When he finished laughing, he went back to undressing me while he spoke. “You need to get something about me, babe. Nothing scares me. Nothing except losing you. Don’t give a fuck if Waleron loses his shit when I tell him you’re my maite and we didn’t invite him to the wedding.” My dress slipped to the floor. “What I do give a fuck about is that you’re not hurt in the process of me telling him and he loses his shit.” Okay, totally melt-worthy. His hand at my lower back slid up and fiddled with the clasp of my bra. It, too, fell to the floor. “Want to cancel because my girl was wearing a hot pink dress and I want her to myself for the next five hours.”
“Five hours?” Tingles erupted.
He grinned. “We have pasta on the stove, so yeah, five hours.”
“How do you figure?”
“Carbs, babe.” His hands came under my ass and he picked me up. My legs wrapped around him as he carried me from the living room into the bedroom. Then he tossed me onto the white duvet and I bounced once before shuffling back.
“You realize he will be here soon.” He undid the buttons on his shirt. It parted and my gaze trailed down over his inked chest to his hard abdomen.
“He can wait.”
