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“But you don’t love me, Katya. And a single bedtime romp, no matter how spectacular, isn’t enough to…”
“I like you, Hickman. I’m attracted to you…” She sucks in her lips… “I could grow to love you so easily.” She grins. “I’ll admit, it doesn't hurt that you're a hot-shot between the sheets.”
The tension in my chest eases. “How do you feel now? About Romano? Grief? Regret?”
“No.” A short word, snapped out. “None of that. He killed it dead. The only thing I can think is, ‘How could he?’.” She shudders. “How could he? It’s his own child he would have murdered, and he knew it.”
Her reaction is visceral, real. It’s not grief speaking. Or lost love. It’s anger. And more. Hatred.
“Katya, I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you.”
Her eyes soften. Her lips curve. “So, let's do it.”
My mind spins…
And I spin too, heading for the door.
Her voice rises. “Hickman…”
“I’m going for a walk, Katya. You’ve given me a lot to take on board all in one go.”
“Won’t you answer me?”
I keep walking… “You just proposed to me, Katya. That needs thinking about.”
“No, I meant, you didn’t answer when I said you’re in love with me.”
My hand on the doorknob, I halt mid-step. Under my ribs, my heart pounds. Again, I turn, facing her square on. “You’re quite serious? You’d have me? You would be my wife?”
Her chin lifts. “Hickman, I would be honoured to be your wife.”
The bubble of tension bursts and vanishes. “In that case, Katya Masterson, I would be honoured to be your husband.”
She steps toward me, blinking rapidly. Tentatively, I stroke her cheek. “You're so beautiful.”
She moves closer still, enough that the warmth of her breathing bathes my skin. Angling her face to mine, her lips part, but she pauses, stopping short of the contact.
I finish the movement, meeting her mouth with mine, laying my palms on her shoulders, conscious of the still-tender wound at the back. But she wraps her arms around me, drawing me in. An arm around my neck, another around my waist, she holds me as though she’ll never let go, kissing me hard enough that the hardness of her teeth digs at my lips.
The kiss goes on…
… and on…
… and somehow, there seems no reason to break away.
Until…
She pulls away. “There’s… um… just one thing…”
“Oh…” My gut drops.
Have I made a complete fool of myself?
But I keep my voice level. “And what would that be?”
Her lips quirk. “Hickman, what do I call you?”
“How d'you mean?”
