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He chokes on his next words, only a strangled sound escaping from his lips. His eyes widen and his face turns an interesting shade of green. Finally he nods.
“Yes.”
“Then come on,” I say. “I want you too.”
“No,” he says.
“Damn it, Bhoja,” I snap. “Fine. You know what, fuck you. I’m going to bed.”
I’m halfway up the stairs when I remember why I can’t go up there. I throw my hands up in the air and let out a wordless scream of anger, frustration, and fear.
28
BHOJA
She screams in frustration and I want, so badly, to go and take her back into my arms. Except I know that if I do I will not be able to hold back. She felt too good in my arms. Too right. I know she wanted more and I wanted to give her so much more, but not now. Not like this, under these circumstances.
As I have found hope, my honor has returned. The stress she and I are both under right now is coloring any and all decisions we make. I could not act on my desire, no matter if she reciprocates it. I could not risk her regretting it later.
If, no when, we make love I want it to be perfect. But how do I tell her this? She is hurt and angry and I cannot blame her for that either. I would be, no I am, too. The only thing I can do is focus on the problems we must overcome first. The Maulavi were here but not to arrest her or I.
“Niyah,” I say. She turns around on the steps and glares. I swallow, fighting again the urge to run to her. “What did they say? They cannot know or we’d be arrested, but could you tell anything they do know?”
An array of emotions goes over her face that I cannot read. She drops her head, stares at the stairs, then slowly walks back down them. She resumes her seat on the couch and picks up the drink I made for her. She takes a sip while I wait and watch, patient as I can be.
“I’m not sure,” she says, speaking at last. “They didn’t know he was upstairs. They kept asking…” she takes another drink, pushes her hair out of her face, and then leans back with a heavy sigh, “about you. Where you’d gone. When you’d be back. They knew he’d come here but I don’t think it was his only stop.”
“Okay, this buys us time,” I say. “But we must get the body out of here. Soon.”
“Did you get a cart?” she asks.
“No.”
“Shit, why not?”
“I was told the Maulavi were here, I ran to save you.”
She looks up and meets my eyes for the first time since I pushed her away. She stares with her mouth open and then she snaps it shut and frowns. I rub the back of my head and shift my weight feeling strangely uncomfortable. She drops her head so that her hair hides her face.
“Thank you,” she says.
I try to answer but my throat seizes shut. I have to swallow then shake my head before it will work correctly.
Always. Anything for you.
I want to say these thoughts that are in my head but they are too much. I do not think she would welcome them after what I just did. I cannot push them on her now. Cannot put that expectation or that demand there.
“Of course,” I say, instead.
She nods acceptance. The silence between us is less awkward, less uncomfortable, but it maintains a sense of tension.
“I must go get a cart,” I say.
Her head snaps up. Her wide eyes and pale skin make it clear that she is scared. A pain stabs into my heart as if a sharp knife was driven in by seeing that look on her face. Involuntarily I growl as my hands convulse into fists.
“Must?”
Her voice is tight and choked. I nod, unable to speak in return. The last thing in the world I want is to leave her again. I clear my throat roughly.
