Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) (8 page)

I gazed at the screen.

No planning could be careful enough. Not with what hunted me.

Now perhaps her, too.

I exited the photo album and pressed an app on my phone. Scrolled through the options, and found the one I needed. A heartbeat thumped though the phone speaker—slow and even.

Healthy and well
.

I left the phone on, and set it on the table, stared at the curtains, and listened to that rhythmic sound.

Perhaps I should feel guilty for spying on her heartbeat without her knowing. I was sick, getting sicker by the minute.

A liar, too. I still kept things from her. It wouldn’t be impossible to call. My phone was untraceable. It was entirely possible to tell her how we’d been followed. Just as it was possible to tell her how the worry drove me mad.

But this was my fight—my battle. My burden.

And I’d asked enough of her. I’d cost her too much.

Selfishly, I’d rather deceive her to keep her happy and keep her loving me. This wasn’t the beautiful pure thing my father felt for my mother. A man of few words, the way he’d watch her, listen to her. From the moment she stepped in the door she’d be talking. The woman didn’t pause between sentences. He’d hear every single thing she said.

When she’d set dinner in front of him, the only time my father ever remembered to eat, he’d kiss her hands.

I’m sure there were times he’d kissed her feet.

That’s how I’d envisioned love.

But my father would never have done the things I’d done. Never do any of the things I still might do. Not even to protect her.
He wouldn’t
. He’d had lines he wouldn’t cross.

He’d been a good man.

Every moment I’d gone without sleep seemed to capture me at once. Weariness entered my muscles and bones. I closed my eyes, and tipped back my head. Not to sleep, just to listen. To picture the face that belonged to that heartbeat.

In a different world I’d long to be like my father. In this one I knew exactly what good men got.

Yes, my father loved my mother—and in the end he’d watched her die.

Chapter Eight

On the veranda, a cup of tea warming my palms, it should have been true tranquility. Not a sound except for the breeze. The staff retired for the night in their quarters. They’d all been nice, all been hospitable. Even the ones who didn’t speak English. They’d guided me around the property. Shown me nature’s abundance in plants I’d never seen. Convinced me to crush leaves between my fingers, smell and taste things I didn’t know the names of. Cooked for me. Made me try things that made my palate burn. Things that looked savory but tasted sweet. The need was there in me to explore everything.

To lose myself in the
otherness
.

I stared out from my seat on the veranda. The road to the house snaked over a hill, most of it obscured by the landscape. Where I sat, in that exact spot, I caught a glimpse of any vehicle that approached.

There hadn’t been many in the past five days.

He should’ve been back an hour ago.

I stroked the face of the watch on my wrist. As expected, the minute hand had moved about three minutes in the space of what seemed an hour. No matter how much I’d prepared myself, this was the hardest part. Waiting. I took a sip of tea. The tang of lemon cleansed my palate. I’d adjusted to drinking tea since arriving here. Everyone always seemed to be thrusting a pot on me. When we made it home, I might actually order it over coffee.

Sometimes
.

Maybe
.

At least I think the tea helped with the heart palpitations—more accurately, the tea didn’t seem to be exacerbating them the way coffee would.

I set the cup down, and checked my watch again. An hour and five minutes late
.
When he got back he’d cop an earful. First I’d demonstrate my entire vocal range, then hug him, then take him to bed.

Then sleep.

That order.

Sleep, that might be the best part. I hadn’t slept right since he’d been gone. Hadn’t been able to lie down properly in bed. My body expected him to be there. My skin shivered on the sheets, waiting for his touch.

The sun hit the top of the hill, turning yellow. I squinted, refusing to stop watching the road short of blindness.

It’d be dark soon. He’d said he’d definitely be here before dark. My temples throbbed but I watched the road. Watched the sun sink until darkness smothered the landscape. Poured a cup of lukewarm tea from the pot into my cup and drank it. Checked the watch again. The hands and numbers blurred in the dark. I glanced over my shoulder at the door.

But I wouldn’t go inside.

Inside meant accepting the possibility of Plan D. Going inside meant giving up. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back into the wicker chair.

I’d wait out here all night.

Something clamped over my arm. I bolted upright, almost smacking my forehead into a shadow. I blinked, vision adjusting in the dark. The face of the person crouched in front of me came into obscured focus.

“Haithem?” I grabbed his shoulders, and dug my fingers into his muscles, proving that this was no vision or ghost.

“Where are your things?” he whispered.

I licked my dry sleep cracked lips. “Packed and ready in the bedroom.”

“Stay here. Don’t move.” His shadow rose, and footsteps padded across the veranda. The front door creaked. He went inside without turning on a single light.

I pried myself out of the chair I’d fallen asleep on outside on the veranda, and stood. I rubbed my chest. Looked like the heart palpitations were back and they seemed to come bearing grudges.

He crept out of the door, my bag in one hand, and reached for me with the other. His fingers slid between mine and he led me down the stairs into the driveway.

“What’s going on?” I whispered, then glanced around. “Where’s the car?”

“Parked a little further down the road.” He led me out the front gate and over the hill.

I pushed through knee-length grass, strides bordering on a jog. We reached the car parked under the branches of a tree. Almost impossible to find in near blackness with no streetlights.

He opened the door and ushered me into the car, then took the driver’s seat. I buckled my seatbelt. The engine started with a gentle purr.

“Aren’t you going to turn on the headlights?”

“No,” he said, leaning close to the wheel. The car rolled slowly through the grass until we hit the smoothness of the road.

“There aren’t any street lights here.” I narrowed my gaze out the window, moonlight only enough to make out shadows.

“We’ll go slowly for a while.” The car sped up. Not fast but not the crawl it should be. I held on to the arm rest.

Eventually, he turned on to another road and hit the headlights.

I breathed out, and finally looked at him. Even with only the dim reflection of headlights into the car the sight of him stopped my heart. Relief and fear in one neat little bundle.

“What happened?” I reached over and touched his cheek. His whiskers had grown out into the beard I’d known was coming, but this one was absolute scruff. I’d never even imagined him so unkempt.

“Nothing happened,” he said, relaxing back into his seat.

I watched him, the need to unleash at him now a petty memory. “Then why were you late?”

“I had to double back a few times on the way to you.” He placed a hand on my knee. “Just to be sure.”

I covered the hand on my knee with my own. “Did everything else go well?”

“It’s all set.” His chin rose. “Nothing will stop us now. Regardless of what happens.”

What happens?

I suppressed a shudder. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Fingers tightened over my knee, and he tore his gaze from the road and looked at me. “No, that’s not all that matters.”

His chest rose and fell, then he looked back at the road.

I rubbed the top of his hand.

We drove in silence. No radio to break the drone of the engine or the hum of tires.

My head bounced against the headrest, and I drifted into a place of exhaustion where everything blurred. Where I wasn’t asleep but wasn’t awake.

He spoke to me once or twice, I’m not sure what I answered but there were words. Everything merged into a haze of changing landscape, increasing traffic, sounds of street and far, far too many people.

Something warm filled my lap. A paper bag. I rubbed my face, breathing in the glorious scent of fries. I opened the bag, a laugh filling my chest at the sight of a hamburger. We parked outside a global fast-food chain whose signage I could’ve just about crawled out of the car and kissed. I set the bag on top of the hand brake between us and pulled out a burger. Haithem took a mouthful of soda. I held the burger out to him.

“I already had some, the rest is for you.” He brushed invisible crumbs from the front of his shirt.

Somewhere along the way he’d changed clothes, brushed his hair, slipped right back into that unshakable skin of his. The only thing still scruffy about him was the whiskers on his face.

I unwrapped a burger and wrapped my jaw around the bun, and sank my teeth through the whole thing.

“There’s been a change of plans,” he said, and set down the drink.

I glanced at him over the burger-of-salvation, sauce making its way down my chin.

“We’re changing travel paths.”

I chewed the bready meaty mouthful, and swallowed, then wiped my mouth.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll fly to Thailand and sail from there.” He reached into the bag and fished out a fry.

“Private jet?” I asked and took another bite.

“Too obvious.” He sucked the salt off a finger. “You and I are going to walk right onto an international flight.”

I choked on a fatty lump of burger. “You actually want us to go through an
airport
with fake passports? And with
me
?”

“Yep.” He popped another chip into his mouth. No hint of reluctance lined his features. He was back to Haithem, all confidence and massive balls.

Where was the caution from earlier? That unease that’d been written all over him?

Where’d that go?

My stomach rolled and I re-wrapped up the burger.

It’s me.

The only difference from before to now was one—me. We were together again and that was the only thing that’d changed. He’d been worried about me while we’d been apart.

He’d lost a chunk of his armor, his impenetrable defenses, his cunning wits, everything compromised by the loss of me.

I’d weakened him. If he made a mistake, if everything went to hell, it’d be on me. I wiped my hands. There was only one thing for it—never let this man out of my sight again. I wouldn’t be the thing to let him down. I’d stay be his side, with balls as big as his.

“Well then.” I screwed up the napkin. “Let’s get our asses to the airport.”

Chapter Nine

Oh
,
Dear Lord.

I’ve never been one to pray, but if ever, this was the time to appeal to a higher power. I held on to the seatbelt strapped across my lap. Soldiers lined the entrance. Soldiers with actual guns. Sand bunkers too, yeah the airport was bunkered.

Bunkered
.

He’d warned me, but seeing and hearing are two different senses. Apparently, this was normal. Normal enough that when we rolled into the entrance, Haithem hit the electric window and handed our documentation to the soldier without so much as a blink. The soldier glanced inside the car then handed back the documents. I let go of the seatbelt, and wiped the moisture from my nose with a knuckle. He shot me a slow deliberate wink, tucking our “visas” and passports into his breast pocket. His eye wrinkled in the corner. Something in my chest went
pop
.

We have this.

I took his hand and sent him a wink of my own. The car pulled in front of the drop-off zone. Haithem paid the driver and collected our things.

We walked into the international airport the same as any honeymooning couple. Haithem carried our two bags of necessities plus extras. I walked beside him, chin up, hand hooked in the crook of his arm.

I’d dressed down throughout this trip, and gone for practical, inconspicuous, and respectful. Not today. Today I wore a slinky black dress that clung to my hips and ample rump, that molded itself over my breasts, showcasing what I had, yet with a neckline high enough to leave specifics to the imagination.

Maybe this dress wasn’t inconspicuous. Neither were the red-soled designer heels that were magnificent, yet seemed heinous given the kind of poverty we’d seen as recently as the car ride to the airport. But today, walking our incognito selves right through airport security, we weren’t going for inconspicuous.

Today Haithem’s suit put all the others he’d worn before to shame. He’d had it made for him while he was away. It fit him as though it’d been stitched around the perfect bulk of his body. He’d gone triple black—black suit, black shirt, black tie. Everything black except for the stainless steel frames of the glasses perched on his nose. The blackest thing he wore, though, was his hair. Slicked back, and grown out a good inch and a half from when we met. Everything about him today sexier than ever. Even the beard he’d kept full, but trimmed and groomed. He’d shaved his neck clean, beard ending in a neat line just under the ridge of his jaw.

It was all I could do not to drag him down on to the airport floor and lick him.

Let’s just say that’s all I wanted to do—lick him.

The four-inch points of my heels clicked across the tiles among the roll of trolleys and echo of voices. Only weeks ago I’d never have attempted these shoes, yet now I
owned
them.

No, today we weren’t going for inconspicuous.

We’d be checking ourselves into the first class lounge. I glanced at Haithem. We’d fit right in. No one looking at us would question who we were. Newlyweds with too much money. We looked the part—rich that is—and the newlywed part; if the lust rolling off me wasn’t enough to haze the air red, then all anyone had to do was catch a glimpse of the way Haithem touched me. The way his fingers tightened to a squeeze on my hip when I turned my body into his.

If this wasn’t matrimonial bliss, then nothing could ever be.

We walked, my steps in time with his—in sync. My body tingled with awareness. Of the wig on my scalp, the foreign objects on my eyeballs every time I blinked, the pressure on my toes with every step in those shoes—the price of sexiness.

Awareness of just how far I had to bend in this dress to send Haithem clean out of his mind. Enough to ensure he’d ache the way I’d been aching.

I hadn’t had him for six days.

Six days without Haithem between my legs. Without his skin against my skin, our sweat an electrical conduit between his heart and mine. A hunger burned in my belly. A fierce, bottomless, aching hunger. I nurtured the feeling, let it give me desperately needed courage.

Let desire put its brazen nerve in my step.

We approached the check-in counter, collected our tickets and filled in our travel tags, then moved through the airport. Haithem took off his jacket and emptied his pockets. I let go of his arm and stepped forward, presented my ticket, paperwork and passport to security. Resisted the urge to blink, and shield my eyes from the gaze of the person opening my passport. My hairline itched. I kept my fingers still at my sides and plastered on a smile.

The security officer glanced between me and the passport. His brow creased, and he tilted his head. My nerves stretched, pulled back tight, fighting to release.

Haithem stepped closer to me. I inhaled and absorbed his presence.

The security officer glanced at the passport then at me again. Suspicion—possibly recognition wrinkled his eyes.

“Oh,” I said, and tucked a hand into my waist. “Would you like an autograph?”

I smiled wider. A proper every tooth magazine smile, and counted on the age of social media and reality television making celebrity a loose enough term to pin vague familiarity down to.

The soldier blinked then shook his head and handed back the paperwork, then checked our tags. Haithem moved through next. I didn’t glance back, just placed my bag on the X-ray machine and stepped through the metal detector.

I bent over to collect my things. A touch brushed the back of my arm.

I froze, turning my face slowly.

Haithem stood behind me, jacket over his arm. Dark, greedy gaze devouring me from heels up. I smoothed over the back of my dress where it clung to my backside, and gave him a close-lipped smile. He drew back his shoulders, then put his jacket on, eyes focused on me as he pushed shiny buttons through their holes.

A challenge passed between us.

Yes, he’d be uncomfortable all through this flight—but so would I.

The vibrations from takeoff alone almost got me off. A few more bumps on the tarmac and I’d have squealed myself a nice little wet patch right there on the first-class leather. The plane lifted off the runway. My stomach dipped and lifted in a breathtaking moment of weightlessness.

I turned to Haithem, a laugh rumbling out of my lips. He squeezed my fingers, gifting me with a smile of his own. My skin prickled with energy, every tiny square of it. As though I’d grown new nerve sensors. Even the pads of my fingers brushing his hand, tingled. An exhilarating rush that comes after rubbing up against something perilous, and purring your way past it.

We’d done it. Done everything we needed to do.

Danger left behind as we flew through the air. Only time stood between us and victory now.

He really was untouchable.

I’d known deep down that nothing could conquer Haithem. Nothing could conquer us. Now I had proof.

We could celebrate. Let go of the fear and find our place to rest and wait.

The plane evened, and I let go of Haithem’s hand. I wiggled in my seat, watching for the seatbelt light to go dull in order to be free of the strap.

I gazed at the seat beside me. Next time we flew together I’d demand we fly economy. He moved his hand to his knee. Now that we’d let go, I’d have to stretch out of my chair to touch him if he didn’t reach for me.

I could do without the extra space. I’d rather seats where you could slide up the arm rests, and get a little intimate. I’d take close over posh any day.

He glanced at me, the light from the window lighting up his eyes. They sparkled with dark energy—the same exhalation quickening my veins. I shifted, underwear tugging in all the wrong and all the right places. I hadn’t thought this thong thing through very well. The strip of fabric pulled between my cheeks, just enough pressure over other important bits to remind me the thong was there, not really shielding anything very well at all.

As far as underwear went, I hadn’t yet figured these out.

The seatbelt light dinged. I hit the release button and let my hips flex.

A flight attendant approached and bent beside me. Young, maybe midtwenties. Oddly, this seemed young to me. She was tall, her brown hair scooped back in a bun so neat I had to wonder if it were a hairpiece. “Can I get you—”

Haithem unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned forward and removed his jacket.

Her attention flicked past me and landed on him.

I followed her gaze, watching as he laid his jacket across his lap. His shirt shined dark, and immaculate against the tan of his skin.

“—something?” She blinked and looked back at me, her rouge redder than before. She cleared her throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Who could blame her? She had ovaries too so she couldn’t be immune. Even so, I wanted to cross the gap between Haithem and I, and wrinkle that perfect fabric. Yank the hem out of his pants and leave my lipstick printed on his neck.

She could look, but he was mine.

“We’ll have champagne,” Haithem said, and brushed his bottom lip with his thumb.

My gaze flew to his mouth, remembering the way his velvety lip slid under
my
fingers, against
my
mouth. Warmth spread through my face—there’s another thing with thongs, they don’t really do much in the way of absorbency. I should’ve worn a reliable pair of granny panties.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I said.

Maybe she could leave the whole bottle?

“Of course.” The flight attendant poured champagne and handed a glass to each of us.

I brought the glass directly to my mouth and sucked the foam from the top. Bubbles fizzed over my tongue and made their way directly into my frontal lobe. The champagne rested there, in my head, dizzying me along with the cocktail of hormones this experience had induced.

I took another sip, more of gulp really, and looked at Haithem. He hadn’t touched his champagne. He rarely drank. Other than when we’d done shots on the train, he usually left that to me. I raised my glass and drained the rest in one.

We were safely in the air, with more than enough time to sober up before we had to do it all again in Thailand. Right now, I wanted to be right where I was. What seemed like light years above the ground. On a plane full of people, but with the only person I needed to be with.

His brows rose as I brought down the glass and wiped my mouth, dragging three fingers over my lips. A bump slammed into his seat. I glanced up at a new flight attendant. Even younger than the other, and this one a blond. She’d walked right into his seat.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Her whole face went pink.

Haithem took his gaze off me briefly. “It’s fine.”

She stood there, holding that trolley, staring at Haithem.

“Do you have any chocolate?” I asked.

The flight attendant didn’t move her gaze. “Sure.”

She fished a block of milk chocolate from the trolley without looking. “Here you are,” she said and held out her hand in my direction. In my direction and nowhere close enough to reach. I leaned out of my seat to take the chocolate.

She crouched down next to Haithem. “Is there anything I can get—” Her voice dropped low, yet not so low I didn’t hear it. “Or
do
for you?”

No
. I’d misunderstood. Real women, not ones in sleazy movies, didn’t actually proposition men on airplanes. The mile-high club was a joke. A story rich men liked to make up to impress the fellas.

Her hand strayed to his arm.

But
,
she did!

Something possessive moved in me. I never knew I had it in me to be jealous.

“You think his face is nice,” I said, then presented my glass for a refill, “you should see him naked.” I moved my other hand to my temple, and made an explosive movement complete with sound effects. “For real.”

Haithem made a choking noise.

The flight attendant blanched and shoved her trolley, moving past us as the red spread to her neck.

I watched her leave. I’d never been so unkind. Even if she had blatantly flirted with the man who, as far as she knew was my new husband. Maybe Haithem brought out the worst in me. More likely needing him so badly brought out the worst. The fact I’d slipped into a nasty sexual withdrawal.

Soon I’d have the shakes.

I may already have the sweats.

“She didn’t give me a refill.” I turned to Haithem, reached forward and plucked his glass from his hand, and gave him the empty.

He presented me with a face full of skepticism. “That was not my doing.”

“Like you don’t know that suit has superpowers.”

He ran his palm down the tie, blacker even than his eyes. “But I only use them on you.”

My cheeks warmed too. Just like those other girls. Because he did. He had some kind of power over me, where everything rational drifted off the moment he turned that power on me.

I sipped his champagne. His was sweeter than mine. Or maybe my palate had already been primed with the first glass. I wanted to be the one to tempt
him
, push
him
. Take him to the limits of what he’d do to have me, then find there were
none
.

I unwrapped the chocolate, and ate a square, and sucked what had melted off my finger. He’d settled back in his seat, but didn’t miss my actions. He watched my finger dip between my lips. I slowed down the movement, letting my bottom lip drag a little.

He didn’t move. Just watched me.

But I knew—I knew him.

Knew the lust rising in him was so much more feral than my own.

My hips shifted, and my dress bunched around my thighs. I nudged the chocolate over the arm of the seat, then followed the chocolate over the edge to retrieve it, not bothering to pull the back of my dress down. He’d see just exactly what I’d worn—or hadn’t worn—underneath my dress.

I set the chocolate that’d managed to stay within the wrapper down on my tray, then glanced at Haithem.

He tapped two fingers on the arm of his chair. Nothing else, just tapped those fingers in a slow steady rhythm.

That tap, tap, tap matched the pulse between my legs.