CHAPTER 21 #2
Nathan is digging into his food with equal gusto and is making a similar groan of pleasure. Groans that are not making my stomach clench. No, not at all.
“Here, try this.” He pushes his plate of pepperpot towards me, and I dig in. He’s right; it’s delicious.
“I’m so happy right now,” I sigh when all our plates are empty and I’ve only just stopped myself from licking them clean. “I’m going to get Jade to make these dishes for me when I get home.”
He leans back in his chair, taking a long sip from his beer bottle in a way that is so sexy it should be illegal. Who knew a throat moving like that could get me all hot and bothered?
“You don’t cook?”
I huff. “You saw my groceries. It’s all sad microwave meals for one and ramen noodles. I was too busy studying to learn how to cook.”
He tilts his gorgeous head. “Isn’t it just about reading a recipe and following along?”
“You would think so.” I throw my hands up, a familiar frustration rushing over me. “I’m a scientist. I follow protocols every day. There’s just something about translating it to the kitchen that doesn’t compute with me. And it’s a shame, really, because I love to eat.”
“I had noticed that,” he smirks.
“Okay, big shot. Can you cook?”
He rubs his hand over his jaw and up to ruffle the hair on the back of his head. A contemplative gesture. “I like to cook, and I think I’m pretty good at it. It’s just that I’m not home long enough to make it a thing.”
“Your travel schedule is pretty brutal, hey?” It’s something that’s been on my mind as our relationship has tip-toed from fake to something more. How is this going to work in the real world? When we leave the magic of St. Lucia behind?
He takes another long sip and sighs. “Yeah. In the beginning, I loved it. I got to travel the world and be a part of a Formula 1 team. It was a literal dream come true. And don’t get me wrong, I still love it.
I still crave it. But it’s not sustainable.
You’ve seen it with Nicky. He’s choosing to go out on top because he’s found someone he wants to stand still with. ”
My heart pinches. “Have you ever found someone like that?”
His eyes sweep over me, slowly, like a long caress. “I think I have.”
I lean forward, my heart thumping now as I stare into his pretty eyes. “Nathan, what are we doing?”
He leans forward, mimicking my pose, his lips within kissing distance. “If you need to ask, then I haven’t done a good job making my intentions clear.”
I lick my dry lips, and he inches ever closer. “Your actions have,” I say, itching to ask about last night but not wanting to ruin the moment. “But I’m a woman of words. I need to know that what we’re doing now is real.”
His hand wraps around my ponytail, and he pulls me in, our lips connecting in an explosion of electricity. His kiss is leisurely, like he’s tasting me, teasing me before he deepens it. I follow along, a mere passenger swept away in the moment, in this man, in the way he worships my mouth.
“I know you want words, Kitty Kat.” His voice is hoarse. “But that kiss should tell you everything. This is real. It’s always been real.”
My brain gives up fighting this and I grab his shirt and shift him so his body is next to mine, sinking into his warm, solid body and exhaling what feels like years of loneliness from my lungs.
He wants me. This is real.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Yes?”
My breath hitches at the satisfaction gleaming on his face. “Yeah, this is real.”
We sit in a contented silence, watching the steel-drum band do its thing along with the carnival-inspired dancers. It’s another spectacle I try to commit to memory, taking dozens of photos to remember it by.
“Hey, Kitty Kat. Can I ask you something?”
I raise an eyebrow at the hesitancy in his tone. “Sure.”
“Is there a reason you don’t drink? Alcohol?” He bites his lip, eyebrows drawn down like he’s worried he’s taken a misstep.
“I’m surprised you took so long to ask.” I point to my half-empty glass of tropical fruit punch.
Not drinking is something that comes easy to me, but it seems to baffle others.
Like I can’t be a fully functioning grown-up if I don’t have a glass of wine at the end of a long day.
Those people clearly haven’t experienced the wonders of a perfect cup of tea.
“I didn’t know if it was something you’d want to talk about,” he admits with a sheepish shrug.
My stomach knots, and I take a deep breath. “My mum died of liver cancer.”
He inhales swiftly, pulling me closer and tucking me under the safety of his muscular arm. “You don’t need to talk about it.”
I smile sadly. “It’s okay. It helps to explain some things, I guess.
” Taking in a deep breath, I continue. “My mum was a casual drinker. A wine at dinner, a pint at the pub. That sort of thing. Nothing too extreme. She was fit. She exercised every day—got in her daily ten thousand steps rain or shine—she ate well and generally looked after herself. So, when she got this diagnosis, it floored her. It floored both of us. We didn’t see it coming.
At first, we were in denial. She didn’t have any of the risk factors.
She didn’t smoke, she barely drank, and there was no family history.
And yet, there it was. There it was, and it took her life. ”
Nathan wipes the tears from my face with gentle fingers, pressing soft kisses on my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips like he’s trying to soothe the pain.
“So that’s why you don’t drink? You’re worried you’re going to get it, too?”
I shrug, feeling restless. “That’s not it, really.
I know the biology of it. That I’m at risk because I have the family history.
And I know the occasional alcoholic drink won’t lead me down that path.
But in my mind, why take that chance? I want to keep my liver as healthy as possible, and alcohol damages it.
I guess it’s all twisted in my mind, and it’s one thing I can control.
Like wearing sunscreen and doing monthly breast checks. Everything helps.”
His face softens as he stares at me. “That makes perfect sense.”
“It does?”
He winces a little. “I’m sorry for coming in so drunk the other night. If I’d have known it was painful for you…”
I shake my head, an adamant ‘no.’ “Nuh uh. That’s not how this works.
I don’t want to drink, but that’s my decision.
If you want to have a beer with dinner,”—I point to his empty bottle with a smile—“or a few too many tequilas to deal with your awful older brother, then that’s what you should do.
I don’t want you changing any of that for me. ”
His throat moves in a deep swallow. “Are you sure, Kitty Kat? Because I’d give it up for you.”
My stomach does that swooping, falling thing it does whenever this man says stuff like this. “You don’t have to change one single thing for me, Nathan Jackson.”
His answering kiss is sweet and perfect. Like a full-stop on my declaration.
“Just know that I would.”
I raise a brow.
“I’d change for you, Katherine Winslow. If you asked me to. Because you’re worth it.”
My heart thumps at his words. I don’t want this man to change for me, but it’s a heady realisation knowing he would do. If I asked. Because he thinks I’m worth it.
“Nathan,” I whisper into his ear. “I think it’s time to go back.”
His eyes gleam with anticipation and so much promise. He takes my hand in his and leads me back to the waiting golf buggy. I follow along beside him, knowing this is where I want—need—to be.
Next to him.
For always.