Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(113)

He grunted. “Babe, you have to get where I’m coming from.”

I did.

He stalked toward me and that familiar tweak hit my stomach. He did it for me. Totally. And completely.

He was in bare feet and walked soundlessly on the hardwood floors. There was a bit of sand on the bridge of his feet. He’d been out on the beach while I showered and got ready.

He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of me. He cupped the back of my neck and shivers trickled across my skin. “You look stunning. And, yeah, hate pink, except when you’re in it.” His fingers tightened, bunching my hair in his hand. “I want to tear this pink off you, too. So, sitting and having dinner with your dad, my f*ckin’ Taldeburu who hates me, while I can think of nothing else but tearing that dress off you… not going to work for me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” His brows lifted. “Much,” I added then slid my hands up his chest. “Control and patience, hon. You can tear it off after dinner.”

“Don’t have either of those.”

I may have changed a lot, but Kilter was still Kilter. Impatient and his control questionable, probably a reason Waleron wasn’t pleased about us being here together. And tonight was going to be his ultimate test of control, not because of the dress—okay, maybe a little would be the dress—but mostly because of Waleron.

He took my left hand, lifted it, and then slid my ring finger into his mouth right up to the diamond ring he’d given me two weeks after we arrived here. It had been a simple proposal. Who was I kidding? It hadn’t been a proposal. It was more of a ‘You’re going to marry me.’

I’d been in the bathroom brushing my teeth first thing in the morning. He came up behind me and placed the ring on the counter. There was no box, no ribbon, no nothing—simple and to the point. Then he put his hands on my hips and leaned in to me.

He kissed the side of my neck while I still had a mouthful of toothpaste and stared, shocked at the gleaming, gorgeous ring in front of me. Then he told me I was going to marry him on the beach in ten minutes and to hurry up.

I choked on the toothpaste, swallowed half of it, and managed to spit out the rest. I stared at him through the reflection in the mirror. He was already watching me. No smile. Not even a twitch. His brows were low and his fingers squeezed my hips before he turned me around, picked me up, and placed me on the counter.

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.