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“Zikomo,” I repeat back to him.
Omandi nods and wags his finger at me. “You a fast learner, eh?”
I chuckle. “I have a wonderful teacher.”
Omandi nods and heads back toward the main house, where we will be dining soon. I take the garment bag into the cabin.
Inside, Odin stands near the bar cart. Amusement flashes across his face like a sudden change in the wind. His demeanor is nowhere near as frightening as it had been the first time I met him. It’s still as deep and as unsettling as swimming in the open sea, but there’s the hope of a boat waiting to rescue me now. An island not so far from my reach, which holds a myriad of secrets.
“Omandi said dinner is in half an hour,” I say, struggling to keep my cool despite my mind wanting me to remember how perfect he felt beneath my hands, his chest pressed softly against my front, his heat, his expensive cologne mixed with his natural scent. How in those few minutes while I flailed for air, I had gladly succumbed to his warmth, his presence. I was safe and cocooned in another person’s arms, not wanting to move lest the spell should break.
But it did, and now I don’t know whether I want to experience it again or leave it in the past.
He nods toward the garment bag resting over my arms. “Are you going to open it?”
Raising an eyebrow, I lay the bag on the end of the bed and pull the zip down. Silky, delicate fabric peeks through the gap. Dresses—beautiful designer dresses. Two have spaghetti straps and flow down past my knee, one silver, the other midnight blue. Another dress is a burnt orange color with one shoulder and sections cut out down the sides. The last one is made from a green and yellow flower pattern with bubbly sleeves and a skirt that stops mid-thigh. All of them are prettier than anything I have ever worn in my life. Designed by angels and stitched by fairies.
“Did you pick these?” I ask, breathless.
“Do you approve?”
I run my hands down the midnight blue dress. I’m trying really hard not to crush them to my chest and giggle. “Sure.”
“You should get ready,” Odin suggests. Nodding, I take my chosen dress and head to the bathroom sink. I spend the next hour doing my makeup—using everything in my arsenal. I paint my lips a darker shade of nude and my eyelids a masterpiece of black and brown and gray, that blend together seamlessly to give the impression I’m wearing a sultry mask, or the night sky, bare of any stars. I spray my body with the perfume bottle Dom got for me, loving the notes of orange and sandalwood and orchid. Then I fluff my hair up a bit, liking how it’s ruffled and wavy, and a little wild.
Mmmm. It seems Africa is infecting me.
It also seems there might be some alcohol still left in my system.
Several times as I work on my face, I notice Odin looking in my direction. He can’t hide it. Not when the mirror reflects the entire room back to me. My shoulders, my lower spine, my ass, feel like a target for weapons practice and Odin’s stare is the bullets. Soon, I’m arching my hips, pushing them back as my chest leans forward.
Face inflamed, I break away from my display and hide behind the canvas so I can put the dress on. As I strip down to my underwear, I start to panic that Odin can see me. And if he could, he’d be able to see that my nipples are stiff, and my skin is puckered with goosebumps.
I take the midnight blue dress—the color too exquisite to ignore—off the hanger and smooth my hands down the silky fabric. I step into it and pull the straps up onto my shoulders. It’s loose, but shapely, and the neckline falls in a low scoop, showing off my chest. I don’t have a bra that will suit it, so I go without, totally aware of how dangerous it’s going to be.
Exiting the safety of the bathroom, I grab my sparkling water and drink the whole thing. Then I make my way back to the bedroom side of the cabin.
My footsteps falter when Odin sees me. His face is calm, neutral, but the glass of whiskey rising to his mouth halts for a beat. Like he’s frozen. With one look, he sets my hesitation to flame.
Damn it.
The ache in my lower body expands, digging in deep, impossible to ignore.
“Shall we go?” I ask, putting down the empty bottle, holding his intense stare.
Odin finishes his drink in one sip. “Lead the way.”
Before we exit, I grab some strappy stilettos from my suitcase. As I bend down to put them on, my dress dips and exposes my chest. Odin shifts his stance, turns slightly toward me. The satisfied curl of my lips is difficult to smother.
“Zikomo,” I murmur as Odin gets the door for me.
“Mwalandilidwa,” he replies. I balk at him and the tiniest hint of a smirk teases at the corner of his mouth. It’s quicker than a lightning strike, almost making me think I imagined it.
But the afterglow Odin exudes isn’t fake.
And I am helpless to step out from under it.
I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve to be kidnapped and forcibly married, but right now, I’m fucking over the moon about it.
