Page 85 of Pomegranates and Olive

I turn to climb back onto the jetty. “I think I had better leave.”

“Aslan and I are just finishing off the last of the bourbon. Would you like to join us?”

I make no move to stop my disembarkation.

“Please stay.”

I step on the first stair to leave.

“Please.”

My chest tightens at the anguish in his voice.

Truth be told, I don’t want to leave him, despite his antics with the cousin bimbos. In fact, I want to do the exact opposite of leave him, even though the man confuses the hell out of me. I think back to some of the sweet and, let’s face it, quite intense things he’s said to me, then I look at my lipstick-covered thumb. I just can’t seem to sort out what kind of game he’s playing.

I turn abruptly, grab the glass out of his hand and gulp down the burning liquid, grimacing in the darkness. “Tell me, does Aslan the asshole cat like bourbon?”

“Not particularly, but he’s indulging me. We’re getting our sea legs.”

“Right, of course, you’re about to sail off into the sunset, aren’t you?”

“And I have it straight from the horse’s ass that you’re off to Verona.”

His tone is sarcastic, which makes me think he’s genuinely bothered that he thinks I’ll be leaving tomorrow with Luca.

Interesting.

But I don’t want to talk about, or even think about Luca right now.

I sit beside him. “What did you say to me on the boat today?”

“I said a lot of things.”

“When we were climbing out of the water, you whispered something to me in Turkish. What did you say?”

“Biz birlikte olmak için yaratilmisiz.”

“Yes, that. What does it mean?”

His eyes are bleak as they travel from my face to my neck and linger on my breasts, before snapping back and locking with mine. “We were made to be together.”

I try to find my voice but it doesn’t matter because I don’t have a witty comeback anyway. What do you say to that?

Minutes pass in an uncomfortable silence until I can think of something to say. “I meant to thank you, you know?”

“For what?”

“The seat under my olive tree.”

“That was the moment.” He clears the gruffness from his voice.

“Sorry?”

“That was the moment I decided to make you mine.”

“What are you? Some kind of caveman saying you’re going to ‘make me yours’?” How does something so offensive still sound so sexy when it comes out of Deniz’s lips. “Is that supposed to make me drop at your feet and beg you to sleep with me?”

“Everything is an argument with you, isn’t it?” He mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to ear. I scowl at him but he puts his hands up in surrender. “No, no. When we sat under your olive tree I realised at that moment that I wanted to sit under your olive tree with you every day for the rest of our lives.”

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