I Am The Wind by Sarah Masters Read Free Book Online Page B

face. “I could kill for a cup of tea.”
    He glances at me, the look asking whether that was just a random comment or whether I had plans to knife him in the back while he’s filling the kettle.
    “I’ll make it,” I say. “Gives me a chance to find out where everything’s kept.”
    He smiles, shoulders sagging, though he doesn’t fully relax them.
    I get it. I do.
    In the kitchen—all modern appliances; I hadn’t expected anything less—I turn the tap and fill the black-and-chrome kettle. Poke about in cupboards for the teabags because he’s gone for the minimalistic approach. No tea, coffee, or sugar caddies here. I find the spoons in the draw under the sink unit and stop myself from turning around to see what he’s doing. I need him to see me casually working away, no tension in my muscles, no jerky movements. If I turn, he’ll probably think I’m keeping tabs on him, waiting for him to let his guard down before I streak out of here as if my arse is on fire.
    Tea’s made. Now I turn around, a steaming cup in each hand. He’s sitting, folded arms resting on the tabletop, cheek against them. He’s watching me. Damn, he looks so weary, like his tears have worn him the fuck out.
    “Here,” I say, passing a cup to him, no idea whether he prefers his tea with milk and sugar but I’d added it all the same. I sit, smile, and have a sip of mine. It’s been ages since I did something for myself, and it didn’t feel weird doing it in someone else’s place either. It’s like I belong here, that this is home.
    “Thanks.” He lifts his head as though it’s heavy and takes hold of his cup. “I…I’m sorry. So sorry.”
    “Hey, it’s okay. Forget it. I have.” I sip again. Fuck, that’s hot.
    He cocks his head. “How can you say that, be like this after what I’ve done?”
    “Told you. I’m staying. Not getting rid of me.”
    “This is fucked up.” He frowns.
    “No, we’re fucked up, but who gives a shit?”
    He laughs then, shaking his head, and I hope he’s started to let himself believe just a little bit.
    “We’ll drink this,” I say, “and then you can show me the rest of the house. Only if you want to, though.”
    “I want.”
    We drink in silence, watching each other, me taking in the sight of him and how that sight makes me feel, wondering if he’s doing the same thing. It’s like we don’t need words. Both of us have said a lot tonight, possibly more than we’ve ever told anyone before, and now we’re the keepers of one another’s secrets.
    It feels good.
    With the tea finished, I purposely rise first. He glances up, body immediately going rigid, his eyes clouding with what I can only assume is fear.
    “The rest of the house?” I raise my eyebrows again.
    Alfie stands, the size of him massive compared to me, and I wonder at how amazing it is that such a big man, one who looks like nothing has ever hurt him, can be a softy inside. He leads the way up an uncarpeted oak staircase—at least I’m guessing it’s oak—and shows me a white-tiled bathroom with a shower to die for. I can see us both in there, wet, washing each other, fucking in the steam.
    It’s something to look forward to and beats the hose in the cellar any day.
    He opens his bedroom door, and I picture him in that king-size bed all alone, crying nights because his world was a pile of shit and he couldn’t find any way to fix it. I reach out for his hand, relieved when his fingers wrap around mine.
    His taste matches mine—funny, that—his cream comforter edged with a border of chocolate brown silk something I’d choose. The pillows look so puffy I could lay my head on them right now and fall asleep in his arms, but I have a plan that recently came to mind, something that could possibly wait, but if we don’t tackle this now we’ll just keep putting it off.
    “Bloody nice,” I say. “The whole house is nice. I need to find myself a job if I’m staying here, help pay the mortgage.”
    “You don’t