Page 200 of Whisper

Kris tugged him down until Dawood’s head lay on his chest, right over his heart. He wrapped both arms around Dawood, cradled him close. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Dawood turned, rolling against him. Brought his body against Kris’s, their legs and hips and everything else pressed so tightly together. “Make me forget,” he breathed. “Make me forget, for tonight.” His lips closed over Kris’s.

Kris held him close, drawing him in, wrapping his arms and his legs around Dawood as Dawood crawled over and above him. His lips parted, and he kissed Dawood with everything he felt, every moment of loneliness, every night he’d cried himself to sleep, every dream he’d had of waking up with Dawood beside him once again. Every memory of his smile, his laugh. His fingers carded through Dawood’s hair as his legs fell open, as Dawood pressed against his thigh, his hip.

Yes, he wanted this, wanted Dawood. Wanted their love and their life back. He wanted Dawood to slide within him again, all the way in, until their souls merged and they drowned in each other, and all the darkness, all the pain, all the agony of every day of the past ten years, was erased. He arched his back, opened himself to Dawood. “Love me,” he breathed.

“Ya rouhi, I always have,” Dawood whispered. He slid inside Kris, into his soul, and shuddered. Kisses whispered over skin, hands, fingers, caressed. “Ana bahibak, my love. I always will.”

September 9

0710 hours

Kris woke to Dawood’s soft prayers, his calls ofAllahu Akbarbefore the rising sun. Squinting, Kris shifted, standing on wobbling legs and heading for the bathroom. He was a mess. He hadn’t been loved this much, this hard, since—

Since their trip to Hawaii. Since their wedding night. Since their new house. Every one of his best memories were Dawood.

“I’m going to shower,” he called back. “Want to join me?”

“I’ll make breakfast.” Dawood appeared in the doorway, his jeans on but unbuttoned at the waist. “You still like your eggs over easy?”

“I always like everything you make me.”

Dawood smiled and disappeared.

Kris took his time in the shower, relaxing under the heat, letting loose muscles that hadn’t relaxed in ten years. He laughed out loud, smiling into the spray. How was this possible? How did happy endings happen? How did dead husbands come back?

He sobered as he washed his hair. What was he going to tell Dan? Last night, Dawood had shoved him away, had sent a loud and clear message to Dan. How had that gone down? He had, in the ancient wisdom of an old TV program, some ’splaining to do to Dan.

This was going to hurt, no matter how it went down. But, in his heart, Dan had always wanted the best for Kris. Thathadto still be true. It had to be.

Between Dawood and Dan, there was no contest, and there never had been. His heart, his soul, had always belonged to Dawood.

He toweled off, fluffed his hair, and pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a loose sweater. He’d call out for the day, spend his time with Dawood. Figure out their plan together.

Barefoot, he padded out of the bathroom.

A plate rested on the kitchen counter. Two eggs, perfectly fried. A piece of toast. A glass of orange juice sat beside it.

But his studio was empty.

“Dawood?”

Nothing.

No.

This couldn’t be happening. His heart raced. He spun, checking the corners, peeking under the curtains. His gaze flicked back to the bed. Was Dawood hiding, or lying down, or…

The walls were closing in the faster he spun, the harder he breathed. No, no. Where had he gone?Where? Andwhy? Why had he left,again?

Kris stopped, staring at his front door.

His bag, his laptop, everything he’d brought home from the CIA, wasgone.

And so was Dawood.

Collapsing, Kris screamed, grabbing his hair, pulling on the strands, screaming and screaming until his voice went hoarse and his throat was raw. He flung himself forward, a mimicry of Dawood’s prayers only an hour before.