Page 8 of My Monster, My Choice
“You didn’t trick yourself into the unknown by accepting my kiss, Christina.” I grin gently at her. “Mikhail was just planting the seed.”
“But…but…”
“A mate is just a way of saying you’re mine. I’m yours. We don’t follow an official marriage ceremony like you do on your planet.”
“So this doesn’t have anything to do with the Match Program?”
I shake my head. “No.”
A sense of relief floods through her and I tilt my head, wondering about that. Does she fear the mating? The program? Perhaps it will set her at ease to visit Tera tomorrow.
“I’d like to be your liaison while you live here in Eden. Let me?” I offer because I sense that she will be much more amenable to a relaxed relationship.
She nods.
“But rest assured. I think you are the most beautiful female on the planet. I want nothing more than to get to know you.” I take her hand and kiss it.
Her lips part as I kiss her hand and I know she feels it also—this deep, magnetic pull between us. The sexual awareness.
“Come, beautiful. Let me take you to lunch.”
I don’t let go of the hand I’m holding, the hand I just kissed. No, I keep it clasped gently in my right hand, across my body, as I steer her with my left hand at the small of her back toward the main house.
The first thing we hear is Kenny’s laughter. The little male sounds happy here.
“Mum! Mum,” he calls out. “Jaire…he tella me we can see Terr tomorrow! An’ a Ree, too. But see her ona phone.” He holds his hand up to his ear, mimicking a phone device, I imagine.
“Yes, baby,” Christina says in her smooth, sultry voice. “We’ll have to get to bed early so we can be back here tomorrow for the visit.”
“I wakka up early, mum,” he says in a bragging voice. “Always.”
She winces and whispers to me. “Sometimes it would be nice if he’d sleep in. Just once.”
“Christina! Over here,” Anya says, where she sits at a table with Daphne, Sydney, and Lyssa.
I scowl at Anya because there is just one chair—enough room for Christina. She snickers, knowing full well she’s cockblocked me, as she looks down at her soup and sandwich.
“I will get you a plate,” I tell Christina as I hold the chair out for her to sit.
She sits gracefully and I scoot her to the table, ignoring the wide mouth of Sydney.
“Eat fast,” I hiss at Sydney, ignoring the scamp as she rolls her eyes at me. The youngest member of the dance troupe and I have bonded over watching romance bloom for others.
I head to the kitchen to get a sandwich for Christina and heap a bowl full of the soup gently simmering on the stove. Taking a small plate, I load some fruit onto it. Then I pause. She may be hungry. I add another sandwich to the plate.
“What’s yourmamandrink?” I ask her son, who is at the counter assembling sandwiches for Elizabeth to flip onto the grill.
“Mum likka tea,” he says, scrunching his nose.
“Lemon? Sugar?”
“Lemon,” he agrees and shakes his head when I point to the sugar. “Mum not likka that.”
I stick a spoon into the soup and a fork into the fruit.
The boy giggles like he thinks I’m not going to be able to carry everything. But my front tentacles are quite nimble, and I pick up the drink and plate of fruit with those, then use my hands for the sandwich and soup.
“Wow.” The little male looks impressed, and I wink at him as I carry everything away.