Page 46 of New Storm Rising
He cocked his head. “But you are clearly not.”
“That’s not the bloody poi—oh, just give me that darn bucket!”
Wordlessly, he handed me the empty container and, with the other hand, took the vomit-filled one. Which, reasonably speaking, was probably a lot more helpful than a sweet husbandly enquiry after my well-being.
But then again, who the heck said I felt like being reasonable?
“Gaargh! Rrrg! Blurgh!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the naked feet of my vomit express. Moments later, I heard a door open.
“Karim!”
“Yes, AmbroseSahib?”
“I have a bucket here. Dispose of the contents for me, will you?”
“Certainly,Sahib. I’m at your command,Sahi—Naraka de bhuta!”[15]
“No. Demons from hell have horns. This is a bucket of vomit. Dispose of it.”
Lifting my head just enough to watch the scene, I grinned. Mr Rikkard Ambrose—employer of the year. Then I quickly dived down again, stomach roiling.
Moments later, he returned and, setting the now empty bucket down next to me, held me in his arms, gently sliding my hair back.
And husband of the year, too, apparently.
After a while, my heaving subsided, and I felt myself being pulled back into a tight embrace. I stiffened momentarily—then relaxed.
“So…what now?” I murmured.
“Now I take care of matters,” he said behind me, his voice firm. “While you stay here and relax.”
“You mean until you come at evening and we can exercise?”
“Indeed. And then you rest and relax again.”
“Why?” I demanded, yet not in the usual outraged tone. I knew him. I’d heard him order me around in the past, and…this wasn’t like that. Whatever the reason was, hehada reason. One beyond wanting to be the big macho man in the house.
Not that that meant I was just going along with it!
“Why?” Taking hold of my hand, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned my face until he was gazing down at me, his eyes filled with iron determination. “Because I’m going to protect my wife! Especially now that you’re—”
Abruptly, he cut off.
My eyes narrowed. “Now that I’m what?”
“Landsick.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, indeed. Now that you are landsick.”
“You are keeping me under house arrest because I’mlandsick?”
“Indeed.”
“Don’t you ‘indeed’ me, Mister!” I growled, turning around to face him.
“Or?” he enquired, head cocked in challenge.
I smiled, giving him a nice whiff of my luxurious digestive odour. “Or I’ll give you a nice, long, deep,wetkiss.”
