by Zee Monodee
The man stopped his large figure behind Josh.
Still squatting in front of the children, Diya peeked up for a first glance of him.
Brown trousers covered his long legs—her interior designer’s eye for fabric would say a very expensive blend of cashmere and merino wool. Wool, in this hot weather? Seriously?
She craned her neck to take in his tall body and broad chest. He’d rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows, revealing big, powerful-looking hands and strong forearms dusted in dark hairs. And that fabric, the brilliance and lustre of that white yarn … It had to be special Giza 87 Egyptian cotton, made for exclusive high-end brand Thomas Nelson. The shirt was tucked, so she couldn’t see the trademark gusset on the side seam, but she’d bet her life on it.
A tense, corded neck lay visible beneath the open collar of the shirt, with a slightly square chin above it. Again, those collar points didn’t lie—branded stays ensured they remained flat and pointy. Yep, definitely Thomas Mason. And definitely loaded, too.
She continued her perusal of his face, suddenly even more intrigued by this rich type who’d just settled next door.
Strong jaw, and chiselled, taut, handsome features. Deep-set grey eyes, very much like the elder boy’s, squinted at her beneath thick eyebrows the same hue as the neatly trimmed dark hair on his head.
Diya gaped. This hulking Adonis was her neighbour?
He has offspring to boot, whispered a little voice.
She snorted under her breath. Just her luck, again. He was taken. What is it with this weekend from Hell?
“You?”
The word rolled off the Greek god’s tongue … and the British accent and disbelieving tone dripping with spite jolted her like an electric current.
This man, and the savage who’d hit her car the day before, were the same person.
The surprise zinged through her—she gasped and brought her hand up to cover her mouth.
In doing so, she lost her balance and toppled over onto her arse to lie flat on her back. Pain from hitting the hard marble erupted all along her spine, and she caught herself before the back of her head smashed into the floor. Quick save, and thank goodness most of the broken glass lay in her flat, and not in the lobby. She’d have been in for some major injury, otherwise.
“Are you okay, miss?” a little voice asked.
Would this nightmare ever end? She must appear like an undignified heap, and there went all the leverage she could bring to this meeting. Humiliation piled onto her anger at being caught in such a stupid position, in front of him, no less.
“No, I’m not okay.” She glared at the oaf. “It’s all because of you, you beast!”
“Dad?” Matthew asked. “What’s he done?”
Confirmation he was the boys’ father. Great. Could something, anything, go right for her?
“Oh, forget it,” she said as her voice broke.
Shoot, she wouldn’t cry, would she?
“Of all the people in the world ...”
He’d spoken the words softly. The disbelief in them wiped away her feelings of self-pity, and hurt like a stab, in the same go.
Was he rude by nature, or did he always itch for a fight? Either way, she wouldn’t let him off the hook.
“What?” she asked. “Go on. What were you gonna say?”
“Nothing,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
“It’s not nothing. So don’t be a chicken. Say it.”
He remained stubbornly silent.
She glowered up at him. “So?”
He tightened his jaw. “You’re the one person I’d hoped to never meet again.”
This had to strike beyond rude. What a bastard.
Outrage at his insult filled her, but the distaste for him and his caveman-like ways won the battle.
“Same here, mate,” she spat out.
“You know each other?” Matthew asked as he peered back and forth at them.
“Yeah,” they both growled.
*
Trent couldn’t tear his attention from the girl sprawled on the marble floor of the lobby of his new building.
God, please don’t let her live here.
“The least you could do is help me up, Mr. Gentleman.”
After a quick glimpse at her, he shook his head in exasperation, more at his own lack of manners than at being caught being discourteous. What was it about this girl that rubbed him the wrong way? She had the knack of bringing out the worst in him.
Gritting his teeth, he held his hand out. As soon as she grabbed it, he pulled her up.
Bad mistake. He’d pulled too hard. How could he have guessed anyone but a child would be so light? Her slim body landed with a muffled thud against him, and instinctively, he wrapped his hands around her, clutching her waist.
Blimey, she really was tiny. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, and she all but disappeared beneath his frame, being so slender. His first impression had been right—he could span her small waist with his hands, have his thumbs touch on her flat stomach. A sprite, that’s what she was. Something ethereal, coming straight out of a fantasy.
Yet, the nerve-endings on his fingers told his brain another story. She was real, all right, very real. Small she might be, but delicate softness covered her frame.
He lowered his gaze to her face and hitched in a breath when her eyes darkened and she parted her lips. As if caught in a spell, he found himself travelling his hands to the small of her back. One palm ended up on the curve of her hip, pressing against the soft flesh covering her hipbone.
Feminine. Womanly. Grown up, all right, and not at all a child.
The heat from her body flooded his palm, scalded his skin.
How long since he’d last held a woman?
Too long ...
The thought crashed into his head, with the effect of an ice-cold splash on his drugged senses.
What on Earth was he doing, and with her?
He jerked his hands back, abruptly releasing her.
“Thanks,” she said in an ironic tone. “I could’ve fallen again.”
Her words sounded strained, not imbued with any harshness, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Had she, too, been unsettled by their physical encounter?
His speculations morphed to incredulity when he took note of the huge furry monstrosities on her feet. “What in Heaven’s name are those?”
“Comfortable slippers. Thank goodness I had them on, or I’d have cut my soles open with all the smashed glass in my hallway.”
Smashed glass? He threw a quick peek at her front door. The glass pane bore a gaping hole, and coincidentally, his children happened to be in the lobby. A glance at Josh and the football in his hands confirmed his suspicions.
Why had he bought them the damn ball? They’d broken their record, this time, causing damage to the property in less than twenty-four hours.
“Haven’t I told you not to play with this stupid ball inside? Now look what you’ve done to that door,” he barked as he skewered them with a glare.
Two stricken pairs of eyes stared back at him, and silence rang heavy in the air. Matthew’s face grew pale, and Josh’s lower lip trembled.
“Thorry, Daddy. Won’t happen again,” his youngest son said.
“Better not,” he snapped.
With tears spilling down his cheeks, Josh started sobbing.
Guilt and anger at his irate behaviour filled Trent with an acid burn in all his cells, and he closed his eyes again.
A sharp sting radiated from his arm, at the same time a ripping ‘thwack’ resounded. He peered at the imprint of fingers on his arm, and then at Diya who shot flames at him with her dark eyes.
Wait a second. Had she just slapped him?
“What sort of obtuse moron are you to yell at a little kid like that?”
With the cleverly delivered insult, she walked up to Josh and knelt in front of him.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t cry.” She reached out an
d enclosed the little boy in a hug. “I’m sure your daddy didn’t mean it.”
She threw Trent a withering glance. “Right?”
Exactly what he needed, a parenting lesson from Miss Know-it-all.
But as much as he wanted to dismiss her, she did have a point. He’d been rude and abrupt with Josh. Not at all like him to shout at his children in such a manner. Blimey. He lost all sense around her.
But he had more important matters to settle. Trent stepped towards his younger son and knelt.
“I’m sorry, Josh. I didn’t mean to shout.”
The little boy loosened his grip on her neck.
“I’m thorry, too, Daddy,” he said in a sob-wracked voice.
Intense love and tenderness filled Trent’s heart, making his chest ready to burst, and he pulled the boy into a hug.
“I was scared for you,” he said in a calm, composed tone. “What if you’d hurt yourself? Didn’t I tell you to be very careful? I guess I lost it because you guys didn’t listen to me.”
Matthew’s voice broke through the moment.
“Our mistake, Dad. We won’t make it again.”
He lifted his head and nodded at his elder son. “You better apologise to Miss Hemant, as well. The damage is to her property.”
“Sorry, miss,” Matthew said.
“Thorry, mith,” Josh said. “Your mummy ain’t gon’be mad?”
Trent chuckled softly, and he couldn’t squelch the smile breaking on his lips. Even Josh had noticed she could pass for a kid.
The sudden and rich sound of her bubbly laughter erupted … filling him with a strange quiver.
How long had it been since he’d heard such spontaneous mirth coming from someone older than ten? Or from a woman?
Much too long.
Stop thinking about the past. He had no desire to wander down the path named ‘reminiscence.’
Her voice broke through his thoughts.
“I’m sure my mummy would mind if she lived here. Thank goodness she doesn’t, though,” she said with a conspiratorial note dipping her voice over the last words.
“You live alone?”
Blimey, what business of his was it to know that? She could have a boyfriend. A husband. Lucky bloke— He shook his head.
“I mean, is it safe?” The question reeked of his desperation to cover his lapse.
“It’s perfectly safe, I can assure you.”
Distaste dripped from her words, and the harshness in her cold tone irritated him.
Why was she so touchy about his inquiry? He was worried for her safety, for Heaven’s sake. And didn’t women her age live on their own the world over? He had to recover the upper hand. Quick.
“No one you can drive crazy this way, I bet.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Grow up.”
The sudden urge to burst out laughing zinged through him. A chuckle escaped, then he quelled his hilarity.
And seriously, who was behaving more like a child between them?
Yet, he’d probably provoked her with his line of inquiry, and he refrained from the urge to reply back. Things could get ugly real fast when the two of them engaged in verbal battles. Not to mention how she hit when the urge struck her. He’d never raised his hand to a woman, and he wouldn’t start today. She’d have too much of a strategic advantage, in that case.
“So, what do we do about your door?” he asked in an effort to change the topic.
She sighed as she glanced back at the broken glass. “Will you foot the cost for the repairs?”
“It’s the least I can do,” he replied. “You’ll find people to do it?”
She shrugged. “I’ll get my men to.”
Her men?
He raised an eyebrow in question. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m an interior designer. I’ll get my workers to do it.”
Trent let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Her previous answer had triggered all sorts of weird scenarios in his mind.
But what did it matter to him what she did with her life? He needed a good kick. It’d been too long since he’d last had any encounter with a woman outside of a professional realm, and his rustiness certainly showed in his recent behaviour with Diya Hemant.
“Let me know the cost as soon as possible. I’ll take care of it.” He glanced at his sons. “The boys will help you clean up.”
“Thanks, but it’s okay. Wouldn’t want them to get hurt. I’ll take care of that.”
The gratitude and kindness in her words sounded genuine, and warmth flooded him where prickly irritation had lingered in his perception of her. She could be very appealing when she became civil.
Bad line of thought. He needed to win his control back. She shouldn’t keep getting the upper hand on his emotions.
“We’d better get going.” He clutched a boy’s hand in each of his. “There can only be disaster when you’re around me,” he said in her direction.
“Speak for you,” she replied with a huff, dark eyes narrowed. “You’re the jinx.”
*
Trent Garrison held her gaze for a long moment, but then, without a word, he nodded and moved away.
Why hadn’t he been baited by her last comment? From the little she knew of him, he never let a challenge pass him by. The exhilaration that had filled her depleted her energy as it left in a whoosh. Damn the man. He intrigued her, stimulated her, and brought out the very worst harridan inside her. What did he have that triggered her off so easily?
He crossed the breadth of the wide lobby with a few steps of his long legs, the children trudging behind him.
At the door of their flat, Josh stopped. “Bye, Mith Diya.”
What a cute lisp.
“Bye, sweetie.” She waved back.
Matthew gave her a shy grin and waved, too. Their father didn’t bother to glance at her again as he closed the door.
Better she forget about him. He represented nothing more than an aggravation.
Diya spun around and took her first good assessment of the damage. The hole in the glass gave a clear view of the inside of her hallway.
Broken shards crunched under her feet as she stepped inside towards the laundry room, in search of the stiff broom. Shedding the slippers next to the washing machine, she eased her feet into the plastic flip-flops she wore for cleaning and headed back to the hall. After sweeping the glass, she dumped the pieces in the trash and then placed a large piece of cardboard held together with Cello-tape as a makeshift cover on the side panel.
Eventful weekend, she thought as she walked into her bedroom, leaving the sandals on the threshold. What was it they said? When it rains, it pours? Lord knew she could adopt the statement as the tag line for her life. The last thing she needed would be her mother on her case again. When would that harassment ever stop?
When you’re married to a ‘proper, suitable’ boy.
She balked at the thought and grimaced at her reflection in the antique standing mirror beside her wardrobe.
Her cell phone rang, and she cursed upon checking the caller ID. What to do? Cut the call, or give in?
Easier to give in and fight her stand.
“Mum, I’m not marrying Auntie Vimla’s nephew.”
“Wise decision,” said a male voice on the other end.
Diya grinned and flopped down on the oversize quilt covering her bed. “Daddy! It’s so good to hear you!”
Prem Hemant chuckled. “I knew your mother was on your back again. She hasn’t been still for one second today.”
She rolled her eyes as she flipped onto her back. “Remind me again how you’ve managed to live for forty years with her?”
Her exasperated query brought a laugh from the other end.
“Well, darling, as they say, matches are made in Heaven. Your mother has some good going for her, too, though you girls never get to see it.”
“Lucky you,” she replied with a smirk.
“Forget me, though. I saw WideView today. Quite a coup
you girls made with the spread.”
Diya brightened and sat up. “What did you think of it?”
Her heart hammered as she waited for his reply. She valued her father’s objective comments about his daughters’ lives. He’d always striven to take them out of the cotton-world existence his name and acquired fortune could’ve provided them, pushing them to make something of themselves through their own means.
“You’ve done well. For a start. Now, you need to bank on this and really make a name for yourselves out there.” He paused. “And please, forget all your mum’s talks of marriage. You’ve still got your whole life in front of you. When the right man comes, you’ll be ready.”
Somehow, she’d always known that truth, had clung to it, even. But lately, everything seemed to be conspiring against her to get her to conform.
“It’s not easy to ignore, you know.”
“Dee, sweetie, all your life, you’ve never played by the rules. Why start now? Is the prospect of your twenty-fifth birthday such a decisive point?”
She let him continue.
“Diya, of all my girls, you’re the one who’s most like me. I’d hate for you to throw all your dreams away just for the sake of one of society’s whims. Let it go, okay?”
“I’ll try,” she replied softly.
Everything he said made so much sense. A twinge of nostalgia and longing invaded her heart. She’d had to let go of much of his precious advice when she’d moved out. Still, not like her father stuck around so much, always busy giving talks and conferences on cardiac surgery, running from one country to another, pausing for a brief ‘transit’ stay with his family.
“How come you got hold of the phone?” she asked in hopes of loosening the heavy atmosphere.
“Your mother went off to see Zubeida. Probably to cry it out how you refused yet another proposal.”
Auntie Zubeida was her parents’ next-door neighbour, and one of her mother’s best friends. “Poor Mum.”
Her father chuckled. “Anyway, sweetheart, I’m leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow. Will be going through London. Want me to bring you anything?”
Diya bit her lip. Here it was—her father on the go again. None of them had ever had him there for long enough.
“Can’t you take Mum along with you?”
“She refused to come. Or else, I swear I’d have gotten her off your back.” He laughed again.