by Nalini Singh
It wasn’t a dig, was just Madhuri being Madhuri. And it wasn’t as if her sister would attempt to poach Raj. Men asked to be with her—she didn’t have to steal. Stomach churning and cheeks hot at the scene surely to come, Nayna walked with her sister to take a seat at one of the tables. The centerpiece was created of tea candles and exotic blooms floating in a fishbowl, each place setting perfectly arranged.
There was no assigned seating, but every one of the six hundred guests was guaranteed a seat. This was a very expensive wedding. And the back of her neck was prickling. Just her imagination. Raj was unlikely to be staring at her when Madhuri was right next to her.
“Good evening, ladies,” a deep male voice said just as Nayna put her purse on the table.
“Hello.” Madhuri glowed up at him, her smile luminous. “I’m Madhuri, Nayna’s sister.”
“Raj.” He slipped into the chair beside Nayna, his expression as solemn as always and his body clad in a black suit that was criminal in how it highlighted his rough-edged sexiness. “This wasn’t taken, was it?”
“My mother was going to sit there.” Nayna scowled at him instead of curling up into a self-defensive ball.
“Oh, Ma can sit by me,” Madhuri said airily.
Raj nodded and stayed put, his large body emanating a heat that made Nayna want to cuddle into him and sniff at his scent from the curve of his neck. He rose to his feet only when her parents arrived after making their way through all their friends and greeting everyone. Shaking her father’s hand and smiling at her mother, he then sat back down. His own parents soon joined them at the table.
Oh. My. God. The man wasn’t just playing dirty, he had declared no-holds-barred war.
She kicked him under the table.
When he gave her a steady, stubborn look, she wanted to strangle him. Despite the black-tie-attired orchestra out front and a gifted singer crooning away Hindi classics as the guests settled in, every eye in the place was on them. Single, unattached men did not sit next to single, unattached women unless something was going on—or that was the accepted point of view. And no one would’ve missed that he’d deliberately chosen the seat next to her, not Madhuri.
Which… okay, yes, that made her want to kiss him. After she finished kicking him.
Bruised ankles or not, he stayed. And brought her chai. Then got her extra sweets. Her parents and his looked on benevolently.
And it started to dawn on her that this serious man, whom she’d never seen laughing, was playing with her. Her bones threatened to melt—but she still had to grit her teeth to control the urge to pour the piping-hot chai into his lap in punishment for his behavior.
“I wouldn’t,” he said roughly under the hubbub of conversation. “You might damage parts you like.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she murmured despite the urge to do highly inappropriate things to his spectacular body.
Music drummed through the huge hall.
The wedding was finally ready to begin two hours after the scheduled time. Which meant it was right on Indian-time. The Hindu priest—the pandit—got up to do a small prayer, then the emcee did an introduction lauding the couple. Their university degrees—in science for the groom, in finance for the bride—were heavily emphasized.
“Is it because I don’t have a degree?” Raj whispered, his breath ruffling her ear. “Is that why you only want me for my body?”
“I swear to God, I’m going to murder you in a minute.”
His responding look held the faintest hint of a smile, and it was pure provocation. She wanted to rip off his clothes and kiss him all over. Did he realize how madly arousing it was to have him crack his mature, serious shell just for her? It made her wonder if he might be like this in bed sometimes, after they got comfortable with one another.
Nayna’s toes curled. Hard.
17
Neck Kisses and the Abs of Nayna’s Downfall
Speech finally over, the wedding ceremony officially started with the pandit doing prayers. The groom sat to his left, both of them looking at the sacred fire in the middle. The groom’s family had arranged themselves on one side of the brilliantly dressed stage, complete with a wedding pavilion dripping with jeweled ropes, red carpet, and lashings of opulent red roses. All of the pavilion’s four pillars were encrusted with crystals that dazzled the eye and threw multi-hued reflections across the hall.
Nayna’s favorite part came not long after. She stood with everyone else on the emcee’s instruction, smiling up at Raj when he stepped aside and nudged her forward so she’d have a better view of the aisle down which the bride would walk. Only afterward did she realize she’d just added fuel to the fire of speculation around them.
And why did the damn man have to smell so good?
Music sounded as the orchestra launched into a beloved wedding piece and a tiny girl dressed in a glittering pink skirt that touched the floor, paired with a miniature kurta and a sparkly dupatta folded and tucked in like a sari, walked down the aisle, throwing flower petals as she went.
She was adorable.
Nayna couldn’t help but smile as the little girl did her very important task with aplomb. Behind her came the wedding party. It was all very stately, stiff and expensive silk saris and dark suits. Nayna much preferred it when the wedding party danced in. She’d have that at her own wedding… if she trusted any man enough to tie herself to him for life. If she trusted Raj. Because he was the only man she could now imagine in the role.
The bride’s special music filled the air.
Exquisite in her designer red wedding garments, Pinky kept her eyes uncharacteristically lowered in a facsimile of meekness as she carried the garland of flowers she’d place over the groom’s head. Gold and red bangles covered her forearms, a heavy gold necklace circled her throat and dripped down her front, hand jewelry highlighted her slender bone structure, and she wore a traditional nose ring attached to her hair by a delicate chain.
Dramatic gold earrings brushed her shoulders.
Her makeup was exquisite and her veil translucent red dotted with tiny mirrors that flashed fire. It had a border of gold velvet and when she passed, Nayna saw that her hair was dressed with flowers under the veil.
She sighed at the beauty and romance of it.
A warm breath against her ear. “Poor groom,” Raj rumbled under the hubbub of oohs and aahs over the bride. “By the time he gets all that jewelry off, he won’t have the energy to get started on the outfit.”
Nayna elbowed him. And came up against rock-hard abs.
Her fingers tingled again.
Thankfully they got to sit down after the garlands were exchanged onstage, and Raj had to behave because everyone had gone quiet. Only once the prayers began again did people slowly begin to talk. As Nayna had told Ísa when her best friend accompanied her to a family wedding, talking wasn’t considered rude except at certain points.
Indian weddings were long, some more so than others. It was a big social affair.
She got up midway through to stretch her legs—partly to get away from the gorgeous man who’d decided to play dirty and partly to go pay her respects to the grandmothers. Her own aji sat with them. “How’s the gang of grannies?” she asked after kissing her grandmother on the cheek.
The grannies cackled and pinched her cheeks. And congratulated her on her “strapping” young man. Nayna didn’t even attempt a protest—no one would believe her. Instead, after spending some time sitting with her grandmother and her grandmother’s friends, she got up and looked over toward her table. She had a knot deep inside her because, regardless of his public display of intent, part of her expected to see Raj talking to and falling for her sister, but while Madhuri was talking to a man, it wasn’t Raj.
He was nowhere to be seen.
The knot turned into a different kind of tension. Men left alone with Madhuri tended to capitalize on their luck. But not only was Raj not capitalizing on Nayna being missing, he’d spent the entire night irritating her, conc
entrating on her… playing with her.
“Nayna, beta,” her grandmother said just as two giggling children ran past, playing tag among the tables. “Will you get me some more chai?”
“Of course.” Nayna asked if any of the other grandmothers would like another cup too. She got six affirmative answers.
Leaving them with a smile, she avoided a toddler dressed in a gorgeous little suit who was crawling happily away from his mother, then headed to the small kitchen area in back of the massive event space that the wedding decorators had turned into a glorious wonderland of shimmer and glitz. As the catering staff had a much larger kitchen area to themselves, no one would care about her being back there. Especially since there was already a bit of a party going on outside and around the corner from the kitchen.
A large wooden tanoa, the traditional four-legged Fijian vessel made for holding kava, took pride of place on the narrow table. The men, many of whom she knew, smiled and asked her where her father was; Gaurav Sharma was known to enjoy a bowl of the cold drink made from the powdered root of a tropical plant.
“I’m sure he’ll be by,” she said with a smile. “He’d never miss a Kava Konference.”
They chuckled and continued on mingling around the beverage that didn’t cause drunkenness but a surplus of which could make people excessively mellow and a little dopey. At weddings like this, the latter wasn’t a problem. It was more about socializing than serious kava consumption.
One of the oldest of the men jokingly offered her a drink, the bowl he held in his wrinkled hand created from the half shell of a coconut polished until it gleamed a smooth and striated brown. “No thanks, Uncle, I don’t want my tongue to go numb.”
Good-natured laughter followed her as she slipped into the kitchen. Surprisingly, it was empty. A large kettle of tea sat on the stove, still hot, and when Nayna lifted the lid to peek inside, she caught hints of tea leaves in the mid-brown liquid that wasn’t too milky but not too weak either. Obviously the Mehras’ caterers had been briefed on the importance of a continued supply of good chai—none of this teabag-in-water rubbish as her aji would say, proper chai with boiled milk and loose-leaf tea.
After placing cups on a tray, tea-leaf strainer to the ready—all of which she found in a neat grouping of supplies set to one side of the room for just that purpose—she went to pick up the kettle.
A big male hand, marked by the nicks and scars of hard work, came around her and took over the task. “It’s heavy,” Raj said, his other hand touching her lower back. “You really like tea, huh?”
“Funny man.” Butterflies fluttering inside her, she moved the tray across so he could pour.
When he shifted to press a kiss to the back of her neck before carrying on in his task, she shivered but didn’t protest.
“Meet me tonight?” he asked, the playfulness gone, to be replaced by that intense concentration on her and only her that made her throat go dry, her breasts ache.
“The wedding will go late.” Mind a little fuzzy, she nonetheless located some sugar and added the right amounts to the right cups. At least the cooks hadn’t already dumped a ton of sugar in the tea—that was the usual modus operandi at mass gatherings.
Going behind her, Raj put his hands on her hips, his fingers scraping over skin exposed by her sari. Nayna was still trying to process the influx of sensation when he kissed her nape again. “I want to kiss you properly.”
Nayna’s hand trembled as she closed the sugar container. “I’ll message you,” she said, her tongue in knots.
Moving away right before someone else entered the kitchen, Raj picked up the tray and carried it out. Nayna knew she was adding fuel to the fire, but she walked beside him—someone had to remember whose tea was whose. Her grandmother and the other grandmothers all cooed over Raj playing her knight. She passed out the tea as fast as possible… then took the tray to return to the kitchen.
“Oh no, please stay,” she said to Raj, a sweet smile on her face. “Aji and her friends are really enjoying your company.” At which point she abandoned him to the granny interrogation. Raj Sen was proving to be a stubborn, immovable force of a man, but he had to learn that he was never going to win all their battles.
He didn’t make it back to the table for a half hour. “I feel as if I just escaped shark-infested waters,” he murmured to her, his arm on the back of her seat.
She knew she should tell him to remove that arm, that it was sending all kinds of signals, but what she said was “That bad?”
Raj didn’t reply, his attention on her gaze. “What is it?”
So damn perceptive. He’d learn all her secrets if she wasn’t careful. “What if it doesn’t work out?” she whispered. “All this…” The public declaration that no one could mistake, the expectation.
“I’ll be the bad guy,” he told her, the words a promise. “I will not allow anything to blow back on you. If I have to, I’ll make up a secret girlfriend so everyone thinks I’m a shit.”
For some strange reason, she trusted him to do exactly that, to shield her against the gossip and the whispers regardless of the personal cost. “I don’t know, it might be interesting for me to have a scandalous reputation.”
“You won’t,” Raj said, his gaze steady and his voice determined. “No matter what I have to do.”
“Raj.” Her father’s voice. “Jitesh was telling me about your latest project.”
Switching focus and giving her much-needed breathing room, his arm no longer on the back of her chair, Raj began to talk about the job. She listened and heard a passion in his voice that said he loved his work. He worked hard, and he found pleasure in creating and in giving his clients what they desired.
Nayna had the certainty he’d be as dedicated to giving a woman pleasure. Raj wasn’t the kind of man who left anything unfinished. He’d probably consider it a failure on his part if his lover didn’t orgasm.
Nayna shivered inside… and continued to enjoy his proximity. Until he disappeared an hour before the end of the ceremony. Leaving her to deal with the fallout.
“Well, Shilpa,” the aunties said to her mother, “you didn’t tell us your little Nayna was engaged.”
“It’s not official yet,” her mother said, sanguine now that Raj had put his cards on the table. “You know young girls these days, they want the ‘proper’ romantic proposal.”
The aunties all nodded like a flock of wise hens.
She really was going to murder him.
18
Raj Discovers Sexting Is A Thing
Nayna abandoned her plan to get back at Raj for his quick exit when her grandmother suddenly started feeling unwell soon after she and Nayna arrived home. Her parents had been invited by the Mehras to an after-party that was no-offspring-allowed, so it was just the two of them.
“Let’s go,” Nayna said at once when her grandmother complained of chest pains. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
She texted Raj from the emergency room while her grandmother was being examined.
I’ll meet you, he immediately replied.
Wait—I’ll see what they say first. I might have to ask you to get my parents and bring them here. I don’t want them driving this late when they’ll be worried.
In the end, it turned out Aji just had a bad case of indigestion.
“All that wedding food,” her grandmother muttered as Nayna helped her into bed. “I’m going on a diet tomorrow. Can you tell Tawhiri I won’t be able to go for our morning walk?”
It took Nayna a minute to work out that Tawhiri must be Mr. Hohepa. “I will, don’t worry.”
“And your Raj?” Aji mumbled. “Did you tell him?”
“Yes, Aji.” She’d messaged him the instant they found out, then told him to get some sleep.
I’ll probably fall asleep on you if we meet now, she’d written.
His responding comment had been Raj-solemn. If you need me, call me. Whatever the time.
Nayna had stared at those words for a long time.
What would it be like, to have Raj permanently at her back? The idea of it was breathtakingly tempting, but as Ísa worried about Sailor Bishop having time for her, Nayna worried what place she’d have in Raj’s life long term. She was a priority now, but what role would she have as the years moved on?
Nayna had been last on everyone’s priorities for a long time.
It hurt her heart to think of being delegated to the bottom of the heap by Raj.
“You’re overthinking things, Nayna,” she whispered. “You promised to give him a chance, so worry about the rest later.”
Since it was already four thirty and—thanks to Aji—Nayna knew Mr. Hohepa was usually up around five, she wandered into her room and took her time finally removing her wedding finery and makeup. She’d gotten a few interested looks in the ER from the walking wounded, but she hadn’t stuck out the most. That honor had gone to a man in a pink tutu, paper crown, and pink tank top, his black chest hair sticking out everywhere and a bloodied towel held up to his nose.
A bachelor party gone very bad.
The light came on in Mr. Hohepa’s kitchen. Time for her to play messenger for these two lovebirds. After she did the promised task—and convinced Mr. Hohepa that his obviously adored Heera was quite fine—she finally fell into bed. But she couldn’t sleep, was still awake at five thirty when her parents finally stumbled home.
“Shh,” her mother said with a giggle. “We’ll wake Nayna and Amma.”
Her father’s deeper tones answered with something unintelligible, but her mother giggled again before the master bedroom door shut.
“My parents are getting more sexing than I am. The universe is now openly mocking me,” Nayna muttered to the ceiling before tugging up her light summer-weight duvet and turning firmly onto her side.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she dreamed of kisses on the nape and big hands cupping her breasts… and a man she couldn’t reach no matter how painfully she stretched out her hands.