by Alisha Rai
Actually, the fiery part may be contact with a trace amount of pepper remaining on his face.
Nope, it was him.
His lips moved against hers. They were dry and full, the scrape from the stubble on his face scratching her upper lip. She tilted her head and shyly opened her lips. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. His naked, warm shoulder. She petted the skin, stroking now, grateful he’d removed his shirt.
His reaction was explosive. Her eyes flew open when he shoved away from her, nearly upending his chair as he came to his feet. “I’m going to go shower.”
That was maybe the last thing she’d expected him to say. She blinked stupidly at him. “What?”
“I’m going to shower. Worked out. Sprayed. Need a shower.” He nodded rapidly, and with every giant step he took as he moonwalked from her, her soul filled with dread. He bumped into the wall and pivoted, his feet moving only slightly too slow to be called a full-out sprint from the room.
Dear Lord. She may not have a great deal of experience, but a man running away after a kiss wasn’t a great sign, was it?
Her heart sank and she thumped down into the seat he’d vacated, staring at the empty opening of the kitchen. “No, no, no,” she whispered, horror filling the place that exultation had occupied.
What had she done?
Chapter Seventeen
WHAT DID YOU DO?
Jas glanced at the kitchen window out of the corner of his eye. His finally nonburning eye, thank God. He was only grateful that Katrina’s concoction, while initially painful, had been relatively mild in aftereffects.
He and Katrina had avoided each other for the last couple hours. He’d come outside. She’d taken over the kitchen. He had no idea what she was cooking, except she was possibly using every ingredient in their pantry and kitchen, as well as every pot and pan in their house.
Jas stabbed his spade into the ground. He yanked out the dandelion and dumped it in the garbage bag. The garden around the house had been somewhat maintained. Not to his high standards, but not bad. He was mostly out here because he could keep an eye on Katrina through the kitchen window. All without actually talking to her.
He’d kissed her. How could he have done that? How had he allowed almost a decade of pent-up need and affection to escape? He prided himself on suppressing . . . well, everything.
He hacked at the root of a particularly stubborn weed. He’d slipped and let his feelings come out, done the worst possible thing he could do. He swallowed, the self-disgust nearly choking him.
He had to apologize. He rested his rusted spade on the ground and glanced up at the window. She came into view, tying her hair up on top of her head, her round face in profile. Her lips were bare of lip gloss, and they were perfect, the bottom full and pouty, the top a sweet bow. She’d showered and changed as well, and her loose green shirt was the same color as the emerald dress she’d worn when he’d first seen her.
He’d apologize, and explain that it had been a onetime thing, a mistake. He’d offer to leave if she’d like him to.
She wouldn’t actually make him leave, right? She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
He came to his feet, but stopped when he heard the sound of hooves from down the road. Why was Bikram here, when they’d only talked a few hours ago?
A flash of crimson came through the trees.
Oh no.
Another flash, and the shadow of a huge black stallion.
Oh no.
Had Bikram known? Surely he would have said something if he had.
The horse and rider emerged from the copse of trees. His grandpa came to a stop a few feet away, his devil horse’s feet kicking up in the air a little. The old man had always been a showboat, and he wasn’t becoming more discreet as he aged. His signature bright-red turban was the least dramatic thing about him.
Andrés Singh was locally and nationally known as the Peach Prince. Within the family, he was known as a tough son of a bitch. Jas had firsthand knowledge of how tough he could be.
The horse settled and Andrés lifted his chin at him, an action Jas immediately mirrored. They were similar in many ways: their thick eyebrows, their high cheekbones, their physique.
Their stubbornness.
Andrés slid off his horse and patted the animal on the neck before walking toward Jas. The man was as tall as Jas was, though age had stooped his shoulders. His denim shirt and worn jeans could be found on any other farmhand, but he’d always carried himself with an air of command. “Jasvinder,” he said.
Jas took his gardening gloves off and slapped them against his palm. “Grandpa. You were supposed to be out of the country.” And he’d be texting Bikram immediately to ask him what he thought Jas had meant by don’t tell anyone I’m here. First his brother told their mom, now—
Ah. His mom. He should have known, since he hadn’t gotten a single phone call from her in days. She’d surely blabbed.
His grandfather’s dark gaze pinned Jas. When he was a kid, those eyes could have made him confess anything and everything that could be classified even moderately as mischief. “Plans change, boy. Sorry to disappoint you.” His gaze slid over Jas’s shoulder.
Jas’s heart both sank and sped up. He glanced behind him. Katrina stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, flour on her apron and face. With her rolled-up shirtsleeves and snug jeans, she looked like a farm woman with a penchant for baking, not a wealthy investor.
Katrina cocked her head and returned his grandfather’s inspection. “Hello.”
Andrés’s mustache quivered. His beard hadn’t grown any less thick and luxurious as he aged. “I presume you are Katrina. Hardeep’s wife.” It would be hard not to hear the disdain Andrés heaped on Hardeep’s name.
This was a shit show.
“I am.” Katrina came outside and extended her hand. “You’re Jas’s grandfather?”
“I am. Andrés Singh.”
She shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes met Jas’s and skittered away.
He mentally kicked his own ass again. The stupid kiss.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality. Your farm, or what I’ve seen of it, is beautiful.”
“No need to thank me. I didn’t even know you were here.”
Jas took a step forward. There was no need to make Katrina feel like she was imposing. “You didn’t need to know. I told Bikram.” Who told Mom, who definitely told you. “And this is my house.”
Andrés gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Of course it is.”
“Would you like some tea?” Katrina stepped aside. “I’m afraid I’ve been baking, so the kitchen is a mess, but if you don’t mind that . . .”
His grandfather lifted his head and sniffed. “What’s that I smell? Cookies, perhaps?”
“Mom said you’re watching how many sweets you eat,” Jas interjected, unable to help himself. Just because he was in a semi-feud with his grandpa didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about his health.
“I don’t need you to lecture me on my diet,” his grandfather said coolly, and sailed into the house, past Katrina.
His grandfather was mad at him, too, but this went deeper than Bikram’s annoyance with him for not staying longer at his engagement party. This went back almost two decades.
His grandfather froze when he entered the kitchen, and he turned in a slow circle.
Katrina wrung her hands. “I know, the place is a mess.”
Andrés waved that away. “The kitchen hasn’t been used like this since my wife passed twenty years ago. I don’t come here much. Startling to see signs of life in it.”
He hadn’t known his grandpa had avoided the place. Jas softened.
Katrina visibly melted into a puddle of goo. She gestured to the table. “Please, have a seat.”
Doodle padded into the kitchen and immediately made her way over to Andrés. “Who is this?” Andrés asked. The dog leaned into his petting.
“My new dog,” Katrina said with pride. “Doodl
e.”
“A stray we found,” Jas said quietly. “Do you know of any neighbors who might be missing her?”
Andrés cupped the dog’s face. “No. I’ve never seen a beauty like her. You know how it is. Lots of strays out here.”
Doodle flopped down at Andrés’s feet and Jas narrowed his eyes at the canine. It had taken Doodle a day to show him even a fraction of this adoration.
“Do you like tea?” Katrina asked.
“I like chai.”
Katrina moved briskly to the cupboard. “I think I saw some masala in the supplies Bikram brought us. I can make that.”
His grandfather’s mustache quivered. “Can you make it well, though?”
Katrina gave him an amused look. “I can make everything well.”
Andrés harrumphed. “We’ll see. Not much cause for a fancy rich lady like you to be making her own tea.”
Jas straightened, but Katrina only smiled. “If I don’t make it, who will?”
“Hardeep would have never made his own tea.”
She put a pot on the stove to boil, and pulled out milk. She picked up the takeout bag Jas had brought from the buffet and examined it.
“I brought you some lunch from the restaurant while I was out. Forgot to tell you,” Jas explained, the tips of his ears going red as his grandfather’s sharp gaze fell on him.
She glanced at him and nodded, replacing the food. “Thank you. Sit down, please.”
Andrés settled into a seat at the kitchen table. Unsure of what to do with himself, Jas sat opposite the man. A tense silence settled over the kitchen, though Katrina hummed as she bustled around. When she was done making the tea and had arranged the freshly baked cookies on a plate, she finally came to sit down and gave Andrés a smile of challenge. “Let me know if it’s to your satisfaction.”
Jas’s grandpa took a sip of the tea and a bite of the cookie, then nodded. “The tea could use more sugar. The cookie is perfect.”
“Noted.” She wrapped her hands around her own mug and leaned forward. “I thought Hardeep was a family friend, but it sounds like you didn’t like him much.” Her words were light, but her eyes were sharp.
Andrés sniffed. “His grandfather started this farm with my father. It didn’t last long. The man was young and wasn’t cut out for hard labor, he returned to India. The Aroras established their roots there in jewelry.”
“I see. You kept in touch with the family.”
“My dad was sentimental. He forgave his old partner quickly and they exchanged letters for years. Hardeep visited here with his grandfather from the time he was a child. He continued to drop in as an adult occasionally.” Andrés’s nostrils flared. “His flashy lifestyle might have been attractive to some people, I suppose, but I’ve never been impressed by money. We didn’t have much for a long time.”
Oh, come on. This revisionist history was ridiculous. “You live in a massive home and have for the last thirty years,” Jas said bluntly.
“And before that, our family lived here, for almost seventy years. My parents built this house,” Andrés explained to Katrina. “Nikka ghar, we call it now. Our little house.”
“I noticed the photos on the stairs. What history.”
His grandfather’s eyes brightened. “You like history?”
“I love history.” Katrina rose. “How about some peach cobbler? It’s cool now. That’s a fruit, so it’s good for you.”
Jas shook his head. “He’s not supposed to be eating—”
Andrés growled. “I’m not a toddler, to have my food monitored.”
“You’re certainly not.” Katrina moved to the windowsill and brought the cobbler to the table. She took a small amount and placed it on Andrés’s plate. “Try that and tell me what you think.”
His grandfather drained his tea first and then took a bite. He closed his eyes and sat in silence for a second, then opened them, eyes a little wet. “My wife used to make something like this. It’s got a little spiciness to it.”
Katrina indicated the living room. “I found an old cookbook on the bookshelf. Perhaps it’s the same recipe she used.”
Andrés sniffed and took another bite.
“It sounds like you objected to Hardeep’s lifestyle more than to him,” Katrina said softly. “He was a good man, and I loved him.”
Jas shifted, impressed, though Katrina’s diplomacy and brains had never been something he’d questioned. She’d disarmed his grandfather and sweetly and firmly stated her defense of her late husband, via a nice cobbler. “He was a good man,” Jas agreed.
Andrés was silent while he finished the rest of his dessert in a few bites. “You will come to dinner at the big house. We will go over now,” Andrés announced.
“That’s not possible. Katrina needs to stay tucked away, for security reasons,” Jas lied, giving her a complete and total out.
Not to mention giving himself an out. Dinner with his grandfather was only moderately bearable. His grandpa spent the entire night lobbing pointed remarks, and he responded in kind.
His grandfather shot him a frown. “Did I raise you to let a woman speak for herself or not? Besides, there will be no threat to her at our house.”
“That’s not the—”
“It’s okay,” Katrina interjected. “Jas hasn’t told anyone much about me, I suppose. He’s excellent at security. Very tight-lipped.”
There was extra emphasis on his job title. He flinched. That kiss. She was putting him in his place, no doubt.
“It’s difficult for me to go to new places. Sometimes I have panic attacks, and I get nervous about having them in unfamiliar locations,” she continued.
Andrés scowled. “There is nothing bad at my house,” he said gruffly.
“It doesn’t have to be something frightening, to trigger it. I’m happy to try to come to your home for dinner, but it’s possible I could have one. If I feel uncomfortable, I’ll leave, and it may be abrupt.”
Jas stared at Katrina. Never had he heard her summarize and speak so frankly about her panic disorder to someone new like this.
Whatever toughness Andrés had previously shown toward Katrina had been dissolved by the cookies and cobbler. He clumsily patted Katrina’s shoulder with a big hand. “I understand. No big deal if you must leave. Please come.”
“Very well.” She shot Jas an unreadable look. “It would be nice to have the company.”
He opened his mouth to disagree, but then thought about it. If they went to dinner . . . they wouldn’t be alone for dinner. They could put off discussing the kiss. He was always in favor of shoving things down so he could avoid dealing with them. “We’ll wash up and meet you at the house,” Jas said.
“No need to dress too fancy, son.”
Jas gave his grandpa a dour look, catching the dig at his city slicker closet. He didn’t dress fancy, for most places, but he did appreciate quality clothes. “I’ve been gardening, Grandpa.”
“I’m sure you’re not used to dirt.”
Son of a . . .
Andrés rose to his feet, gave Doodle a pet, and tipped his chin at Katrina. “Would you like to ride on my horse, over to my house?”
Katrina had completely won his grandpa over, clearly. No one got to ride that horse.
At her hesitation, Jas jumped in to give her another out. He could not imagine her wanting the insecurity of being on top of a moving animal. “I’ll drive her over.”
“I’ll bring the rest of the cobbler,” Katrina offered.
“Do that.” Andrés cleared his throat. “Bring the cookies too.”
Chapter Eighteen
WHEN ANDRÉS HAD said he lived in the big house, Katrina should have been prepared. When the mansion that was about double the size of her own home came into view, she choked, breaking the awkward silence of the car ride. “This is the big house?”
The home was huge and white, with columns in front, like a mini–White House. Or maybe a White House to scale; she’d never been to the actual White House, a
nd this looked presidential.
“Yup.” Jas killed the engine and got out of the car. His answer was curt, which didn’t surprise her. He’d been avoiding her since she’d made the god-awful decision—or nondecision, her brain hadn’t been a part of that—to kiss him.
Which made sense. She’d barely been able to look at him, had welcomed the distraction of his grandfather’s fascinating presence.
Jas came around the vehicle to open her door, and gave her his hand to step out. The first time he’d ever driven her anywhere, she’d tried to sit in the passenger seat, and he’d been mildly horrified. Hardeep had guided her to the back seat. It was a security concern, he’d told her, though she still didn’t understand that rationale.
It hadn’t seemed like a big deal, and she’d gotten into the habit of sitting in the back. Now, though, it seemed weird.
Because you kissed him!
Ugh, she needed to forget that kiss.
She craned her neck back to examine the home. “I don’t think I understood the scale of your grandfather’s operation.”
“He has one of the biggest farms in the area. It’s the largest producer of peaches in the state.”
The pride he took in that was apparent. Katrina considered herself a fairly intuitive person when it came to most non-kissing-related things. She had easily picked up on the tension between Jas and his grandfather. It had been different from and more deep-seated than Bikram’s coolness.
Andrés may have directed his invitation to her, but it was clear he had badly wanted Jas to come to his home, despite his gruffness whenever he’d spoken to his grandson. It was the frustrated affection in the older man’s eyes that had prompted Katrina to impulsively agree to the meal. That, and she wanted to learn more about Jas and his family.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You feel okay?”
She checked in on herself. “Yes.” She would treat this like she treated any exploratory foray to a new establishment. Actually, Katrina felt more confident coming to this home for dinner than she had walking into the pho place or the café for the first time. Part of that was the confidence she’d built from coming to this town at all. The rest was that it was a limited number of people, and one of those people was Jas. The familiar within the unfamiliar.