Twelve Hours of Temptation

by Shoma Narayanan

  Samir was keeping his eyes studiously averted from her chest—great, that showed he was a gentleman—perversely, though, Melissa wanted to know if she had any effect on him at all. The flicker of interest she’d seen on the drive in had been so slight that she might have completely imagined it.

  ‘Oops,’ she said, looking down at herself. ‘Need some help, here. I can’t go back to the beach looking like India’s answer to Baywatch. And no one handy to be rescued either.’

  At that, Samir laughed. It wasn’t a boastful comparison—in spite of her slim frame Melissa’s bust offered fair competition to the world’s most admired bathing beauties. He was having a hard time pretending to be indifferent.

  ‘I can pretend to drown, if you’d like,’ he offered. ‘In the excitement you could slip away unnoticed.’

  ‘It’d be more useful if you gave me your T-shirt,’ she said, eyeing the beach apprehensively. The cricket game had wound up and the boys were heading purposefully towards the water.

  Samir looked around and assessed the situation in a glance.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, yanking the shirt over his head in a single fluid movement and tossing it to her. ‘I’ve been running in it for an hour, though, and it’s a mess. Not to mention the salt water.’

  Melissa grabbed the shirt instinctively, but for a few seconds couldn’t help gawking at him. His body more than lived up to expectations—in running shorts and nothing else he was all muscular chest and six-pack abs, and he looked like her favourite Bollywood star, only more real. When he frowned at her, she hastily pulled the shirt on.

  Far from being ‘a mess’, the shirt smelt of clean male sweat and salt water, and the sudden intimacy made her hormones go into overdrive. She had to look away for a few seconds to get her unruly pulse under control. The shirt was big on her, flapping damply around her thighs, but at least she no longer looked like Silk Smitha.

  The boys were nearer the water now, and even though she was decently covered Melissa couldn’t help wondering how she’d explain Samir’s suddenly shirtless self and her own in-the-sea costume change.

  ‘Maybe we should take a walk down the seashore,’ Samir suggested, ‘and head back to the hotel after the sun sets?’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Melissa said, hoping her dusky skin concealed the rush of colour to her cheeks.

  ‘Have you spoken to your relatives yet?’ he asked as they walked a little farther down the beach.

  He was feeling intensely aware of her nearness and the unconsciously sexy picture she made in her tiny denim shorts with her damp hair tumbling over her shoulders. He could understand the Portuguese sailors who’d landed on the Goa coast centuries ago and then stayed, beguiled by the beauty of the Goan women they’d met there. It was a fanciful thought, but maybe one of Melissa’s ancestors had been among those women.

  ‘I didn’t carry my phone onto the beach,’ Melissa said, and it took him a few seconds to connect her reply with the rather banal question he’d asked a few seconds earlier.

  ‘You could go and meet them if you want,’ he said. ‘I have a car booked, but I’m not likely to use it. There’s some stuff that’s come up at Maximus that I need to sort out.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know if I manage to get in touch with them.’

  She had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but there was no point getting into a lengthy and possibly boring explanation of how things actually stood between her and her family.

  ‘Looks like someone’s decided to get married on the beach,’ Samir said a few minutes later, touching her lightly on the arm.

  Melissa turned to look. It was a rather impressive tableau against the setting sun—the bride in a perfectly stunning off-the-shoulder wedding gown, with a train that dragged along the sand, and the more casually dressed groom in a white linen shirt and pale dress jeans. The only other people with them were a bridesmaid, a priest and a photographer. The photographer and the priest were Indian; the couple and the bridesmaid could have been American or European—it was difficult to tell.

  It had been two years, Melissa thought, but she still hadn’t got over that initial jolt whenever she saw a blond male in his twenties. The groom wasn’t Josh, but for a second she’d thought he was, and her heart-rate had tripled. Even now she couldn’t help stopping to look, just to make sure that it wasn’t him.

  ‘I don’t think we should stare,’ Samir prompted. ‘It’s a rather private moment, don’t you think?’

  By then Melissa had got her wits about her, and she managed to retort, ‘It’s not very private if they’ve decided to get married on a public beach, is it? It’s like deciding to hold a Kuchipudi performance on Flora Fountain and then getting offended if people don’t pay for tickets.’

  ‘Kuchipudi? Why Kuchipudi?’ Samir was saying in bemused tones when the bridesmaid came running across to them.

  ‘Hey, guys...if you’ve got a minute...Brenda and Mark just got married, and it’d be lovely if you could come across and share some champagne. Oh, I’m Sarah by the way—so nice to meet you!’

  Sarah was definitely American, and from the sound of it had been at the champagne for a while now. It was difficult to refuse the invitation without sounding completely churlish, and Samir shrugged and smiled as they followed her to where the bride was trying to settle down on a plastic chair without completely ruining her dress.

  Both she and the groom looked so completely happy that for a second Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. This was what she’d hoped for once. Mark even looked a bit like Josh—she hadn’t been completely delusional in the few seconds when she’d mistaken one for the other.

  ‘He proposed when we were in Agra,’ Brenda told them. ‘Right in front of the Taj Mahal.’

  OK, so it wasn’t a very original place to propose, but Melissa couldn’t help feeling touched. She took the glass of champagne Sarah was offering her and smiled. ‘So getting married in India was a spur-of-the-moment thing?’

  ‘Yes—actually, we’ve just exchanged vows. There’ll be a proper legal ceremony when we go back.’

  ‘So how about you two, then—are you a couple?’

  While the question had been addressed to both of them, it was clear by the way Sarah was leaning towards Samir that it was his answer she was interested in.

  ‘No, we just work together,’ he said, but already he was drawing back from her, his expression becoming formal and shuttered off. ‘We should leave,’ he said in an undertone to Melissa.

  ‘Why? You just got here. Have another drink before you go,’ Sarah urged.

  She’d not taken her eyes off Samir, and Melissa felt a second’s atavistic urge to lean across and claw the other woman’s eyes out. The impulse didn’t last for more than a second, but it left her feeling more than a little shaken. Granted, Samir in his current bare-chested state looked like the answer to every single woman’s prayer, but he was still her boss—where had that momentary surge of possessiveness come from? Luckily Samir was too focussed on getting away to notice her temporary confusion.

  ‘D’you want your shirt back?’ she couldn’t help asking wryly as they got away from a visibly disappointed Sarah. ‘I think you’re more of a temptation to the opposite sex than I am.’

  To her surprise, Samir flushed. ‘Is your top dry now?’ was all he said.

  ‘Dry enough. I won’t get arrested for indecent exposure at least,’ she said, pulling his T-shirt off and handing it back to him. They walked on in silence for a bit, and then Melissa said, ‘It was rather sweet, wasn’t it? Those two deciding to exchange vows on the beach?’

  Samir shrugged. ‘I give that marriage one year,’ he said. ‘Proposing at the Taj Mahal, getting married in Goa—its unreal. Once they’re back in Chicago and squabbling about who gets to do the washing up they’ll come back to earth.’ Melis
sa gave an involuntary little giggle and Samir frowned. ‘Something funny?’

  ‘You’re like the hero of a romance novel,’ she said. ‘Tall, brooding and cynical. All you need is a murky past and a scar on your forehead.’ Like a romance novel hero, he was also sexy as hell—but she prudently didn’t say that.

  ‘Brooding and cynical?’

  He sounded thoughtful, and Melissa gave him an apprehensive look, wondering if she’d gone too far.

  Evidently not, because after a pause he asked, with genuine curiosity, ‘Is that what the heroes in romance novels are like?’

  ‘All of them,’ she assured him. ‘And they don’t believe in love ever—until the very last chapter. My neighbour in the hostel is a romance novel junkie—she buys them by the dozen.’

  ‘And you borrow them from her?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Melissa said and laughed. ‘No, actually I borrow them often—I’m just trying to pretend that I’m the highbrow type. I used to laugh at the plots at first, but they’re actually quite addictive.’

  ‘Right...’ Samir said.

  His phone pinged and he took it out of his pocket to look at the display.

  ‘Sorry, I need to make some calls. I’ll see you later—will you be able to get back to the hotel by yourself?’

  A little startled by the abrupt brush-off, Melissa retorted, ‘I’ll try. I’m sure I can manage to find it.’

  He didn’t reply, still staring at his phone, and, feeling annoyed and just a little hurt, she marched off towards the hotel.

  * * *

  ‘It’s one long jamboree,’ Devdeep said. ‘They’ll announce the actual awards tomorrow.’

  They were at the pre-awards cocktail party, and Melissa had been stuck with Devdeep and another colleague at one end of the room while Samir stood talking to a group from another agency at the other end. Luckily the event was in the same hotel they were booked into—at a pinch she could always develop a killing headache and escape to her room.

  Melissa involuntarily looked across at Samir. He looked bored, as if he found the drinking and the locker room jokes tedious and a little immature.

  Devdeep followed the direction of her eyes. ‘Bit arrogant, isn’t he?’ he said, evidently expecting Melissa to agree with him. ‘Doesn’t make the slightest effort to mingle—probably thinks he’s way too important to hang with small fry like us.’

  ‘He might just be shy,’ she suggested, realising how completely stupid she sounded as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Samir was to shy what Godzilla was to a garden lizard.

  ‘You drove down with him, didn’t you? Did you find out anything—his plans for the agency, that kind of stuff? Now that Brian’s gone we can really catapult this agency into the big league, as long as Samir is willing to invest in it.’ At her blank look, Devdeep’s eyebrows flew up. ‘You didn’t ask him a thing? God, I wish I’d known he was driving you here; I’d have briefed you properly. What did you talk about, then?’

  Bougainvillaea, she felt like saying. And whether Kolhapuri chappals were invented in Kolhapur.

  ‘We...um...didn’t talk much,’ she said instead. ‘He was concentrating on the road.’

  Shivani, the other colleague with them, intervened. ‘Devdeep, you’re such a nerd,’ she said. ‘The guy’s super-hot—I’m sure Melissa had better things to talk to him about than your stupid plans for world domination.’

  At that point Samir looked across and caught Melissa’s eye. Immediately, she felt her face grow warm, though she knew he couldn’t have heard a word of their conversation.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Shivani said with satisfaction. ‘Which means I’m right.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Melissa retorted, but by now her ears were burning with embarrassment. ‘Besides, he’s way out of my league.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Devdeep said, evidently under the impression that he was rescuing Melissa from an uncomfortable conversation. ‘Look at him—he’s rich and good-looking. He could date anyone he wants!’

  ‘Thanks, Devdeep,’ she said drily.

  He looked a little taken aback. ‘I didn’t mean...’

  ‘No, of course you didn’t.’ She sighed.

  Devdeep was right—no one sane would imagine that Samir was the slightest bit interested in her. And with all the dumb things she’d said about romantic novels he would probably avoid her as if she was the latest variant in bird flu.

  Getting up, she said, ‘I think I’ll take a stroll outside. I need some fresh air—this place stinks of cigarette smoke.’

  Once outside, she hesitated a little before going up to the reception desk. It was too early to go back to her room, but she didn’t fancy hanging around in the lobby all alone—maybe there was a library or somewhere she could hang out until it was time for dinner.

  When Samir came out of the bar a few minutes later she was deep in conversation with the concierge, discussing the relative merits of a game of billiards and a visit to the hotel’s overpriced gift shop.

  Samir stood watching her silently for a few minutes. Utterly unconscious of his presence, she made a charming picture as she politely scanned the list of guided tours that the concierge was thrusting on her. She was wearing a rather demure long-sleeved black dress, but her hair tumbled down her back in loose curls. The only make-up she had on was lip gloss and kohl around her eyes. The kohl emphasised the doe-like beauty of her brown eyes, and her mouth was pink and lush.

  For a few seconds Samir imagined pressing his own lips onto hers. Then he came to his senses with a jerk. He’d followed her out to apologise for his earlier brusqueness at the beach, and he’d intended to say his piece and go back to the party. Standing by and gazing at her like a lust-ridden college kid was so far off the agenda it wasn’t funny.

  Melissa turned just then and caught sight of him, a lovely smile breaking out across her face. At the same moment, Samir noticed that the deceptively demure dress had a plunging neckline, and his already racing pulse-rate responded excitedly.

  ‘I’ve been driving these people crazy,’ she remarked sotto voce as she came up to him. ‘They can’t deal with anyone who doesn’t want to go to the spa or go sightseeing.’

  Samir was about to reply when he realised that Melissa had gone very still, staring at a man who had just entered the lobby.

  The man was dark-skinned and in his late twenties, and he was staring back at Melissa as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, in a few quick steps, he crossed to her and grabbed her wrist, barking out something in Konkani. Samir whirled around, but something in Melissa’s expression stopped him from intervening.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the man demanded, almost shaking Melissa. ‘And who’s the guy?’

  ‘My boss,’ she said. ‘Let me go, men, you’re making a scene.’

  Her Goan accent had suddenly become more pronounced, and her eyes were flashing with rage. As soon as she said the magic ‘boss’ word, though, the man released her arm, looking embarrassed.

  Melissa sighed.

  ‘Samir, meet my brother Michael,’ she said. Then she elbowed Michael and said a few rapid sentences in Konkani. Probably something like, Stop being a boor and be polite to my scary boss or he’ll sack me, because Michael held out a hand to Samir with a passable imitation of a polite smile.

  ‘Welcome to Goa, men,’ he said. ‘Are you here for work?’

  ‘No, he’s here to look at the coconut trees,’ Melissa said tartly. ‘Of course we’re here for work. How are Cheryl and the kids?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Justin still talks about you—asks about his Melly Aunty.’

  He didn’t look angry any longer, Samir noted—just upset and confused. Evidently there was a lot wrong here.

  ‘And how’s...’ Melissa didn’t complete the sentence, but Michael understood
her.

  ‘Dad’s fine,’ he said. ‘Though his blood pressure’s been on the high side. Come and see him, Melissa. It’s been such a long while.... I can’t believe you’re here in Goa and didn’t even tell me.’

  It was clear that Melissa didn’t want to reply, and Samir came to the rescue. ‘We should be joining the others,’ he said in what he hoped was a suitably authoritative tone. ‘Maybe you could catch up with your brother some time tomorrow, Melissa?’

  Michael looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t get a chance—Melissa gave him a hug and said, ‘He’s right. There’s heaps of things to do—mustn’t dawdle. I’ll call you, Mickey dada. Sorry, Samir.’

  Samir took the cue, and after giving Michael a quick nod turned and strode away towards the hotel lobby. Melissa scurried after him, and after a few minutes he shortened his stride so that she could keep up.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said as they entered the hotel.

  Michael was still standing where they had left him, his expression puzzled and a little hurt, and Melissa was feeling dreadfully guilty. Not guilty enough to go back and have a proper conversation with him, but enough to want to be out of his sight.

  Samir looked around. It was only seven, and there was an hour before dinner started. ‘Do you want to go and wait in the bar till dinner begins, or would you like to go back to your room?’

  ‘Bar,’ Melissa said gloomily. ‘Though I won’t be very good company. I wish I drank. I’d like to get completely sloshed.’

  She looked so ruffled that Samir impulsively put an arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

  It was a perfectly innocuous gesture—brotherly, even—Melissa could only blame her own overactive hormones for her instant reaction. Trying not to be obvious by pulling away abruptly, she stayed absolutely still until he let go of her.

  Seemingly unconscious of the upheaval he’d caused in her mind, he asked, ‘Family problems?’