His mouth quirked. The glint in those sherry eyes was different when he was really tickled. A wicked glint, she saw too late. ‘Possibly, but surely not more strange than a woman who caresses leather like it is the skin of the man she desires?’ he said in a low sexy rumble that went straight to her tummy.
The sensual connotation he’d placed on the gesture made the ground shift beneath her feet.
She switched to flippancy, batting her lashes at him. ‘Well, since I’m not allowed to touch you, the leather is a convenient replacement!’ She looked at him and saw again something flash in his eyes in response to her daring. What was it? Desire to get even? What form of a reckoning would it be? Punishment or… pleasure?
Crazy girl. You’re in way over your depth!
But she wasn’t going to back down now. Oh no. Her heart thudded as she gave in to the desire to taste the freedom she hadn’t allowed herself for so long. The old Saira, the Saira, reckless and free, was finally escaping the confines she had been kept in.
She gave him a challenging smile and turned to go but a large hand closed around her arm, effectively stopping her in her tracks. ‘You’re taking too many liberties. Be careful of waking the sleeping lion, Sehgal.’
‘Or what would happen?’ she asked innocently, something triggered inside by that stuffy warning that wouldn’t be suppressed. ‘He starts hunting little girls like me?’ She widened her eyes, showing pseudo alarm. ‘Should I hide?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You really are beginning to try my patience. You know it, don’t you? Then know this too. Little girls who cross the line invite punishments they shouldn’t whine about afterwards.’
‘Darling,’ she stepped closer and smoothed a hand over the soft cotton of his shirt and threw back her head to look up at him, ‘—you know what? I can’t wait!’ she declared breathlessly.
Beneath her deliberate mockery was the distinct smell of a dare. Looking down at her upturned face, Rihaan was tempted to kiss that pout that practically begged him, tension knotting his abdomen as he kept looking into those dark eyes. He was aware of the changing atmosphere and yet for the moment he ignored it.
It was either kiss her or—
‘Have it your way.’ He turned her by the arm and his palm contacted her backside with a satisfying whack. She yelped.
‘Enough for now?’ He attempted to look severe, but amusement at her aghast expression tugged at his mouth.
‘Oh that was…’ she sputtered.
‘Well-deserved?’ He raised his eyebrows.
She scooted away from him. But at the door, safely out of his reach, she recovered and struck a pose, leaning her arm on the door jamb and throwing back her head. ‘Use me, abuse me but never ever refuse me.’ She blew him a lusty kiss, looking so overblown that his crack of laughter resounded in the room. She grinned back like an imp.
‘God, I’ve got a drama queen on my hands.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘You wound me, don, I’m just your little jangli billi, a wildcat.’
‘Wildcat, my—’ He took a step forward and she slipped out, her laughter echoing back to him.
Irrepressible minx! Just you wait…
He caught himself up, halfway to the door. What the hell was he doing, grinning away like an idiot? Hadn’t he better things to do?
Saira unpacked her things. Coffee had been brewed and taken, along with the sandwiches. Then all businesslike, Rihaan had indicated to her the location of his home theatre system for her to entertain herself. He told her the cleaner would be in tomorrow since he hadn’t been expected back till tomorrow. ‘Hope you can make your bed. There will be clean sheets in the laundry cupboard on your floor.’ Then he’d disappeared into his den.
The episode of the morning tickled her funny bone. She hoped she haunted him in the den. Having made the bed, she wandered restlessly from room to room. Soon the familiar dead feeling crept back over her.
This was worse than being at Vishakha’s. At least she’d been able to play with Aragham and even go for a walk along the beach. Now time sat heavy on her hands. She wrinkled her nose at the thin layer of dust. The place certainly needed the cleaner.
On impulse she hunted down the vacuum cleaner. She plugged it in, put on her earphones and set to work.
He really had a beautiful place. The occasional touch of art surprised her, peeping out in the form of an ornate mirror frame in a corner or an expensive artwork. Yet mostly each room, apart from necessary furniture, was uncluttered to the point of being bare. He probably hadn’t got around to getting things he liked. She thought of him buying knick-knacks for the house, picking up only what fitted in to that snooty taste. Somehow the image was endearing.
She was at the bottom of the stairs when something made her look up. And then she stared. Rihaan was coming down the stairs. And all he had on—gulp!—was a towel negligently tied at his waist. What was more, shampoo plastered his hair, a foam drop tracking its way down his cheek.
He brushed it away. ‘I left my laptop downstairs,’ he told her brusquely.
Obviously he’d gone up to shower when she had been in the other room. But roaming about with shampoo in his hair? He made a beeline for the study and she got a view of a muscled back. And a surprise! A very interesting tattoo just below his nape. Like an emblem of sorts. A horse and a lion, their forepaws raised and in the midst a sword with the hilt up.
For long minutes she stood, absently removing her earphones, thinking of the dark ink against dusky gold skin, then he was back.
Soap suds still spotted his chest. A broad chest, smattered with dark hair, which arrowed down to a snail trail on a ridged abdomen.
Her breath caught and, out of instinct to hide her response, she jumped on the offensive.
‘So much for being so disapproving of me at the bar the other night.’ She whipped up her indignation. ‘For all your tirades against me, look just how you’re roaming around!’
‘I had to note down something crucial.’ He said, ‘I was in the shower and it struck me like a lightning bolt.’ His voice went down to a mutter. ‘He’s got to go underground, that’s what, and then— Damn it, this changes the whole spin on the story. It isn’t what I thought it was about at all.’
He was practically vibrating with excitement. So Archimedes was alive and well, it seemed, and having heavenly looks. She gave him an excessively sour look. ‘Is that your way when you have a guest in the house? To traipse around half naked?’
‘In the state I was in, be thankful I remembered the towel,’ he said outrageously.
‘Really?’ Another dumb retort. Which was a warning that he had got the better of her. She should be cautious but, oopsie, he fascinated her. Hair all plastered to his skull, a damp sheen on his skin, the deliciously musky scent of cologne soap wafting from him that made her breathe in deep…
Awareness. It stole over her skin. Pounded in her heart. She didn’t need it. Yet it was hard to pull away as, all of a sudden, wine-dark eyes snared hers. The expression in them changed from abstract to piercing in a startling second.
He stepped closer. She was rooted to the spot. With a long finger, he stroked a line on her cheek and she was hard put not to shiver in response.
‘Don’t window-shop, sweetheart. The merchandise isn’t available.’
Shock coursed along her nerves. Shock that she’d betrayed herself. Shock that she felt like this at all. Was she drooling just at the sight of a muscled chest? Was that what she had come to? Why hadn’t she remembered her earlier flippancy? Easier to keep a distance that way. Keep things light.
And keep her reactions under tabs.
Shame heated her cheeks as she turned away. ‘I’m not interested,’ she muttered.
‘Then whatever gave me that idea?’
The rhetorical question drew her back and she made the mistake of looking in the sherry eyes again. A delicious shiver shook her despite all the mental warnings. She could do this all day. Be bathed in the thrill racing up and down her spine as he
hooked her. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Sensuous. Full. Moist velvet. Somehow reason seemed beyond her at that moment as wild anticipation sped along her pulses. Imagination became chaotic.
‘What happened to the little wildcat?’ he mocked softly. ‘Lion got your tongue?’
Rihaan knew he had to break the spell that seemed to be weaving around them. She was caught in it and her awareness sent such an answering bound of desire in his system that it was taking all his willpower not to give in to it. This was dangerous. Warning bells were clanging away in his mind yet all he could do was move forward to touch her. Exhale the breath trapped in his lungs as he felt skin so soft he could only savour the contact. Only to slide his fingers further, under the curtain of silky hair. She stared back, dark eyes widening, becoming pools of desire he wanted to drown in.
She said huskily, ‘The house is big enough, I think you said. You shouldn’t have any trouble keeping your distance.’ For a second he stilled, then his hand fell away. She stepped back out of his range.
It was only when he reached his room that Rihaan remembered the vacuum cleaner placed near her. About to go back and tackle her about it, he made himself wait. First he had to wash off the soap sticking to his backside.
But, even with the water pumping furiously over him, could he wash away the pull she had exerted on his senses?
Self-directed anger made him rub down his body vigorously. Leaving aside all women, he had to react like that to her? Even now his breath locked in his throat thinking of that hypnotic gaze.
A purely physical deviation, he assured himself. Something controllable. He only had to keep that in mind and he would be able to resist her.
Saira threw herself into vacuuming, all the time trying to put the way she had given herself away out of her mind.
Oh God! She had been so coolly sure she could handle it. She had been light-hearted and funny. She’d made him laugh. So surely there shouldn’t be this tension?
Yet the irresistible urge to trace that tattoo and the indentation of the spine below arose inexorably.
Work, that was what she needed.
She didn’t need a man’s attraction. Nor, for that matter, did she need his attention. It was treacherous. Who knew better than her? She’d lost more than her heart. Her pride. Her good sense. Her friends and nearly her sister.
Even her parents wouldn’t be so sore with her if she hadn’t committed the sin of falling in love and following her heart.
She couldn’t go down that road again.
Work was a remedy, she discovered. Only, at the speed she was going, she finished the rooms—leaving alone the den—far too quickly. At least it was satisfying to see the gleaming surfaces and spotless wood finish. Amazing how satisfying working with your hands could be.
Coffee, she decided.
His kitchen was a joy to step into. Equipped in every way to make life convenient. She couldn’t resist exploring his rations. A surprising number of packs of nachos crisps, corn twists, salsa and tortilla dips. Obviously, he had a fixation for Mexican food.
As he did for his writing.
And she wasn’t going to wonder what else he might have a fixation for. He prefers vanilla, remember?
The itch to use her long rested culinary skills made her ransack his fridge. It was surprisingly well-stocked. She decided to make biryani, raita and a salad.
She set about putting the rice to boil for the biryani and started cutting the chicken into one inch pieces, feeling a ridiculous surge of exhilaration. So long since she had felt pleasure at small tasks. So long since she’d wanted to do something for herself. The sense of failure was still there, a bash in her heart that her marriage was a goner, but the fact she could find satisfaction in the mundane things planted a seed of hope. She could do it. She could get over her past, get over the damage Munish and his mom had done. Making her feel she was in the wrong at every turn till she had lost her sense of identity bit by bit, trying to please them.
‘So what’s with the vacuum cleaner and the domesticated bit?’
Startled, she dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor. For a second she stared at him, unable to digest his appearance when she had been so lost in the past. Then he began to register. Bathed and fresh. Filling the kitchen—and her senses—with citrus and musk.
She went to pick up the knife but he already had and she found him too close as he straightened.
He placed it on the counter. ‘Speak up.’
‘You’d better get this straight first—I don’t respond to that tone of voice,’ she snapped, trying to cover up the sudden confusion assailing her.
‘Oh right, Princess Saira, may I know what your Royal Highness is condescending to do?’
‘It should be obvious. Your house was dusty so I cleaned it. At least most of it. And this—’ she indicated the spread of ingredients ‘—last time I heard, it was called cooking.’ She felt overly defensive and vulnerable, taking the support of sarcasm to counter his aggression.
‘You are cooking? Is it a joke?’ A sardonic eyebrow went up.
‘Actually, no. Don’t worry. I promise I won’t poison you.’
‘You cook?’
He sounded so disbelieving. She had her arms akimbo as she faced him.
‘I’m blacker than soot in your book, aren’t I? Do I really look so useless that you can’t accept it?’
‘Simmer down. I only said it because it was my impression that you were married in a pretty wealthy family. Zaheer mentioned they have a flourishing business in Lucknow.’
Saira shrugged. ‘I was. But they are a very traditional family. Their daughters-in-law cook and entertain. They’re kept inside the house. Not allowed to move about alone.’ She started peeling the carrots to distract herself as the memories rose up once again.
‘Hard to believe such things can happen in a city,’ he commented.
‘Well, they do,’ she said almost under her breath. ‘I can’t believe I stuck it for so many years.’
‘You sound very bitter.’ He had caught her words.
‘No, why should I be bitter?’ She put down the knife with a clatter as her restraint broke. ‘My day started with mom-in-law’s bickering about my culinary inefficiency. There were taboos on visiting my friends. I was told not to let “lesser people” in the house. Because they were my friends, they were considered lower than dirt. Stupidly, I tried to please them. I tried to fit into the mould that was made for me. An unrewarding effort and a deadly mistake!’ She took a deep breath, wishing she would stop, but the words escaped. ‘I tried to be flexible but I was taken to be weak. I was expected to be as malleable as putty and to stay in a cage.’
She sighed, the heavy weight of failure weighing like lead in her stomach. Even knowing she shouldn’t feel it, it still weighed her down. That was what she had been made to feel, that the death of her marriage was to be laid at her door. That her inability to please her in-laws lay at the root of it. ‘When I resisted, I was clubbed by comments like, “These modern girls have no respect for their elders”. Then they would blame my parents saying, “They taught you nothing about obedience!”‘
That had been one of the last straws. There had been so many last straws. Already testy at being forced to wear the heavy embroidered ensembles for a wedding party, she had rebelled at being asked to model them as well. ‘I was labelled “the bad one”. My dress was always approved by my mother-in-law before I could step out and I was forced to change outfits multiple times till she did.’
‘Didn’t your ex-husband object to the way she treated you?’
‘Munish didn’t seem to be able to comprehend what I found wrong with it. The worst of it was that he was happy to go the same route of asking Mummyji like a brainwashed zombie.’
Rihaan was staring at her incredulously as though he thought he needed specs.
She laughed self-consciously, realising she had allowed herself to get carried away. Talk of being emotionally vulnerable…
‘It’s p
robably my fault. I couldn’t handle them properly. I’m very short-tempered—’
‘No,’ he said bluntly.
When she looked up in surprise, he said with even more emphasis, ‘Don’t blame yourself for the lack of fair behaviour in other people! If they have been deficient in their part, it doesn’t mean you should put yourself down.’
‘Sorry for boring you.’ It seemed like a puny apology for heaping her messy marriage history on his ears. What could she say? Had she been out of the social circle so long she’d forgotten to keep her miseries to herself?
‘You didn’t.’
The reassurance must be politeness. Not that he was the type to bend to be courteous but that indefinable air of breeding hung about him. So that must be it. No cause for it to warm her heart like it was…
‘I’ve done nothing but housework for the length of time I was under that roof,’ she told him, coming back to the earlier subject of their discussion. ‘I learnt some things during my marriage. I’m not useless. Though you didn’t think twice about it when you hinted that I was, while asking if I could make my own bed.’
‘My mistake,’ he admitted, surprising her. She would never have thought with that supercilious air he would stoop to own a fault. ‘You do a good lazy cat impression so I assumed you also came from a pampered rich background.’
‘I did have a very comfortable childhood.’ She caught onto the ‘also’. Curiosity reared its head. ‘You mean yourself too, right? So you’re from a filthily wealthy background? Used to being waited on hand and foot, that sort of thing?’
‘Something like that.’ Was he being deliberately vague? Evasive even?
‘How fabulous! Are you from a celebrity family?’ she prodded but he failed to answer. ‘I’d like to hear how being spoilt and rich feels like,’ she invited.
He frowned and shook his head. ‘Comforts never come without costs.’ His voice was clipped. He changed the topic. ‘You really shouldn’t have done all this. I was going to order takeout from the town.’
‘It’s no problem at all. I had time on my hands which seemed to fly while I worked. It actually is making me feel good about myself,’ she acknowledged.
You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction Page 5