She’d forgotten herself enough to share it with him. Or maybe because of him she felt compelled to share it. For a second it looked as though he wanted to say more. Ask. Want to know. She saw interest lurk in his gaze. But he didn’t put it into words.
Because he didn’t want to share his own side of things?
A short silence fell as she felt his reticence and fought against the urge to try and get more out of him.
She had been distracted by him. Now she began to give attention to cooking and preparing the spices for the biryani. Cumin—she needed cumin. And cloves.
Remembering that she had seen the dry spices in the cupboard, she went to get them. The shelf was too high for her. She stretched to get them. Jumped. ‘Obviously, your cabinets were designed for Hidamba or a giant at least,’ she said caustically, making a last try.
‘Let me.’
She expected him to get them. Instead, two arms came around her waist and she was hoisted up. Her feet left the ground and she gasped as she came into contact with a hard body, saving herself from losing her balance by catching onto his shoulders. She found herself looking down into not glinting but sparkling sherry eyes, the broad smile he wore so different from what she was used to that she was again off balance—mentally this time.
‘The jars,’ he reminded her and she hurriedly reached out for them. He slid her down, her body brushing against his in close contact.
‘Thanks.’ I think!
Her pulse was pounding, heat radiating from her pores. She turned away, not willing to let him see her consternation. Oh God, she didn’t get nervous around men. Not even gorgeous men. Hell, her brother-in-law was a superstar and she’d never been tongue-tied near him. Yet this grumpy, overbearing, smart-alecky babe magnet had her at a distinct disadvantage. What could it mean?
She put in the spices and added the chopped onions.
‘So how’s your story going?’ She found enough breath to act nonchalant, forcing herself to meet his gaze. If the Groucho Marx expression of last night had been fetching, this lighter, lazy, smiling look was completely undoing her.
‘I had a breakthrough. A “moment”. It doesn’t change the story as I thought earlier but it definitely puts a different slant on it. The end will be spectacular.’ He socked a fist into his palm. ‘It’s gonna rock. With proper direction, it will have the audience at the edge of their seats! Probably out of their seats.’
On anyone else it would sound overhyped. But the earnest look, the intense expression in his eyes, the absolute conviction of his voice had her believing. Anyway, he had done it before. The thriller mystery he had written last had got rave reviews, both at home and abroad.
‘Wow! This calls for a celebration. Let’s see, I saw something appropriate… a bottle of Sula rosé somewhere.’
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Not a bad pat on the back.’ She attended to the dish while he uncorked the bottle.
‘You certainly do things in style,’ he remarked as she got out crystal glasses. ‘I’d forgotten I had these.’ She poured the wine and he clinked glasses with her and took a swallow. ‘Not to mention it smells good, whatever you have there.’ He pointed towards the pan.
‘Well, I’m good at these things.’ She relished the bubbly drink. ‘You know, side advantages of managing a household.’
‘Hmm… looks like a model but inside is a domestic goddess…!’ He raised his drink in a salutation.
‘Ta-da!’ She did a comical rotation and a half courtesy, holding her wine glass aloft. ‘Surprised you, didn’t I?’
‘You look inordinately pleased,’ he murmured, cocking an eyebrow.
‘Oh yes, can’t be shy about it. You act so haughty and snooty, somehow I get a kick to have you at a disadvantage.’
She peeked at him, wondering if he would go snarky, but he had on a strange expression, half whimsical, half regretful. ‘My sister used to say that too… me appearing snooty.’
‘You have a sister?’ Her question invited information.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ She said, ‘I won’t ask about her.’
‘What?’ He glanced at her.
‘You looked down into your drink. Great ploy for discouraging conversation. Means you don’t want me to nose into your affairs. Though I have to say she sounds nice.’
You’d like her. The words came to his lips and were held back. Why? What the hell! He didn’t want Saira to even meet his sister. His past was private, separate from his present life. Totally demarcated.
His thoughts had him off balance. She had him off balance.
He’d given in to the impulse, hoisting her up, but the feel of soft curves as she slid down had the caution return in full force. She felt better than good, smelling of exotic flowers and the flavouring spices. She’d changed into a short top and jeans and he could still feel the touch of silky skin where the top only just met the jean belt.
She extended her hand for his empty glass. He avoided it but she reached again, their fingers touching as he let her have it.
Saira observed the closed look on his face. How different he’d looked a moment ago. Younger, more vital somehow. Briefly, she wondered how it would be if she’d known him before? Before Munish had come into her life. Would he still treat her with that guarded distance if she didn’t have the history she had? Or would she see that other side of him? The sunny, broad smile that seemed to relax him and made her feel like smiling too.
Why was she getting these reckless thoughts?
‘Let me.’ He took over and began to wash and rinse the glasses, lean brown hands working methodically. The lines of the T-shirt he wore stretched, moulding his shoulders, outlining a muscled torso, a trim waist. For all that he had a desk job, he kept himself fit. The cargo pants fitted his waist well as he moved lithely…
He worked competently, glancing towards her briefly as he rinsed. Maybe it was just watching a man handle kitchenware. There was something intensely beguiling about it as he dried and systematically put the glasses away.
‘You’re indulging in the sexual equivalent of browsing.’ The deep rumble sent a shiver over her skin. She felt trapped—trapped by her awareness of him.
And he’d picked up on it. The acknowledgement threatened to be the game changer for them.
She wet suddenly dry lips. ‘Maybe I’m finding a man in the kitchen a turn-on. I never had the occasion to see one.’
She should learn to curb her runaway tongue. If the words were meant to dispel the awareness he had stirred between them, they failed. There was a moment of electric tension as his gaze met hers. She tried desperately to grasp at something to dispel it.
‘Like enough to try out?’ Lazily spoken, the mocking words floated to her. They stole the breath from her lungs.
CHAPTER FOUR
TURNING AWAY TO stir the onions in the pan, Saira shrugged and tried for a lighter teasing tone. ‘You aren’t as innocent as you pretend to be, are you?’ Breathe. Exhale. Heartbeat, slow down right now.
‘Me, pretend to be innocent!’ Rihaan laughed. ‘When did that happen?’
‘Stringent then,’ she answered back. He could laugh. As though he hadn’t practically propositioned her a minute ago. ‘Straitlaced, if you prefer. The way you were at the bar. Disapproving of my going off alone. Don’t drink… don’t enjoy… all that stuff.’
‘Having lived under a strict code of conduct all my life, I’d be the last person to prevent anyone from letting their hair down,’ he murmured.
‘So you weren’t so pampered after all?’
He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say there were lines of discipline I was expected to maintain. And if I didn’t there were consequences.’
‘Your parents used to be the domineering type?’
‘My father, certainly.’
She made a sound of sympathy. ‘Maybe it’s a vestige of your childhood. You can’t let go of those disciplinary measures. You know what, you need to unwind. I think you should dance.’
> Rihaan looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. ‘I should?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Now your freaky side is showing.’
‘No, really. Dance is freedom. It’s like swimming in the natural waters. You know, unrestricted by the pool boundaries.’ She began to enjoy herself, getting ready to take him off his stride. He acted so stuffy. Just think, she was actually doing him good being here. The man who didn’t even shower without thinking of writing. He needed to be distracted from his fixations. She continued, ‘I don’t mean social dancing. Dance for yourself. Alone or wherever. It gets you in the swing. Makes you accept yourself.’
She thought of the times she had locked her room and filled it with music. The moments of freedom neither Munish nor his mom could take from her. Social dancing was very well but within those walls she had danced for herself, openly, not in the mincing steps ladies of status were allowed.
‘That’s a strange idea. Going crazy and then admiring yourself,’ Rihaan said.
The dry tone made her laugh, ‘You’re right at that. It is crazy but when do we have time to be crazy? When was the last time you did something silly—like, say, dancing in the kitchen?’ Impulsively, she reached for her phone and put on some music.
A peppy beat began to thrum in the air. ‘Come on.’ She began to move, side to side, in step with the beat, turning round and raising her arms up to execute a sideways hip thrust. Moving forward and back. She smiled at him, open and exuberant, her body moving in tandem with the steps.
Rihaan found it hard to tear his gaze from her. He swallowed. It was just dance. Why did his senses react as though he had never seen anything more sensual? His hormones seemed to have gone haywire.
‘Come on. Join me,’ she insisted. Her mouth curved, eyes impish, ‘Are you afraid to loosen up with me?’ She came close and trailed her fingers down the bulge of his biceps. ‘Afraid you’ll like it too much?’ she taunted, whirling away.
Oh no. Not that dare again! He’d had enough of refusing it. ‘Afraid that you’ll like it too much!’ He reached forward and caught her wrist, jerking her to him, a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
Ah, she wanted dance, she’d get dance.
He found the curve of that supple waist. One hand crept up her ribcage, stroking up her side. Her soft gasp gave away her astonishment, sending satisfaction surging through him. He traced a path to her inner arm, and ended grasping her hand, palm to palm, extending their arms together, and began to move her with the beat. Forward. Back. Turn around. Whirling her outward, hauling her up close. The startled look in her eyes was sweet reparation. Aggressively, he bent forward to push her till she arched back, levering at the base of her spine. Cradled in his clasped hands, she swayed in a half-circle and came up again as the beat deepened to earthy.
Her eyes met his and he saw an answering challenge light in them. She put her hands against his chest, did a slow twist down, bending at her knees, coming up again, her pout showing, eyes smoky as she placed her hands one above another, climbing up his torso. Her eyes locked with his. His pulse drummed. With a tantalizing half smile she moved away, taking a twirl to come back to him, smiling.
Damn, it wasn’t just enjoyment he wanted to give to her right now. It should be stamped on her memory. A dance she would never forget.
He caught her with her back against him, his hand on her stomach as he spread his other hand against her midriff, feeling her rapid intake of breath as their bodies came into dangerously close contact. Blood coursed faster through his veins at the sound of her inhalation. She was drawn against him, plastered, till they were moving in tandem. Sensually rocking, as he took her through one movement then the next, still clamped against him. The friction became a delicious torture, inflaming him as blood surged southward in his body. It became a moot point who he was teaching a lesson to. Another outward spin and she responded to his cue, moving light as a butterfly. He caught her again to him, now front to front, leaning forward till her breasts pushed against his chest. Soft and crushing into him. Their hands extended again, palms opposed as his face came close to hers. So close he could sense the wild flowers, inhale them, feel the scent of her fill his lungs, excluding everything else.
‘Saira!’ Somehow his hands were in her hair and she was gazing back at him, eyes huge pools of sensuality he wanted to drown in, lips moist and full, his ultimate destination. It seemed everything in him was centred on them, but paradoxically every sense was alive. He could feel the delicate indentation of her spine as his hand spread over her back, he could see the tap of her pulse at the vulnerable line of her neck.
Saira felt her heartbeat fill her ears. Drumming out everything else. Warmth exuded from his body. The wall of muscle pressing against her felt deliciously hard. The exertion of the dance, the exhilaration of his deliberate sensual manipulation had her heart beating in a staccato rhythm that sent blood pounding in dangerous zones. The underlying challenging intent provided an excitement she couldn’t get enough of. The look in his wine-dark eyes intoxicated her senses, held her spellbound. He bent his head and her eyes closed, her world shrinking to this moment. His lips. His kiss.
A kiss that was silk and sweetness combined. Lushness of anticipation mixed with the heady potency of his sensual exploration. Honey and warmth gave way to a fiery stimulation of senses that made her body strain against his. The world was blocked out as all her senses concentrated only on the intent of giving in to this. This onslaught of pleasure that flooded her veins and flowed through every cell of her body.
She desired him, she acknowledged as her fingers curled into the solid muscle of his shoulders, her body seeking to reduce even more the distance between them. Yes. She closed her eyes and gave in as he deepened the kiss. With the acknowledgement came exultation that she was free. Free to feel. To indulge and revel in the exploration of capable hands roving her body, drawing her still closer against him. Free from the past that had frozen every feeling.
They broke for air then he possessed her mouth again and sensation trembled through her. Never had it been so powerful, so encompassing. She moaned as need intensified.
This was wrong.
Wrong. Reason set up a clamour. It might have been a gong sounding out, resounding in a brain incapable of listening to good sense.
She drew back. The shock she felt was visible on his face. Shock and disbelief. Somehow it hurt her more than anything he could have said. So he couldn’t believe he had kissed her.
Kissed seemed to be an understatement.
Her phone music was playing a popular Bollywood Punjabi number. The kitchen tap was still running.
‘Oh God.’ He went over to close the tap. Mortification swept over her.
‘Please… don’t apologise.’ She couldn’t bear that. His shocked reaction told her all she needed to know about his thoughts regarding their kiss. She had challenged him and he had responded in a testosterone-fuelled reaction. She’d be a fool to read more into this. Fool to think it had been anywhere as mind-blowing for him as it had been for her.
‘You needn’t apologise,’ she reiterated.
‘I wasn’t going to. Why should I apologise anyway?’ He stood, feet apart, a distinctly masculine stance that rubbed her already vulnerable senses the wrong way.
‘It was just a kiss,’ she said desperately. Was that reassurance for him? Or for herself?
‘Did I say it broke the meteorite boom record?’ he said moodily. Nastily.
‘It wasn’t bad, so don’t pretend it was.’ She bristled.
‘Don’t push me any more, Saira,’ he warned. ‘Already this has gone far enough. We need to keep things in balance.’
‘Oh, right.’ She watched, fascinated, as his jaw clamped tight and a muscle bulged at the angle of it. Her tone had been less than conciliatory. His obvious effort to keep control made her feel ashamed. However tempted she was, she probably shouldn’t bug him. What if it came to his asking her how it had felt?
As though he
wouldn’t know already, the way she’d all but thrown herself on him.
‘I’ll finish up the cooking. You go write your story then,’ she said.
His stance became even more aggressive. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘If you think I’m going to take that run away option and act like I’m trying to save face, you can think again. It may not have been very wise but I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.’ His jaw practically thrust out at her, set stubbornly.
Stupid jerk. All she needed was some time to clear her head. She gave him a frustrated look. ‘Right. Then stay here, add the rice and stir and switch off the fire after five minutes. I’m going to change for dinner.’
She scooted out. Keeping her chin up so he wouldn’t guess she was really scrambling to get away. He could look as scowl-y as he wished. She needed to clear her head-space. He had effortlessly wrangled his way into it and she had to push him back out.
She felt like crawling into a cave and hiding. Of course she wouldn’t hide. Physical need had made her digress a little. Surely she could take it in her stride?
But she only had to close her eyes to feel again the beat of the music, the heat and hardness of his body moving to the rhythmic notes, the deep knowledge in the dark sherry eyes. More intoxicating than wine. More potent than anything she had felt passion to be.
She had known it before. The chemistry between Munish and her had been undeniable. The pity was, it had only lasted until things began to go wrong. That was how unreliable attraction was. It could fizzle out in a minute, leaving you with nothing but the acrid burn of the residue.
In his study, Rihaan paced soundlessly on the carpet, frustration riding high. She was coming too close and he was letting her. He’d never talked to anyone like that about his upbringing. Or even mentioned his family. Why was he doing it now?
And to her? Whatever sympathy he might feel for her ruined marriage, surely it wasn’t enough to exonerate her of hurting and deceiving her sister. Where did he go, thinking that?
You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction Page 6