Unravel was a bad choice of word…
His mind. She meant his mind. Studiously she tore her gaze away from him and began clearing the rest of the table. But she was sneaky. Over at the sink, he was unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the sleeves to reveal muscled, hair-shadowed forearms. If he began to do the dishes again… that should be her cue for walking out of here. She could only remember what had happened the last time he’d tackled the cutlery.
Still with his face averted, he finally spoke. ‘It’s just a step forward. I can’t think of it as anything more. It would be… foolish to presume too much.’
The words pierced her heart. So he was afraid of getting too involved.
The risk of getting hurt. Wasn’t she battling it too?
He turned to face her. ‘You, if you agree to accompany me, would be a link with my present. With my life here. A reminder to them that I’ve moved on.’
He waited for her response, then when she didn’t answer he picked up the sponge, wetting it and making suds.
Oh no! He was doing the dishes.
She stared hypnotically at the competent hands moving in circular motions on the plate. Thoroughly. She was reminded of the way they had moved on her skin when he’d smoothed the sunscreen on her. That was how his hands must have looked. Large. Square. Capable. Moving slowly. Rhythmically.
She realised he was looking at her looking at him and cleared her throat. ‘Um… you missed a spot there.’ She pointed. To show she was looking at his work, not at him working.
He smoothed the imaginary speck away, his gaze hooking on hers. Becoming sherry-gold and liquid. Had he caught her out?
‘Better?’ His voice rumbled over her.
She nodded, still trapped by whatever magic he was weaving over her.
‘If you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’ll get nothing done,’ he murmured.
She swallowed. ‘I’m not… like what?’ Maybe it was better to pretend innocence.
‘Like I’m soaping your backside inside of this plate.’ He blatantly gave voice to the very undercurrent she had been trying to avoid. He turned the thing over and ran the sponge over it, leaving trails of suds streaming behind. The slow strokes working methodically over the china were, for no reason at all, laced with a heady sensuality…
Saira shook her head to clear it.
‘I never knew doing dishes could be so rewarding… or… punishing—’ the admission was a deep, throaty purr washing over her ‘—depending on the way you look at it.’
She backed against the table, taking deep breaths to cool down the effect his sheer presence was having on her. What a stupid idea to think she could be with him and remain immune. You’re free to leave after the rally, he’d said. And now? Every minute she spent with him was ripping apart all her good sense. Urging her to give in to the raw sensuality he evoked inside her.
‘You really think it’s a good idea for me to go with you?’ She didn’t bother to deny the chemistry between them. He was aware of it and she’d given herself away once too often. If he kissed her right now she’d be hanging onto his lapels. The image made her sober up a little.
‘I’m not leaving you here.’ He plopped the sponge into the sink and turned to face her in his typical stubborn stance. ‘We don’t have time to get you a place to stay in and a job. And I won’t leave you anywhere till I’m assured that the situation is reliable.’
‘Who’s going to ask you anyway?’ Defiance reared its head. She placed her hands on her hips and tossed her head, ‘Wake-up call, Mr Royalty. I haven’t asked you to be my hero. Besides, I have Vishakha if I need help.’ Yes, she had asked for his help two days ago, but that didn’t count right now.
‘You won’t be so mean as to upset her when she’s just begun to get her own life back.’
She groaned silently. Seemed she shouldn’t have brought Vishakha into this argument.
‘Do it for your sister,’ he urged.
Okay. She definitely shouldn’t have mentioned her sister’s name. ‘That tactic just got very, very old,’ she snapped.
‘Well then, we are back to square one. I’ll call Viren and let him know I’m not coming.’
‘Damn it, I don’t need your babysitting! Are you actually blackmailing me by threatening to call off your family reunion?’ He was unbelievable. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this exasperated. ‘Am I hearing right? Earth to Rihaan! Please remember just who will suffer for that. Hint: it isn’t me!’
‘Rihaan to Earth,’ he came back, ‘please remember your refusal might have a potential detrimental effect on the health of an old man. So your peace of mind will suffer.’
Thwarted, she wailed, ‘What would I do there?’
‘Relax. Soak in the culture. We have heaps of culture. Think of it like a holiday.’ His voice softened. ‘You’ve been through a lot. When did you last unwind and have fun? Think of it as a gift. Just for our… friendship.’
If only she felt more like a friend should around him. Easy and relaxed. Fat chance of that happening. She bit her lip in vexation.
‘We-ell, I do have other means of persuasion,’ he mocked, picking up the sponge and soaping the next plate. His wicked grin made her insides melt.
‘You don’t play fair, do you?’
Saira sat with her nose pressed against the plane’s window and occasional exclamations of, ‘Hey, look at that!’ Her fingers dug into his arm for the umpteenth time; she suddenly seemed to realise it and lifted sheepish eyes to him. ‘Sorry! Guess I got carried away.’
Yes. And so had he. Got carried away by the need to have her close. To protect her and keep her safe.
Keep her with him.
‘You royal guys certainly do things in style,’ Saira murmured, picking up the rich silver-foiled cashew balls from the bed of rose petals on the dish placed nearby. ‘And this kesar badam sherbet… wow!’ She took a sip and sighed. ‘Awesome.’
Having her near him was a mixed blessing. It kept him on edge but it also took his mind off the strain of the coming meeting. So much had changed. He had changed. From a man torn from his roots and ripped apart inside from the shock of it, he had gradually become one inured to the necessity of anyone having his back.
Meeting Viren had highlighted that change hadn’t been in him alone. A grown-up, changed Viren, a young man growing into his responsibility rather than a youth enjoying the extravagant exploits of a privileged life. He had personally come to escort them to the region. Rihaan had felt his throat tighten as Viren bent to touch his feet and he gave the spin on the traditional greeting, ‘Get ‘em, tiger,’ the youthful variant of the blessing that was a joke between them. Only now the joke had grown rusty.
And him? Would he be a square peg in a round hole now, an outsider, with no business here?
‘It’s beautiful.’ Saira’s reverent words recalled him to the present, her hand again clutching his forearm in excitement. Rihaan inhaled and tried to loosen the tensions invading his body, preparing him beforehand for the emotional impact of seeing again the land that had once been his. His rightful privilege and his pride.
It was beautiful. His lungs felt they would never fill up with air as he inhaled deeply. Even the air smelled different to him. Below them the green hills unfolded as the plane circled for landing; beyond them was the desert. As the plane dropped lower, the lake came into view, a dark patch, the sandstone arches of the boundary walls looking like brown scratches.
In the centre before they veered away, he could make out the palace. The sturdy walls standing proud, side buildings extending like arms from the huge central domed structure. He caught a glimpse of the courtyard where generations of kids had played under the palm trees.
Home. He had finally arrived.
‘Ayesha?’ The query he threw at Viren was raspy. Despite himself, his throat was clogged with emotion.
‘She hasn’t yet returned from the hostel, but she has been told of your return.’
The moment he ste
pped off the airfield, he bent down and fisted the soil, the fine grains he had coveted to touch for over six years. He let it slip away, leaving only a smidgen which he took to his forehead and smeared on it. A silence emanated from his entourage out of respect for the gesture.
But, with each step he took forward, he couldn’t help the anger that kept growing, the thrill of realisation at what he had had to forsake. In the air-conditioned limo, he found it hard to join in the light conversation Viren kept going.
The roads, now newly tarred, on which he had never stepped. In the estate, he could see unfamiliar new buildings he had had no part in witnessing the construction of. How many more changes had occurred which he’d had no role in envisioning?
The palace was just the same, though, the flag hoisted and waving gracefully—displaying the same emblem he wore on his body. The vast lawns were impeccable lush green carpets. The sounds of dhol became audible and he drew in his breath as his ears sought the familiar beat. The whole front entrance was decorated with flowers, the local musicians playing a welcome song as he took the long stairs up.
And there, gathered with garlands in their hands, were those he had hardened himself to never see again in this lifetime. Relatives, friends, employees. Time blurred, reality hazed as he seemed to be caught between the past and the present. Cheers, shouts, greetings mingled.
There was his mother, stepping forward, pooja thali in hand, her eyes brimming as she moved the plate with the lit earthen lamp in front of him. He attempted the traditional greeting, bending towards her feet, but she swayed forward, tears escaping, and the next second he was hugging her, closing his eyes to hide the sudden moisture gathering there. He straightened and encountered Saira’s perceptive gaze. Damn, he seemed destined to be unable to keep things from her.
‘It’s so vast!’ Saira exclaimed, sure her neck was going to get a crick from straining right up so she could look at the central hollow of the great hall. She marvelled at the perfection of the architecture in the rows of arcades converging with perfect symmetry to the top.
The maid only giggled in response, muttering something in Mewari and escorting her to her ‘room’.
Chamber, Saira corrected, as she whirled round and round in the huge space, much to the amusement of her companion. The coloured glass in the high arched windows threw shadows on the exquisite patterned flooring. The comfy bucket sofas surrounded a round table. The shape was echoed in the dresser, which had a huge round mirror.
The maid giggled a last time and scurried away, her silver anklets tinkling, as she left Saira to explore it all. The bathroom was exquisite as well, the round theme carried on here in the sink and the circular but more oblong bath extending from the wall with an oblong mirror. Hmm, the designer seemed to have a sensual edge to their imagination. Which sparked off her own too. Images filled her mind. Decadent, rampant images of Rihaan and herself, enjoying the spoiling luxury, till she called her delinquent mind to heel.
The maid brought her refreshments, which looked like a whole dinner. She unpacked and nibbled at things, wondering where Rihaan was. She hadn’t missed what an emotional moment it had been for him and it actually pained her to remember the moisture in his eyes. So strong and yet having so tender a heart. Would she ever plumb the depths of this man? He never ceased to amaze her. She’d felt her heart fill up with admiration and an odd tenderness she did her best to suppress.
The garlanding over, the crowd had followed them in. The whole way inside had been decorated with flowers and threaded blooms. She still had some petals in her hair from the showering that young girls in long ghagra skirts, with their heads covered with bright magenta odhnis, had deluged them with.
By the time she had washed, another maid came in, carrying a folded set of clothes, followed by Nadira, who told her she’d need to wear the traditional clothes for the Holika Dahan ceremony in the evening.
She was familiar with the ancient lore which had given birth to the custom. Holika had been the atheist king Hiranyakashipu’s sister who had the boon she wouldn’t get burnt. Taking wicked advantage of the fact, she had taken the king’s son Prahlad in her lap in the fire, to kill him because he was a Vishnu devotee. But when the fire abated, the miracle was that she had been reduced to ashes but Prahlad escaped.
The long-skirted ghagra in deep red she was given was matched with a hugging bodice choli and a long flowing odhni to be draped over the ensemble. She had a choker and metal bangles that she paired with it.
She looked back at the mirror, hair plaited and decorated with the jasmine strand the maid had unexpectedly brought her. She took the two and a half metre odhni bordered with gold sequin work and, instead of going for the usual, tied it in a new way. She pleated and pinned it on her shoulders to leave a triangle at the front, and draped the rest in a long fall behind to tuck in the other edge at her waist.
She had dressed with painstaking care and, looking back at her image, she knew subconsciously it was for Rihaan. Her heart squeezed a little as she thought of him. She wanted to go and offer him comfort. Care. Just as well she wasn’t alone with him. This wouldn’t do. She was being hopelessly mushy about him.
He had lots of people to take care of him, she reminded herself, if he required comfort. The last person he needed was her.
They joined the crowd gathered in the courtyard and she met the Maharaja finally. The monarch was charming, greeting her in gracious perfect English. She couldn’t help being impressed by the thin but authoritative Hukum.
The seating was around the tall effigy of Holika on one side of the endless courtyard. The worship commenced, the Purohit muttering mantras and sprinkling pious water. Rihaan and the Maharani sat on the mats spread on the ground on either side of the king for the pooja. Then the royal family members each took an ear of half-ripe corn and circled the straw-covered figure. Finally it was lit and flames seemed to shoot up right into the sky. Yellow light flickered on solemn faces as they watched the age-old symbol of the victory of good over evil.
Soon afterwards, the heads of the villages and other guests were invited for the banquet.
Everyone was heading to the dinner. Saira looked around for Rihaan. He was standing under the arches, dressed in the traditional cream-coloured achkan. Shoulders straight. Waist nipped in with a belt. Legs encased in tight churidars. He looked impressive and sexy as ever.
‘So you wore it. I was wondering if you would,’ he commented as she approached.
‘You sent it?’ She touched the jasmine strand.
‘Uh-huh.’ He added, reaching out to trace the edge of her odhni at her shoulder, ‘I like your style. Creative as ever. You look fabulous. Red suits, no, highlights you.’ His voice was warm velvet. The compliment and the accompanying look sent tingles running down her spine. She tried to shake off the physical reaction.
‘There are so many people to meet. Hope you don’t think I’m being insufferably rude and ignoring you,’ he said.
‘Oh, ditch that formal rubbish. You know I’m not good at standing on ceremony…’ Her eyes searched his face and she blurted, ‘You look like… things haven’t gone too well.’
For an electric moment his eyes met hers, tension spiking between them for some unknown reason.
‘Just the environment, I guess,’ he fielded and somehow that seemed to underline the brief instinctive perception in her words.
The moment stood still as though they were fighting something. Something that was knocking on the door of consciousness in a relentless rhythm.
Dark eyes hooked to hers, probing, sharing… He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. As though the words were drawn out in spite of himself, he said, ‘Or maybe it’s me. I keep getting the feeling I’m being sucked into something and I don’t even know why I should resist it.’
‘It’s been a long time since you were here. It’s bound to feel odd at first.’
‘I don’t know. Everyone’s trying to act as though the last six years haven’t happened.’ He shrugged, then
looked directly at her. ‘And that’s something I can talk about just to you. No one else will understand.’
No one else will understand. From a man like him, the admission was precious indeed. Did he mean that? How had he actually taken time out of his busy evening to send her flowers? She touched them again, bringing her braid forward, and inhaled the fragrance.
The fragrance of his caring?
Where did she go getting these thoughts? She tried to force her mind back onto the present and make it less intense. Where was her flippancy when she needed it?
‘Rihaan…’
Rihaan stared at her broodingly. His admission had floored him. He needed to say something, yet talk was furthest from his mind as he looked at her upturned face in the bright moonlight.
The emotional upheaval of the day piling up on him fell away. While his soul seemed to be sated by being home once again, his brain told him that hoping for things to ease back into what they had been before was like being a figure stuck back into a picture and hoping to merge in, where maybe the brushstrokes wouldn’t blend him so easily.
Earlier in the evening Viren had exhorted him to think of coming back here. Had Viren been right in his arguments? Would it be more fulfilling to settle down here where he belonged? Let writing be only a part and not the spotlight of his life? Was he really worrying about his profession, though? So many things were converging, vying for his focus. Would he really be satisfied, giving up his life in Mumbai? Yet he had no roots in Mumbai. Not really. His dreams, his ties were here.
His eyes remained fixed on her. Saira at that moment represented a symbol of purity, perception and that indefinable something that drew him, pulling him away from the murky waters eddying around him. A symbol of honest feeling. All he could do at that moment was just drink in the beauty of her face, drown himself in the dark eyes looking searchingly at him. He had no conscious thought other than to give in to the desire rising insidiously and becoming rampant in him.
You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction Page 12