A Bollywood Affair (22 page)

She stiffened, lifted her face off his chest, and slid off him. He wanted to stop her, but he couldn’t move. She stepped away, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, her legs unsteady. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was my first time. I didn’t know what to do. I thought . . .”

What the fuck? “Mili, listen.” He reached for her, but she skittered away from him like a dazed animal who didn’t know it had just been hit by a car. He knew exactly how she felt.

“I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have brought you here. You’re right. None of this should’ve happened. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he said more harshly than he had meant to and she said no more.

Just waited. Seconds ticked by. She stared up at him, her huge eyes bewildered, and waited for him to say the words to make it better, to tell her not be sorry, to tell her what she’d just given him, what she’d made him feel. But he just stood there slumped against the tree, horrified at how he had hurt her. Bastard.
Bastard.

When he didn’t say anything, she looked away and started searching for something. Then leaned over and picked up her panties. Even in the moonlight, he saw her cheeks flaming. Awkwardly she bunched the scrap of fabric in her hands and ran toward the house. He was about to follow her, but her gait faltered, as if she hurt between her legs. And his limbs locked in place. Shame flooded him. He was a monster. A monster who’d hurt her and didn’t know how to make things right.

When he could move again, he pulled on his jeans, walked back to the porch, and sank into the swing. His shock at what he had done made his movements slow and stiff. Mili was gone. The thought of her back against the tree trunk, her pained, indrawn breath as he rammed into her, clawed at his gut. He had gone crazy when he’d touched her. All these years of seducing women, and he’d lost all control like some starving animal. And then he’d sent her away feeling like she had done something wrong. Over the past month he had gone from being the kind of bastard he didn’t mind being to the kind of bastard he would like to beat the crap out of.

If this is what being in love did to a man, he was essentially screwed.

 

Mili slung her hair across one shoulder, swung the porch door open, and stepped outside. Samir sat slumped in the swing, his head in his hands, his burnt-gold hair flopping across his forehead. The memory of those thick strands fisted in her hands as he claimed her body made heat spread across her skin. The desperate need in his eyes, in his touch—need for her—it’s what had forced her to come down those stairs, to come back outside.

Samir lifted his head from his hands and started when he saw her. The huge white T-shirt Kim had let her borrow slipped off one shoulder. His gaze lingered on her fingers as she tugged it back in place before he met her eyes. Meeting those golden eyes made her entire body reach for him. The pain in his eyes when he’d called what happened between them horrible made her want to crumple to the ground and start crying again.

But she couldn’t sit upstairs and sob anymore. She wouldn’t. Not after what had happened between them. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, not with the shambles her life was in, or his. Not when his mother lay sick in the house. A house he couldn’t even seem to go inside without hurting. But no one could call what had happened between them horrible. No one. And yet he had. She had to know, just had to know, how he couldn’t have felt what she felt. She sucked in a breath, and spoke before she ran out of courage. “Samir, I’ve never done this before. So I have to know.” Her fingers trembled on the out-of-shape neckline. “Was it really horrible for you?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. His molten gold gaze hitched at her heart in that way it always did. The swing creaked as he rose and came to her, traversing the five-step distance with a deliberation that made each breath an effort. He reached out and touched her cheek. Without meaning to, she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

He waited until she met his gaze again and held it. “Mili, from the first moment I saw you I’ve wanted you.”

She blinked, startled.

“Ever since that first day, I’ve imagined making love to you. I’ve imagined being inside you, fantasized about how you would feel around me, dreamed about all the different ways I could take you.” His finger stroked her cheek. “You’ve driven me completely insane with lust these past weeks. The expectations I had—nothing could’ve matched up.”

Understanding dawned on her in a rush. Understanding and crushing pain. She opened her mouth to speak. Although she had no idea what she could say.

He pressed his thumb to her lips. His touch always so tender, so possessive, it was imprinted onto her soul. “No. You don’t understand. Despite that, despite my impossible expectations, how touching you felt, what being inside you felt like—I could never have imagined anything so . . . I had no idea such a thing was even possible. You made me lose my mind, Mili. Do you understand what I’m saying? I forgot myself. And I forgot to take care of you. Hell, I forgot how to speak. I hurt you. That’s what I’m sorry about. Only that.”

Stupid, dumb tears rose in her eyes. An even dumber smile blossomed in her aching heart. It must have floated to her lips because he stroked it with his fingers and gave her that half smile of his in return.

“Really? You mean that?”

“You have no idea how much.”

“So, that was you
not
taking care of me?”

His half smile spread all the way across his face.

She reached up and touched it. Dear God, was it even legal for someone to be this handsome? “So it gets better than
that?
”

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “For you, I should hope so. For me, I would die.”

She stepped closer, until her entire body touched his. Joy and tenderness and fierce hope kindled inside her like a prayer lamp. She had no idea who she was anymore. But she knew exactly what she had to do. She went up on her toes. “Samir?” she whispered against his ear.

His smile pushed against her cheek and made sensation sparkle all the way down to her toes. “Mili?”

“Could you, you know, show me? Please.”

He scooped her up in his arms and gathered her against himself. She snaked her arms around his neck and stared at his beloved face as he used his back to push the porch door open.

When he stepped into the house his stride was sure, not an ounce of pain inside him, and it made such joy, such relief burst inside her, tears spilled from her eyes even as laughter bubbled from her lips. He pulled her closer and carried her up to his childhood nursery, blasting through the demons of his past, taking her away with him, away from her own past to a place where her past could never touch her again.

“Sure, Mili,” he said, sprinkling kisses across her lips as he went, “I can show you.”

24

U
sually when Samir had sex, once the deed was done, all he could think about was getting off the bed. He always forced himself to wait the polite fifteen minutes, just to make sure everyone came off their high feeling good about themselves. But that was about it. Even if girlfriends slept over, they had their side of the bed and he had his Lazyboy with inbuilt, noise-cancelling Bose headphones. Tonight, however, he couldn’t stop checking to make sure that Mili was still tucked into his side.

Her cheek was pressed into his shoulder. Her fingers clutched his skin. She was dead to the world, her exhaustion complete, every inch of her body replete. Who could sleep with such a sight to look at? He could spend the rest of his life just looking at her. Her silken mocha skin, her midnight curls, her onyx eyes. Her dark beauty sparkled like the night sky, as fresh as the glow of dawn, as hypnotic as the glimmer of dusk, softer than moonlight and warmer than the blue flames of a midnight bonfire.

An unfamiliar feeling of peace blanketed their intertwined bodies, lighter than the whispers they’d spoken into each other’s ears. Each time he’d entered her, each time she’d sobbed in release, the crushing weight of the air in this house had lifted off his shoulders, off his heart.

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She didn’t move. He felt like one of those head cases, poised to pull her back if she moved even an inch away from him. But she stayed sprawled across him. And finally, somewhere in the wee hours of morning, he stopped worrying about losing her and fell asleep, grinning like the fool he was.

 

The sound of laughter woke Samir. Not nightmares. Not a cold sweat but Mili’s laughter. Husky, unreserved. The spot next to him was cold. She was gone, but his arm was still curved around her missing form. She had remembered to pull the blinds and darken the room. But a stray ray of sunlight broke through the gap in the old blinds and poked him in the eye. She laughed again.

He sprang out of bed, a rampant yearning to see her tearing through him like hunger. He was starving for her. He pulled on his jeans and walked to the door, cracking it open to see Kim give her some clothes and go down the stairs. He opened the door and pulled her in, wrapping her in his arms and falling back against the wall. She fell against him, wet ringlets framing her face and sticking to his bare chest. She smelled like sunshine and night-blooming jasmine. He dug his face into her hair.

“Well, good morning to you too,” she said.

Would he ever get used to her voice? “I don’t want it to be morning.”

He felt her smile against his ear. It was bloody hard to pull away but he did, just enough to look at her face and trace her collarbones with his thumb. “How are you feeling? Are you sore?”

She colored. In that way she had of coloring from the very depths of her soul, and it made him so absurdly happy he thought his heart had burst from its seams and seeped into his chest.

“I have no idea what you mean.” She actually gave him a coquettish look. Talk about quick recovery.

“I mean, does anything hurt?” He ran his fingers over her breast, down her belly, to her warm mound. “Are you in pain?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. She moaned deep in her throat and pressed closer. “Yes. But only because you have terrible morning breath.”

He smiled against her lips. “Too bad, because I have the most wonderful taste in my mouth and I’m not brushing it away.”

She kissed him. Reached up, dug her hands into his hair, and pressed her lips full into his. Hard and soft. Fierce and yielding. She was going to kill him.

When he came up for air she was panting.

He lifted her up and started carrying her to the bed.

“Samir, are you crazy? Kim and Sara are waiting for breakfast. Put me down.”

“Not on your life. You shouldn’t have done that if you weren’t going to follow it up. You have to put your money where your mouth is, woman.” He put her down on the bed and climbed over her.

She kissed him again and rolled him onto his back. He went easily, putty in her hands.

“I don’t have enough money to cover this huge mountainous body of yours,” she said, before springing off the bed.

He reached out but she was already at the door. “Down in ten minutes?” For all her cool tone she looked so mussed, so vulnerable, he almost went after her. But she was right, the sooner he went down the sooner they could get out of here.

 

Samir stepped out of the shower, wiped down his smug, ridiculously satisfied body and pulled on his clothes. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and padded down the stairs in his bare feet. He felt fresh and clean despite the fact that he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, despite the stubble he usually wouldn’t be caught dead with. Despite where he was and what waited for him downstairs. Amazingly, he felt none of the anger that had engulfed him yesterday, the rough edges of his rage were gone. How could he hate these walls, this place, after what he had found here?

A tiny splinter of fear poked at his heart, but it had nothing to do with this house or the memories he had taken from here. He had to find Mili, had to tell her who he was, how he felt. Tell her everything. It was past time.

The smell of ginger tea wafted through the air. Mili was in the kitchen with Kim. He stood outside the mullioned glass door, unseen, and drank her in with his eyes. Her hair was still damp, her cheeks still flushed, and he knew every spot under that ridiculous blouse where her skin was marked with his love. She was wearing Kim’s oversized polyester blouse—white with pink roses, high fashion from at least three decades ago. It came down to her knees. It could’ve been a dress, but she wore it like a blouse over her jeans. She looked like she had just stepped out of a Renoir painting. She could’ve been standing in a meadow collecting daisies, with her curls flying like ribbons about her face. Minus the bonnet.

“I boil the ginger with the water first, then I add the tea leaves,” she said, scooping a few spoonfuls from the jar and dropping them into the boiling water. She took a deep sniff before closing the jar and putting it away. “These are really authentic,” she said. “They remind me of my
naani
’s kitchen.”

“Sara loves this brand. She’s always used it since she came back from India.” Kim took the jar from her and put it away.

“Did she like India?” Mili turned off the flame and put a lid on the boiling chai.

“She loved it. Even before she went, when she was with Mir it was like she was obsessed with it. She read every book about India, ate the food, she bought clothes that were made there. He used to call her a hippie for it, but she loved it. She was always like that. There was no going halfway for her. No matter what it was she went all the way without looking back. It always scared me. But I think that’s what got to Mir. That’s why he couldn’t leave.”

“Why didn’t she go back to get him?”

“Who, Samir?”

“Yes.”

“You have to understand how she became when Mir died. She had suffered from depression off and on for years, but losing Mir pushed her over the edge. Samir was five years old when he found her passed out in the barn. She hadn’t eaten or talked to anyone for days. He ran back home through the snow and called nine-one-one. Social Services was all set to take him away. Sara and I grew up inside the foster care system. Sara would’ve done anything to keep him out. She begged me to take him but I couldn’t. I was working as a housekeeper. I didn’t even have a home. I was the one who suggested she take him to Mir’s family.

“When she came back her illness only got worse. There weren’t many treatments for manic depression back then. She struggled for a long time. Finally, about ten years back, she met her doctor and her life changed. But it was too late. Samir was already an adult and living in Mumbai. Lata told her he didn’t want anything to do with her. It broke her heart but she understands, I think.”

Mili turned and found him standing there watching them. Her eyes were soft with understanding and that something more that stirred his blood. She had known he was listening when she’d asked Kim the question. Something in the way she turned to him told him that. Now she challenged him to do the right thing.

Samir walked into the kitchen and took the tray from Kim’s hands.

“I’ll take her the tea, Kim, if you don’t mind.”

Tears sparkled in Mili’s eyes as he turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Tears and pride.

If Sara was surprised that he had brought her tea she didn’t show it. But her gaze kept darting toward him over her cup as they drank in silence. He had two women looking at him like he was God’s gift to the earth. Based on what the magazines said, he should’ve been used to it by now. But how could you ever get used to this? He had done nothing to deserve their devotion, and it made him ache.

“You have your father’s mouth, his jaw,” Sara said, drinking him in with her eyes. “I could always tell what Mir was feeling from the set of his jaw.”

“Samir is like that too,” Mili chimed in from behind him and he turned to her. This he had to hear. “When I first got to know him that’s how I knew if he was going to do something I wanted him to or not. If his jaw got all stubborn there was no way he was doing it. But if his jaw softened I had him.”

“What did I ever refuse you?” he asked. “Who can ever refuse you anything, love?”

She blushed. “That’s because I never ask for anything I shouldn’t. I’m always reasonable. How can anyone refuse that?”

“Yeah, right. When I first met you all your behavior was perfectly rational.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and narrowed her eyes.

“What did she do?” Sara asked, smiling. Her breathing was more even today, and there was something familiar about the way her lips turned up when she smiled.

“Let me see, she jumped off a balcony, took off on a broken bike, ran into a tree, and landed upside down with her butt literally turned over her head.”

Sara put one gnarled, spotted hand on her mouth and laughed. “Sounds painful.”

“It was. He scared me so much I broke my foot and my arm.”

“She
sprained
her ankle and
dislocated
her wrist, and all I did was knock on her door.”

“Yes, but I had never seen a big-footed giant before. It was scary. Have you seen his feet? They need their own atmosphere.”

“They did need their own atmosphere when you threw up on them.”

To her credit she looked the faintest bit apologetic at that. “My
naani
says if you don’t get out of the way, you can’t blame the water hose. And I did make up by letting you write in my apartment. Samir writes and directs movies. According to my friend he’s made the most romantic film ever.”

Sara looked from Mili to him. “I know,” she said cautiously. “I’ve watched all his movies.”

He didn’t know how to react to that. But she didn’t wait for a response. She looked back at Mili and gave her a teasing grin. “I have no doubt about how romantic Samir is.” Her look was so knowing Mili blushed even more. Samir found that he didn’t mind that look at all.

“Where are you from, Mili? Where is your
naani
now?” Sara asked.

“I’m from Balpur in Rajasthan. It’s a small village near Jaipur.” Mili collected the teacups and put them on the tray. “I went to college in Jaipur. My
naani
still lives in Balpur.”

“Of course I know where Balpur is. That’s where Samir’s father was from. Did you know Samir’s name is a combination of both our names: Sara and Mir-Chand. Did Samir and you know each other from Balpur?”

“Samir’s not from Balpur, he’s from Nagpur.” Mili shook her head and picked up the tray.

“No, Lata moved with Samir and Virat to Nagpur but the Rathods are originally from Balpur.”

The teacups shook on the tray in Mili’s hand. Samir’s mouth went dry. Mili’s startled, confused eyes looked up at him. He watched, helpless, as the crank went off in her brain and started to turn.

 

The first thought that hit Mili was the
Filmfare
magazine in Ridhi’s house. That was the part of the puzzle she had been missing and it sprang into her memory like a dragon baring its fangs.
Sam Rathod, the Bollywood Bad Boy.
She had been so livid at Reena for spreading lies that the name had completely escaped her.

If the full magnitude of what this meant had not been evident from the name, the look on Samir’s face made it abundantly clear. Mili gripped the tray so tight the sharp edge dug into her palms. “I’ll take these to the kitchen. Can I get you anything?” Her voice had to be coming from someone else.

“Thanks, honey,” Sara said as she headed for the door.

Samir was standing in her way. His large, tense form loomed in front of her. She walked around him, her ears ringing. She didn’t look at him. She had no desire to look at him ever again. His smell as she passed him brought back hot, wet memories and the horrible anger bubbling inside her flared. Once in the kitchen she put the cups down and squeezed her nose. Oh no, she wasn’t going to cry. If she cried now it would all be over. If she collapsed now she would never get up. She rinsed out the cups, refusing to let her hands tremble, and put them on the draining board. When she turned around he was standing behind her. She couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not ever.

She squeezed past him and up the stairs to his nursery. The thought of that room made her stomach cramp. This room, this morning, last night, it was all chiseled into her very being. How was she ever going to wipe those memories off? What was she going to do with them? She could never forget as long as she lived, not the night, not the room, not the full extent of his betrayal. It was all searing into her consciousness like an inferno, getting hotter and higher by the second.

He followed her into the room. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t be near him. She wanted him to leave, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. She picked up her purse and quickly patted down the bed. Oh God, how was she going to get back to Ypsilanti?