Twelve Hours of Temptation (8 page)

‘Thanks anyway,’ he said.

She poured the pasta sauce she’d made earlier over the spaghetti and he took the plate from her. Melissa watched as he took a bite.

‘Hey, this is good,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Much better than the stuff Kamala turns out.’

‘My dad runs a restaurant, remember?’

‘Yes of course—I’d forgotten. So you’re quite the little Tarla Dalal, aren’t you?’

It was said in an indulgent way, but Melissa decided he was being unnecessarily patronising.

‘Not really,’ she said, turning away to clear up the kitchen counter. ‘If I was Tarla the spaghetti would have been pure vegetarian, and you’d not have eaten more than two bites. Tell me if you want some more, otherwise I’ll put this lot in the fridge and go to bed.’

He could move as silently as a panther when he wanted to—Melissa gasped as she felt his hands come up to span her waist.

‘Aren’t you coming to bed with me?’ he murmured, nibbling gently at the nape of her neck.

He knew exactly where the sensitive spot was, and she squirmed helplessly in his arms, finally managing to gasp out, ‘Go and finish your dinner.’

‘I will...I will.’ He turned her around to face him, dipping his head to drop a light kiss on her lips. ‘Why so stroppy today?’

Melissa raised her eyebrows. ‘You clearly have different standards for yourself and for other people,’ she said. ‘If I’m stroppy, you’re the Grinch. Samir, stop it!’

His mouth came down on hers, warm and sexy and tasting of tangy spaghetti sauce. Melissa resisted half-heartedly for a few seconds, then gave in and let him have his way. Grinch or not, he kissed like a dream—no point wasting a kiss just because she was a little upset with him.

‘Still stroppy?’ he asked when he finally raised his head.

Melissa shook her head. ‘No, just very thankful I didn’t put garlic in the pasta.’

He laughed at that, his amazing mouth curving up at the corners. ‘You’re really something,’ he said, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of anything patronising in his voice.

‘I am,’ she agreed solemnly. She was over her temporary fit of annoyance. ‘Actually, I’m almost perfect. I write well, I’m very intelligent, I can cook, I’m quite pretty...’

‘And incredibly modest as well,’ Samir agreed as he moved away to pick up his plate.

‘Yes, that too,’ she said. ‘Hurry up and finish eating now. I want to go to bed.’

He gave her a slow, heart-stopping smile, and she blushed furiously but stood her ground.

‘Hmm...’ he said. ‘I’ll be done in a minute—just taking another helping. I’m hungrier than I thought I was.’

She waited while he emptied the rest of the pasta onto his plate, then took the pan from him and rinsed it under the tap. Something had just struck her, and it made a lot of small, rather puzzling incidents fall into place.

‘You don’t like the thought of me settling in here too thoroughly, do you?’ she asked, and his eyes flew up to meet hers immediately, a wary look in them.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

Melissa gave him a long, assessing look. ‘Oh, I think you do,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You asked me to move in with you on impulse, because we were both pretty much dying of frustration, and now you’re not sure you did the right thing. And every time I do something, like rearrange your CDs or cook you dinner, you start getting worried.’

Samir looked incredulous. ‘What would I be worried about?’

‘Now that I’m not too sure of,’ Melissa admitted, giving him a sunny smile. ‘Like I said, I’m very intelligent, but in this case I don’t have enough data to go on. Maybe you’re worried that I’ll become a fixture here and when you’re sick of me you won’t be able to turf me out. Or that you’ll get so used to having me around that you’ll be heartbroken when I decide to leave. Or that Kamala will stop working for you because I’ve taken over the kitchen.’

‘Or that little green aliens will come down and take over the planet,’ Samir said, laughing. ‘You have a really active imagination, Melissa.’

‘And now you’re acting all superior and patronising because you know I’m right,’ Melissa said firmly.

‘Melissa...’

‘You might as well admit that I’m right.’

‘You’re not,’ Samir said, exasperated. ‘Stop being childish. I might be a little stand-offish at times, but there’s a lot going on in my life. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.’

‘Does too.’

Goaded beyond endurance, Samir reached out and grabbed Melissa by her shoulders. She went utterly still as soon as he touched her, her eyes seeming to grow larger as she looked up at him. Torn between wanting to shake her and kiss her senseless, he ended up attempting the latter. She made a strangled little sound as his mouth fastened on hers but she was anything but reluctant, going by the way her arms went around him and her body moulded itself to his.

‘You’re a big bully,’ she said breathlessly when he finally let her go. ‘And you know I’m right.’

‘A bully, am I?’ he asked, looking pointedly at her arms, which were still twined lovingly around him.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, leaning up to press a little kiss onto his mouth. ‘A gorgeous one, but a bully all the same. No,
don’t
do that again.’ Determinedly, she wriggled out of his grip. ‘I’m not going to be kissed into agreeing with you. Come on, Samir, be serious for a minute.’

He laughed, charmed back into good humour by the kiss and by her uniquely pragmatic way of looking at things.

‘Think about it,’ she urged. ‘Aren’t you a little uncomfortable with having let me into your life so easily?’

Samir leaned back a little, exhaling slowly. Melissa was right. He’d wanted her to move in, and he wanted her to stay, but there was still a part of him that was deeply uneasy about sharing his life with another human being.

‘Only because I’ve had a bad experience in the past,’ he said finally. ‘It’s not about you. I wouldn’t have asked you to come and live with me if I didn’t want you to be part of my life. What’s funny?’

It had gone as quickly as it had come, but he knew he hadn’t been mistaken about the flash of amusement he’d seen in her eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I told you in Goa—you look like the hero of a romance novel. And now you tell me you have a tortured past. And then you say things like “It’s not about you”. You’re just too in character to be true.’

‘Glad to be so entertaining,’ he said, trying to keep the wryness out of his tone. ‘I’m sure the way you regularly cut me down to size is good for my soul.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, suddenly contrite. ‘I don’t know what happened to you, and I’ve no right to make fun of it. God knows I’ve got a messed up past myself.’

He pushed a hand through his hair, the gesture so unconsciously sexy that Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. It would be very easy to fall in love with Samir—she’d spent the past few weeks consciously guarding against it. Telling herself repeatedly that this was a short-lived thing had helped. So had determinedly seeing the funny side of things that could otherwise be upsetting or hurtful.

‘It wasn’t anywhere as exciting as what happened to you,’ Samir said. ‘In retrospect, I’m rather embarrassed about it—but I was very young then. I fell madly in love with a woman everyone except me knew was interested in me only because of my money.’

Some of her puzzlement must have shown in her face because he said, ‘I inherited a fair bit from my grandparents. And I had a bright career ahead of me.’

‘How did you find out?’

He smiled briefly. ‘I was going through a self-discovery phase pretty soon after we got engaged. I thought I’d switch careers, do something I enjoyed. Trouble was, the stuff I enjoyed wasn’t high-paying. And I wanted to use most of the money I’d inherited to go and live in Europe for a few years—she was out of the door the minute she realised I was actually serious.’

‘What was it that you wanted to do?’ Melissa asked curiously. So far he hadn’t given the impression of being particularly passionate about anything— definitely not to the extent of giving up his expensive lifestyle. He worked very hard, but it didn’t look as if he enjoyed that much either—it was difficult to think of him wanting to go off and follow a dream at any age.

‘Ah, that’s another story,’ he said, taking her hand and switching off the kitchen light as he led her out of the door. ‘Anyway, as it turned out I changed my mind and took up a corporate career instead.’

‘So if your girlfriend had stuck with you she’d have got all your lovely money after all,’ Melissa said. ‘Sounds like there’s a moral in there somewhere.’

‘She married a richer guy,’ he said. ‘So all in all I think it worked out well for her. And, Melissa...?’

They were inside the bedroom now, and she turned towards him at the suddenly serious note in his voice.

He touched her face gently—a fleeting caress that somehow had more feeling in it than all that they had shared earlier. ‘If I’ve been shutting you out at times, it’s because I’ve got used to being alone. Not because I don’t trust you, or because I think you’re like Shalini in any way.’

Melissa nodded. ‘And, for the record, I’m not trying to push you into anything either. I know you’re not in the market for a serious relationship right now and neither am I. Whenever we decide to call it quits we’ll be able to do it without a fuss.’

The conversation had become a lot more serious than she’d intended it to. Served her right for nagging at him just because he hadn’t been enthusiastic about his home-cooked spaghetti dinner. The next time he worked late she’d just hand him a takeaway menu.

Trying to lighten things up a bit, she added, ‘But while I’m living here you’ll have to get used to me invading every part of the house. Kitchen and CD rack included.’

Samir turned and caught her into his arms. ‘You can invade what you damn well please,’ he said, the words warm against her mouth. ‘Just as long as you come back to my bed every night.’

SIX

‘Don’t forget about
the dinner tonight,’ Samir warned Melissa as she got out of the car in front of the agency. ‘I’ve got meetings at Maximus the whole day—I’ll send the car for you and meet you directly at the party.’

The last time they’d planned to go out for dinner Samir had come home to find Melissa sitting at her laptop in a tattered pair of pyjamas, happily humming under her breath as she worked on her latest writing project. The minor fact that they had a reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town had completely slipped her mind.

This time, though, it was hardly likely she’d forget the party, Melissa thought as Samir drove off. It was a kind of milestone in their relationship, because it was the first time she’d be meeting any of Samir’s family—the dinner was at his cousin’s home to celebrate her fifteenth wedding anniversary.

‘Nervous?’ Neera asked later as Melissa grabbed the bag with her evening clothes and headed off to the women’s room to change.

Melissa grimaced. ‘A bit,’ she said. ‘Samir’s cousin is a total socialite. Not quite gossip column material, but she does a lot of fundraisers with NGOs and charities. I’ve never met that kind of person before—I’m dreading it.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Neera said comfortably. ‘Just be confident and be yourself. What are you wearing?’

It was easy, telling her to be herself, Melissa thought resentfully. Neera wasn’t the one who’d have to go meet a bunch of notoriously bitchy South Mumbai socialites, most of whom would look down their pedigree noses at her. And, while Samir hadn’t mentioned it, she knew that more than one woman had nursed hopes of hooking up with him—a lot of those pedigree noses had been put out of joint when she’d appeared on the scene.

She pulled the dress she was planning to wear out of the bag and showed it to Neera. ‘Does it look OK?’ she asked. It was beige with a black trim and a deceptively simple cut that flattered Melissa’s slim figure, making her look taller and curvier at the same time.

Neera wrinkled up her nose. ‘It’s nice enough, but it’s a little dull. Why aren’t you wearing the orange dress you bought when we went shopping together to Bandra? That looks great on you—really makes you stand out.’

‘I don’t want to stand out tonight. I want to blend in,’ Melissa retorted. There were several reasons why she’d chosen the beige over the orange—it looked classier, for one, and though it was cheaper it was a far better brand. Export surplus that sold at one fourth of the retail price—but hopefully no one at the party would know that.

When she came out of the cubicle a few minutes later, Neera nodded in approval. ‘It looks a lot better with you in it,’ she said. ‘I wish I had a bust like yours. And a waistline like yours, for that matter. Come here and let me help you with your make-up.’

Ten minutes later she was ready to go, and she slipped her feet into nude pumps as she waved to Neera and hurried out of the office and into the waiting car. ‘Mrs Kaul’s place in Malabar Hill,’ she told Samir’s driver.

‘Do we pick
sahib
up on the way?’ the driver wanted to know.

Melissa shook her head. ‘No, he’s probably already there. He’s hitching a ride with a friend.’

Except that he wasn’t—when she reached Priyanka Kaul’s plush flat she was told that Samir hadn’t yet arrived.

‘He messaged me to say that he’s running a little late,’ Priyanka said in her perfectly modulated voice. ‘But it’s so lovely to see you. Let me introduce you around to a few people so that you don’t get bored. Everyone knows Samir, and they’re dying to meet you.’

As far as Melissa was concerned, she could think of nothing worse, but there was no way she could wriggle out of the introductions without being impossibly rude to her hostess.

‘So you’ve actually moved in with Samir?’ one of the women asked. She was skinny to the point of emaciation, and had evidently been smoking continuously for a while as the ashtray in front of her was loaded with cigarette butts. ‘That’s pretty unusual, isn’t it? Even in this day and age.’

‘Oh, it’s very common for advertising agency folk,’ another woman said. ‘I did a few weeks in an ad agency once when I was really bored. Pretty promiscuous, I thought. Half the women were living with someone or the other. Though I must say most of them had grotty little flats in God-forsaken places like Chandivali and Vasai. Samir’s place must be heaven in comparison.’

‘Where did you live before you hooked up with Samir?’ the first woman asked.

‘Colaba,’ Melissa said shortly. She didn’t explain about the working women’s hostel.

Colaba was as nice as you could get in South Mumbai, and the woman looked a little disappointed. She’d probably hoped to hear that Melissa had lived in cockroach-ridden paying guest accommodation miles out of town.

Priyanka came up in time to hear the last bit of the conversation. ‘I was so excited when I heard about you,’ she said. ‘One of my closest friends stays in the same apartment block as Samir, and she told me first. Then, of course, when Samir called next he told me he had a new girlfriend.’

‘And a very pretty girlfriend too,’ Priyanka’s husband said, coming to stand next to her.

‘Thanks, Anil,’ Melissa muttered, feeling stunned. She’d always thought of Mumbai as being large and anonymous—it had never occurred to her that people she didn’t even know might be talking about her and Samir. No wonder Samir was more conscious of appearances than she was.

‘Samir’s mother will be on the phone with Priyanka as soon as the party’s over,’ Anil said. ‘We’re actually more her generation than yours, and she keeps checking in with us about how he’s doing. Samir’s not the most communicative of sons.’

His mother? Melissa hadn’t realised that Samir’s mum even knew she existed, let alone that she was keeping track of the parties she attended and calling up people to ask about her afterwards. Priyanka was frowning at Anil now—evidently he wasn’t supposed to have shared that last titbit.

‘I wonder what’s keeping Samir?’ she asked, glancing at her watch. ‘He said he’d be here by eight-thirty.’

‘It’s Janmashtami,’ Melissa said. ‘There are
dahi-handis
set up all across town and the traffic’s bad. He must have got stuck at Worli after he got off the sea link.’

‘There’s always something or the other happening in this city,’ one of Anil’s friends said. ‘It’s terrible the way they hold up everything just because of some archaic festival. It’s barbaric, the way they make human pyramids to knock down that ridiculous pot of curds. And all for some piddly cash prize.’

‘Ah, but the prize isn’t piddly by common man standards,’ a third man said.

He was thin and wiry, and his wire-framed spectacles gave him a permanently cynical expression. Vikas Kulkarni—that was his name, Melissa remembered. He was the only person in the group other than Priyanka and Anil that Samir had ever mentioned to her. Evidently a bit of a non-conformist, he gave the rest of the group a slow smile that Anil at least appeared to find intensely annoying. ‘And, as for being barbaric, wasn’t it one of
you
who was raving about breaking
piñatas
in Mexico?’

The man who’d originally called the festival barbaric flushed and was about to say something when Priyanka broke in, ‘Oh, but it’s not the same thing at all—is it, Vikas? I can’t imagine why people would want to spend months practising for something like the
dahi-handi
.’

‘It’s rather fun, actually,’ Melissa said. ‘Last year a group of us joined an all-girls team and we used to practise three days a week.’

She didn’t add that practising had been far more fun that the actual Janmashtami celebrations—the
pandals
had been packed with people and one of the girls had been groped in the crowd. Oh, and they hadn’t won anything because the team had been able to form only five tiers of the pyramid. Other girl
govinda
teams were able to do six, and male teams went up to seven and eight.

There was a second’s silence—they all looked as shocked as if she’d confessed to soliciting customers at Kamathipura on weekends, Melissa thought, trying to stifle the fit of giggles that threatened to overcome her. Even Vikas, the spectacled non-conformist, looked a little taken aback.

‘Did you win?’ Priyanka’s thirteen-year-old daughter asked interestedly.

Damn kids—they always came up with questions one didn’t want to answer.

Melissa shook her head. ‘We weren’t good enough,’ she said succinctly.

‘It’s about participating, Nysa, not winning,’ Priyanka said in reproving tones.

Vikas winked at Nysa. ‘Remind her she said that when you appear for your board exams,’ he said, and everyone laughed.

Priyanka grimaced. ‘One can tell you don’t have kids, Vikas,’ she said. ‘You’re such a subversive influence.’

Nysa sidled up to Melissa. ‘Mum says you write ads?’ she asked. ‘And you won an award at the festival?’

Melissa nodded. Priyanka and Samir didn’t look like each other at all, but there was a strong resemblance between Nysa and him—a throwback to a previous generation, perhaps.

‘I read some of your ads,’ Nysa said. ‘They’re, like, quite cool. Though I didn’t like the baby one that much—the one that got the award.’

Melissa smiled. There was something rather endearing about the girl.

‘Samir Uncle says that’s because I’m not part of the target audience,’ Nysa went on. ‘Sounds weird. Target audience. Like you’re at rifle class or something. That’s my target audience—boom-boom.’

OK, this was surreal. Samir had discussed her ads with his cousin’s daughter. What was she, a specialist subject for their next family quiz show? Trying not to show her annoyance, she smiled dutifully at Nysa’s joke.

‘D’you want to see around the house?’ Nysa asked. ‘You haven’t been here before, have you?’

‘Yes, sure,’ Melissa said. It would be better than standing around trying to be polite to a bunch of people she devoutly hoped she’d never have to meet again in her life.

The house was large and furnished with the most impeccable taste—it still felt like a home, though, and not like a museum, and Melissa felt some of her initial hostility fade. People’s spaces said a lot about them. Samir’s flat screamed ‘keep your distance’, but this one invited you in, made you feel welcome.

‘And this is my room,’ Nysa said, throwing open a dark blue door at the end of a passageway.

As expensively furnished as the other rooms, it was still a typical teenager’s cluttered mess, with boy band posters on the walls and clothes strewn extravagantly over every possible surface. What caught Melissa’s attention, though, was a big drum set that occupied half the room.

‘This is yours?’ she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Who else’s would it be—Priyanka’s? No wonder teenagers thought that adults were as thick-headed as turnips.

‘Yes,’ Nysa said and added gloomily, ‘Mum got the door soundproofed. She wanted me to learn the violin.’

Melissa couldn’t help grinning at that—though she didn’t blame Priyanka, really. With her waif-like build and waist-length hair Nysa would look perfect in a white floaty dress on a concert stage.

She stepped into the room and shut the soundproof door behind her. ‘May I?’ she asked, gesturing towards the drumsticks that Nysa was fiddling with.

Nysa’s ‘You
play
?’ was almost as incredulous as Priyanka’s reaction to her
govinda
skills.

‘You bet I do,’ Melissa said, pulling up a stool and grabbing the sticks before Nysa could change her mind. ‘My brother taught me—I took his place in the college band when he graduated.’

My God, it felt brilliant, getting her hands on the drums again. Even better than being back in a proper kitchen and almost as good as sex. And it was amazing the way the old beats came back to her, though it had been four years since she’d last played on stage.

When Samir arrived ten minutes later Melissa was still holed up with Nysa. ‘Happy anniversary,’ he said, leaning down to hug his cousin. ‘And congratulations on the new project—I believe everyone’s completely blown away by it.’

Priyanka had just put together a massive fundraiser for the launch of a new medical charity, and it had been a spectacular success.

Samir’s eyes automatically scanned the room for a familiar slim figure. ‘Priyanka, where’s Melissa?’ he asked. He hadn’t checked if she’d reached the party OK—for a second all kinds of horrifying scenarios crossed his mind.

Priyanka looked up from the designer arrangement of silk flowers he’d given her. ‘Oh, she’s around,’ she said. ‘I think Nysa took her to show her round the house. Such a sweet girl.’

‘Who? Nysa?’ Samir asked, grinning because he knew who she meant.

Priyanka shuddered. ‘Nysa’s a nightmare right now,’ she said. ‘Going through one of those teenage phases. I meant Melissa—she’s so sparky and confident—I’m completely in love with her.’

‘And she is going to tell your mother she approves, I believe,’ Vikas murmured as he came up to Samir. ‘I think you should prepare for some serious pressure from the female half of your family.’

Samir groaned. His mother had graduated from wanting to choose a bride for him to eagerly gathering information about every woman he dated in the hope that he’d finally settle down and give her the grandchildren she wanted.

‘I approve too, by the way,’ Vikas said.

Samir frowned. Vikas was notoriously picky and difficult to please. ‘What exactly has Melissa been doing since she got here?’

Vikas put his head to one side, rather like an inquisitive sparrow. ‘Wellll,’ he drawled, ticking off the points on his fingers, ‘she’s managed to deal with your bitchy ex-admirers over there without bursting into tears or clawing their eyes out. And she put a bunch of people in their place when they sneered at
dahi-handis
. She’s corrected my English twice—once when I said “keep” instead of “put” and once when I said “improvise” when I meant “improve”. And now she’s gone off to play drums with Priyanka’s daughter, I believe. I went inside to use the washroom and the door to that kid’s room isn’t as soundproof as our hosts would like to believe. Nysa’s not bad at the drums, but she’s still learning. I’ll eat my best tie if it’s her playing right now.’