Rebel Hard
Page 12
The devil took Raj. “These days a lot of young women like going to parties and spending wild nights out,” he said solemnly, a worried possible groom. “Is—”
“Oh, our Nayna’s not like that,” her mother said with a laugh. “She never even went to parties at university.”
Her father nodded. “She prefers to spend her free time at home.”
“Oh,” Raj said in a tone that sounded casual enough but that had Nayna’s hand tightening on the teapot she’d just picked up.
He didn’t know why he’d done it, why he was playing along with this charade that they’d never met. Raj preferred to be blunt and honest in his interactions whenever possible. But that night with Nayna… that was a secret shared between the two of them. Raj found he didn’t want to speak about it to anyone but her.
Now, as he watched and waited for a response from this woman who made him act in unfamiliar ways, she poured her grandmother the first cup of chai, exactly as she should. Then she turned to his parents and asked if they’d like sugar. By the time she angled her head toward him, he, a man renowned in his family for his calm under pressure, had to fight not to growl at her.
This modest and meek mouse of a woman was not the siren who’d kissed him so passionately—or who’d told him to shut up because she only wanted his body. That woman who was all wrong for him might’ve infuriated him, but she’d had a fire inside her, and that fire had warmed the cold places inside him.
“One sugar or two?” she asked in a demure murmur, complete with a shy smile.
Disappointment settled like a rock in his gut. Perhaps this was the real Nayna and the wild, blushing, delicious Nayna who’d scorched and angered him at the party had been nothing but a mirage—a game she’d indulged in for the night. “One,” he said, his desire to play a subtle game with her chilled into silence. Just as well. Even as a child, Raj had never been good at play.
His mother had often called him her solemn little man.
Gaurav Sharma asked him a question about the family construction business at that moment, and he became involved in answering it, only turning to take the cup when Nayna said, “Your tea” in that annoying, meek voice that threatened to destroy his memories of the passion he’d found with her.
No woman had ever ignited such fire in him. He’d thought he’d carry the coldness inside him forever. Then had come Nayna. Only that Nayna had never truly existed. She’d disappeared at midnight, taking the warmth with her.
“Thank you.” Muscles rigid from the effort it took to sit here and act normal when he wanted the whole thing over with as fast as possible, he took an absentminded sip of tea… and barely saved himself from splurting it out onto Nayna’s father’s face.
Covering the moment with a cough after managing to swallow the vile stuff, he forced himself to stay put. Not to pick up Nayna and spank her for pouring what felt like half a bag of sugar into his cup. Which he now had to drink or he’d mortally insult her family.
Witch.
And not meek and mild at all.
10
Peaches and Scruff and Cold Showers
Nayna woke the next morning with a fuzzy head and no idea what she was going to do.
The previous night, after Raj and his family left, her parents had turned to her, asked her what she thought. It had been obvious exactly how much they—and her grandmother—liked Raj. Both their families had also gotten along like a house on fire. The meeting had raced to over an hour, only wrapping up because the next day was a workday.
She should’ve said no right then and there no matter how hard it would’ve been to disappoint them, but the words of rejection had stuck in her throat—because she didn’t want to refuse the man who’d made her feel as he had on Saturday night. Even in her confusion about the future she dreamed of for herself, it had felt deeply wrong to do that.
As it was, she’d mumbled something about needing time to think, and her parents had nodded and smiled. Her grandmother had patted her affectionately on the back of the hand. Everyone probably thought she was overwhelmed—and they were right.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the way they expected.
Her hormones had danced like crazy around Raj, just as they had at the party. Her fingers had itched to tear off his shirt. And her thighs had squeezed at the thought of being wrapped around him while her mouth watered at the thought of his kiss.
Physical attraction was not a problem.
“Argh!” She buried her face in a pillow and reminded herself that it was highly unlikely she’d have to do anything at all. Not only was he furious with her, but physically speaking, Raj was out of her league. The man was flat-out beautiful and she hadn’t had the advantage of moonlight last night.
Shoving aside the pillow on that less-than-cheerful thought, she wrenched off the sheets and gathered her towel and everything else she needed for the shower before stumbling out and down the hall to the bathroom she shared with her grandmother. It was bright white and clean and felt blinding to her gritty eyes.
Squinting against the burn, she put her stuff on top of the closed laundry basket, stripped, then stepped under a scalding-hot spray in a vain attempt to wash away the dreams that had tormented her all night long. Of a certain gorgeous, serious man whom she much preferred with a bit of scruff on his jaw rather than clean-shaven as he’d been last night.
Her body shivered in secret, unfamiliar places at the memory of how Raj’s stubble had scraped against her when they kissed. He had hair on his chest too. Crisp and silken at the same time. Not too much. Just enough to tantalize a woman into rubbing up against him.
Her clit pulsed.
“You’re heading into cold-shower territory,” she moaned at herself. “You hate cold showers.” But even that warning didn’t stop her from fantasizing, and she was flushed under the rich darkness of her skin when she stepped out of the shower.
As she rubbed the towel over her skin, she couldn’t help but remember how Raj had stroked it, making it patent that he liked it a whole lot. Her nipples pebbled, standing out impudently on the taut mounds of her breasts. He’d liked those too. Tight and firm, he’d called them. Like just-ripe peaches.
Nayna shivered and slathered on the body cream she loved, let it sink in. The rest of her morning routine was fairly quick, and she was soon back in her room, ready to dress for work. Something made her reach deep into her closet to pull out a skirt suit she’d never before worn. She’d bought it on sale because the deep crimson of it looked glorious against her skin—and the fit was flawless off the rack, which never happened with her boyish hips and small breasts.
However, it had always seemed too out-there for an accountant. Today it felt like armor. Because one thing was certain: at some point during the day she’d get a call or a text from her parents saying that Raj had turned her down. Her stomach clenched even though that was what she wanted—for him to be the bad guy. She could then bounce off the rejection—and the sympathy it would engender—to broach the subject of her own change of mind when it came to the plan her parents had for her life.
“Rejection’s a normal part of the process,” she reminded herself. Even if it would come from the only man she’d ever truly wanted. In some ways the arranged-marriage mart, as she and Ísa had termed it, was far more honest than dating. No sparing feelings, no trying to be kind and accidentally stringing people along. One set of parents would simply tell the other that it wasn’t the right match and on it went.
“Oh, our Nayna’s not like that,” her mother said with a laugh. “She never even went to parties at university.”
Her father nodded. “She prefers to spend her free time at home.”
“Oh,” Raj said in a tone that sounded casual enough but that had Nayna’s hand tightening on the teapot she’d just picked up.
He didn’t know why he’d done it, why he was playing along with this charade that they’d never met. Raj preferred to be blunt and honest in his interactions whenever possible. But that night with Nayna… that was a secret shared between the two of them. Raj found he didn’t want to speak about it to anyone but her.
Now, as he watched and waited for a response from this woman who made him act in unfamiliar ways, she poured her grandmother the first cup of chai, exactly as she should. Then she turned to his parents and asked if they’d like sugar. By the time she angled her head toward him, he, a man renowned in his family for his calm under pressure, had to fight not to growl at her.
This modest and meek mouse of a woman was not the siren who’d kissed him so passionately—or who’d told him to shut up because she only wanted his body. That woman who was all wrong for him might’ve infuriated him, but she’d had a fire inside her, and that fire had warmed the cold places inside him.
“One sugar or two?” she asked in a demure murmur, complete with a shy smile.
Disappointment settled like a rock in his gut. Perhaps this was the real Nayna and the wild, blushing, delicious Nayna who’d scorched and angered him at the party had been nothing but a mirage—a game she’d indulged in for the night. “One,” he said, his desire to play a subtle game with her chilled into silence. Just as well. Even as a child, Raj had never been good at play.
His mother had often called him her solemn little man.
Gaurav Sharma asked him a question about the family construction business at that moment, and he became involved in answering it, only turning to take the cup when Nayna said, “Your tea” in that annoying, meek voice that threatened to destroy his memories of the passion he’d found with her.
No woman had ever ignited such fire in him. He’d thought he’d carry the coldness inside him forever. Then had come Nayna. Only that Nayna had never truly existed. She’d disappeared at midnight, taking the warmth with her.
“Thank you.” Muscles rigid from the effort it took to sit here and act normal when he wanted the whole thing over with as fast as possible, he took an absentminded sip of tea… and barely saved himself from splurting it out onto Nayna’s father’s face.
Covering the moment with a cough after managing to swallow the vile stuff, he forced himself to stay put. Not to pick up Nayna and spank her for pouring what felt like half a bag of sugar into his cup. Which he now had to drink or he’d mortally insult her family.
Witch.
And not meek and mild at all.
10
Peaches and Scruff and Cold Showers
Nayna woke the next morning with a fuzzy head and no idea what she was going to do.
The previous night, after Raj and his family left, her parents had turned to her, asked her what she thought. It had been obvious exactly how much they—and her grandmother—liked Raj. Both their families had also gotten along like a house on fire. The meeting had raced to over an hour, only wrapping up because the next day was a workday.
She should’ve said no right then and there no matter how hard it would’ve been to disappoint them, but the words of rejection had stuck in her throat—because she didn’t want to refuse the man who’d made her feel as he had on Saturday night. Even in her confusion about the future she dreamed of for herself, it had felt deeply wrong to do that.
As it was, she’d mumbled something about needing time to think, and her parents had nodded and smiled. Her grandmother had patted her affectionately on the back of the hand. Everyone probably thought she was overwhelmed—and they were right.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t in the way they expected.
Her hormones had danced like crazy around Raj, just as they had at the party. Her fingers had itched to tear off his shirt. And her thighs had squeezed at the thought of being wrapped around him while her mouth watered at the thought of his kiss.
Physical attraction was not a problem.
“Argh!” She buried her face in a pillow and reminded herself that it was highly unlikely she’d have to do anything at all. Not only was he furious with her, but physically speaking, Raj was out of her league. The man was flat-out beautiful and she hadn’t had the advantage of moonlight last night.
Shoving aside the pillow on that less-than-cheerful thought, she wrenched off the sheets and gathered her towel and everything else she needed for the shower before stumbling out and down the hall to the bathroom she shared with her grandmother. It was bright white and clean and felt blinding to her gritty eyes.
Squinting against the burn, she put her stuff on top of the closed laundry basket, stripped, then stepped under a scalding-hot spray in a vain attempt to wash away the dreams that had tormented her all night long. Of a certain gorgeous, serious man whom she much preferred with a bit of scruff on his jaw rather than clean-shaven as he’d been last night.
Her body shivered in secret, unfamiliar places at the memory of how Raj’s stubble had scraped against her when they kissed. He had hair on his chest too. Crisp and silken at the same time. Not too much. Just enough to tantalize a woman into rubbing up against him.
Her clit pulsed.
“You’re heading into cold-shower territory,” she moaned at herself. “You hate cold showers.” But even that warning didn’t stop her from fantasizing, and she was flushed under the rich darkness of her skin when she stepped out of the shower.
As she rubbed the towel over her skin, she couldn’t help but remember how Raj had stroked it, making it patent that he liked it a whole lot. Her nipples pebbled, standing out impudently on the taut mounds of her breasts. He’d liked those too. Tight and firm, he’d called them. Like just-ripe peaches.
Nayna shivered and slathered on the body cream she loved, let it sink in. The rest of her morning routine was fairly quick, and she was soon back in her room, ready to dress for work. Something made her reach deep into her closet to pull out a skirt suit she’d never before worn. She’d bought it on sale because the deep crimson of it looked glorious against her skin—and the fit was flawless off the rack, which never happened with her boyish hips and small breasts.
However, it had always seemed too out-there for an accountant. Today it felt like armor. Because one thing was certain: at some point during the day she’d get a call or a text from her parents saying that Raj had turned her down. Her stomach clenched even though that was what she wanted—for him to be the bad guy. She could then bounce off the rejection—and the sympathy it would engender—to broach the subject of her own change of mind when it came to the plan her parents had for her life.
“Rejection’s a normal part of the process,” she reminded herself. Even if it would come from the only man she’d ever truly wanted. In some ways the arranged-marriage mart, as she and Ísa had termed it, was far more honest than dating. No sparing feelings, no trying to be kind and accidentally stringing people along. One set of parents would simply tell the other that it wasn’t the right match and on it went.
