Rebel Hard
Page 22
“My hair still doesn’t hold curls, doesn’t matter what product I use.” Nayna made a face. “This is nice.” Simple but soft. “Let me do my makeup and you hunt for some bangles.” As Nayna, Madhuri, and their mother all had the same size wrist, they had a shared collection of bangles in every conceivable color. It had just kind of built up over the years.
Madhuri chatted along about her new job and her crotchety neighbor and how she was in love with the guy on The Bachelor.
Nayna stuck out her tongue. “No way. He’s so plastic.”
“Whatever, Ninu. You have no appreciation for a nice pack of abs.”
Nayna’s fingers tingled in sensory memory of a certain chest she’d explored, of the ridged outline of a very nice six-pack that she really, really wanted to touch again. Embarrassingly damp between her thighs, she finished putting on her eyeshadow and began with mascara. Behind her, Madhuri gave an exasperated sigh. “You go too light on the makeup.”
“I can’t stand too much on my skin.”
“I’ll do it for you next time,” Madhuri said before extending her hands. “Here, I found silver bangles, orange ones, and blue. You want to color block or mix and match?”
Nayna went for the silver, adding silver bells to her ears to match and a silver bindi with a center of peacock blue. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt pretty damn good. She was no Madhuri, but she looked sleek and, dare she say it, elegant. “Thanks, Maddie,” she said while her sister added another safety pin to ensure the sari stayed in place.
“There. Done.” Madhuri came up beside her, looking in the mirror to fix her own hair just right. “The Sharma girls are ready. World won’t know what hit it.”
* * *
When they walked into the grand wedding hall side by side, Nayna saw all eyes go to Madhuri. She wanted to smile. That was the way it had always been and would probab— Her thoughts cut off mid-word, her eyes locking with those of darkest brown across the room.
What was Raj doing here?
“Who is that smoking-hot hunk of deliciousness?”
Madhuri’s whisper had Nayna jerking. “Raj,” she said through a dry throat, her pulse a panicky beat. Because she knew what happened to men when they saw Madhuri. She knew.
“Oooooh.” Madhuri’s tone was intrigued. “I see what you mean about you two not suiting. He’s what, six three?”
It wasn’t a dig, was just Madhuri being Madhuri. And it wasn’t as if her sister would attempt to poach Raj. Men asked to be with her—she didn’t have to steal. Stomach churning and cheeks hot at the scene surely to come, Nayna walked with her sister to take a seat at one of the tables. The centerpiece was created of tea candles and exotic blooms floating in a fishbowl, each place setting perfectly arranged.
There was no assigned seating, but every one of the six hundred guests was guaranteed a seat. This was a very expensive wedding. And the back of her neck was prickling. Just her imagination. Raj was unlikely to be staring at her when Madhuri was right next to her.
“Good evening, ladies,” a deep male voice said just as Nayna put her purse on the table.
“Hello.” Madhuri glowed up at him, her smile luminous. “I’m Madhuri, Nayna’s sister.”
“Raj.” He slipped into the chair beside Nayna, his expression as solemn as always and his body clad in a black suit that was criminal in how it highlighted his rough-edged sexiness. “This wasn’t taken, was it?”
“My mother was going to sit there.” Nayna scowled at him instead of curling up into a self-defensive ball.
“Oh, Ma can sit by me,” Madhuri said airily.
Raj nodded and stayed put, his large body emanating a heat that made Nayna want to cuddle into him and sniff at his scent from the curve of his neck. He rose to his feet only when her parents arrived after making their way through all their friends and greeting everyone. Shaking her father’s hand and smiling at her mother, he then sat back down. His own parents soon joined them at the table.
Oh. My. God. The man wasn’t just playing dirty, he had declared no-holds-barred war.
She kicked him under the table.
When he gave her a steady, stubborn look, she wanted to strangle him. Despite the black-tie-attired orchestra out front and a gifted singer crooning away Hindi classics as the guests settled in, every eye in the place was on them. Single, unattached men did not sit next to single, unattached women unless something was going on—or that was the accepted point of view. And no one would’ve missed that he’d deliberately chosen the seat next to her, not Madhuri.
Which… okay, yes, that made her want to kiss him. After she finished kicking him.
Bruised ankles or not, he stayed. And brought her chai. Then got her extra sweets. Her parents and his looked on benevolently.
And it started to dawn on her that this serious man, whom she’d never seen laughing, was playing with her. Her bones threatened to melt—but she still had to grit her teeth to control the urge to pour the piping-hot chai into his lap in punishment for his behavior.
“I wouldn’t,” he said roughly under the hubbub of conversation. “You might damage parts you like.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she murmured despite the urge to do highly inappropriate things to his spectacular body.
Music drummed through the huge hall.
The wedding was finally ready to begin two hours after the scheduled time. Which meant it was right on Indian-time. The Hindu priest—the pandit—got up to do a small prayer, then the emcee did an introduction lauding the couple. Their university degrees—in science for the groom, in finance for the bride—were heavily emphasized.
“Is it because I don’t have a degree?” Raj whispered, his breath ruffling her ear. “Is that why you only want me for my body?”
“I swear to God, I’m going to murder you in a minute.”
His responding look held the faintest hint of a smile, and it was pure provocation. She wanted to rip off his clothes and kiss him all over. Did he realize how madly arousing it was to have him crack his mature, serious shell just for her? It made her wonder if he might be like this in bed sometimes, after they got comfortable with one another.
Nayna’s toes curled. Hard.
17
Neck Kisses and the Abs of Nayna’s Downfall
Speech finally over, the wedding ceremony officially started with the pandit doing prayers. The groom sat to his left, both of them looking at the sacred fire in the middle. The groom’s family had arranged themselves on one side of the brilliantly dressed stage, complete with a wedding pavilion dripping with jeweled ropes, red carpet, and lashings of opulent red roses. All of the pavilion’s four pillars were encrusted with crystals that dazzled the eye and threw multi-hued reflections across the hall.
Nayna’s favorite part came not long after. She stood with everyone else on the emcee’s instruction, smiling up at Raj when he stepped aside and nudged her forward so she’d have a better view of the aisle down which the bride would walk. Only afterward did she realize she’d just added fuel to the fire of speculation around them.
And why did the damn man have to smell so good?
Music sounded as the orchestra launched into a beloved wedding piece and a tiny girl dressed in a glittering pink skirt that touched the floor, paired with a miniature kurta and a sparkly dupatta folded and tucked in like a sari, walked down the aisle, throwing flower petals as she went.
Madhuri chatted along about her new job and her crotchety neighbor and how she was in love with the guy on The Bachelor.
Nayna stuck out her tongue. “No way. He’s so plastic.”
“Whatever, Ninu. You have no appreciation for a nice pack of abs.”
Nayna’s fingers tingled in sensory memory of a certain chest she’d explored, of the ridged outline of a very nice six-pack that she really, really wanted to touch again. Embarrassingly damp between her thighs, she finished putting on her eyeshadow and began with mascara. Behind her, Madhuri gave an exasperated sigh. “You go too light on the makeup.”
“I can’t stand too much on my skin.”
“I’ll do it for you next time,” Madhuri said before extending her hands. “Here, I found silver bangles, orange ones, and blue. You want to color block or mix and match?”
Nayna went for the silver, adding silver bells to her ears to match and a silver bindi with a center of peacock blue. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt pretty damn good. She was no Madhuri, but she looked sleek and, dare she say it, elegant. “Thanks, Maddie,” she said while her sister added another safety pin to ensure the sari stayed in place.
“There. Done.” Madhuri came up beside her, looking in the mirror to fix her own hair just right. “The Sharma girls are ready. World won’t know what hit it.”
* * *
When they walked into the grand wedding hall side by side, Nayna saw all eyes go to Madhuri. She wanted to smile. That was the way it had always been and would probab— Her thoughts cut off mid-word, her eyes locking with those of darkest brown across the room.
What was Raj doing here?
“Who is that smoking-hot hunk of deliciousness?”
Madhuri’s whisper had Nayna jerking. “Raj,” she said through a dry throat, her pulse a panicky beat. Because she knew what happened to men when they saw Madhuri. She knew.
“Oooooh.” Madhuri’s tone was intrigued. “I see what you mean about you two not suiting. He’s what, six three?”
It wasn’t a dig, was just Madhuri being Madhuri. And it wasn’t as if her sister would attempt to poach Raj. Men asked to be with her—she didn’t have to steal. Stomach churning and cheeks hot at the scene surely to come, Nayna walked with her sister to take a seat at one of the tables. The centerpiece was created of tea candles and exotic blooms floating in a fishbowl, each place setting perfectly arranged.
There was no assigned seating, but every one of the six hundred guests was guaranteed a seat. This was a very expensive wedding. And the back of her neck was prickling. Just her imagination. Raj was unlikely to be staring at her when Madhuri was right next to her.
“Good evening, ladies,” a deep male voice said just as Nayna put her purse on the table.
“Hello.” Madhuri glowed up at him, her smile luminous. “I’m Madhuri, Nayna’s sister.”
“Raj.” He slipped into the chair beside Nayna, his expression as solemn as always and his body clad in a black suit that was criminal in how it highlighted his rough-edged sexiness. “This wasn’t taken, was it?”
“My mother was going to sit there.” Nayna scowled at him instead of curling up into a self-defensive ball.
“Oh, Ma can sit by me,” Madhuri said airily.
Raj nodded and stayed put, his large body emanating a heat that made Nayna want to cuddle into him and sniff at his scent from the curve of his neck. He rose to his feet only when her parents arrived after making their way through all their friends and greeting everyone. Shaking her father’s hand and smiling at her mother, he then sat back down. His own parents soon joined them at the table.
Oh. My. God. The man wasn’t just playing dirty, he had declared no-holds-barred war.
She kicked him under the table.
When he gave her a steady, stubborn look, she wanted to strangle him. Despite the black-tie-attired orchestra out front and a gifted singer crooning away Hindi classics as the guests settled in, every eye in the place was on them. Single, unattached men did not sit next to single, unattached women unless something was going on—or that was the accepted point of view. And no one would’ve missed that he’d deliberately chosen the seat next to her, not Madhuri.
Which… okay, yes, that made her want to kiss him. After she finished kicking him.
Bruised ankles or not, he stayed. And brought her chai. Then got her extra sweets. Her parents and his looked on benevolently.
And it started to dawn on her that this serious man, whom she’d never seen laughing, was playing with her. Her bones threatened to melt—but she still had to grit her teeth to control the urge to pour the piping-hot chai into his lap in punishment for his behavior.
“I wouldn’t,” he said roughly under the hubbub of conversation. “You might damage parts you like.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she murmured despite the urge to do highly inappropriate things to his spectacular body.
Music drummed through the huge hall.
The wedding was finally ready to begin two hours after the scheduled time. Which meant it was right on Indian-time. The Hindu priest—the pandit—got up to do a small prayer, then the emcee did an introduction lauding the couple. Their university degrees—in science for the groom, in finance for the bride—were heavily emphasized.
“Is it because I don’t have a degree?” Raj whispered, his breath ruffling her ear. “Is that why you only want me for my body?”
“I swear to God, I’m going to murder you in a minute.”
His responding look held the faintest hint of a smile, and it was pure provocation. She wanted to rip off his clothes and kiss him all over. Did he realize how madly arousing it was to have him crack his mature, serious shell just for her? It made her wonder if he might be like this in bed sometimes, after they got comfortable with one another.
Nayna’s toes curled. Hard.
17
Neck Kisses and the Abs of Nayna’s Downfall
Speech finally over, the wedding ceremony officially started with the pandit doing prayers. The groom sat to his left, both of them looking at the sacred fire in the middle. The groom’s family had arranged themselves on one side of the brilliantly dressed stage, complete with a wedding pavilion dripping with jeweled ropes, red carpet, and lashings of opulent red roses. All of the pavilion’s four pillars were encrusted with crystals that dazzled the eye and threw multi-hued reflections across the hall.
Nayna’s favorite part came not long after. She stood with everyone else on the emcee’s instruction, smiling up at Raj when he stepped aside and nudged her forward so she’d have a better view of the aisle down which the bride would walk. Only afterward did she realize she’d just added fuel to the fire of speculation around them.
And why did the damn man have to smell so good?
Music sounded as the orchestra launched into a beloved wedding piece and a tiny girl dressed in a glittering pink skirt that touched the floor, paired with a miniature kurta and a sparkly dupatta folded and tucked in like a sari, walked down the aisle, throwing flower petals as she went.
