beautiful tattoo. Having seen many friends sporting intricate ones, she could appreciate the detail. The finely etched manes of the animals. The sword hilt. The faint red lines marked to enhance shades.
And he had borne all the discomfort.
It must be important.
‘Why did you get this?’ she asked curiously.
He didn’t answer. Maybe he’d gone to sleep. Emboldened by his supposed unawareness, her touch became freer. Her body warmed up as daringly she traced the line of his spine. She was only returning the compliment, she reasoned away the impulse. It was only incidental that it felt good. Fabulous. The toned skin was a gift to the one touching it.
Only she could go so far…
Realisation seeped into her consciousness, dripping like the incessant flow of water over stone. She’d been carried away by physical need taking over her consciousness. She bit her lip as her hands froze.
‘Don’t stop now!’ The husky plea had her throat closing up as she fought against giving in to him. Giving in to her own surging desires.
‘Saira!’ The call arrested her when she would have turned away. The grating note of need in a single word that crashed through her barriers and made the earth tilt a little. Oh God.
He sat up, a large hand closing on her arm to stop her.
‘Let’s stop torturing ourselves.’ His gaze was brilliant as it held hers. ‘Let’s take it where it wants to go. This desire between us. This tension. You know very well it demands assuaging.’
She swallowed. ‘I… it’s too soon.’
‘I’ve tried to fight it too. But all I did was hurt you. And in a way myself too.’
The admission made her breath catch but she shook her head. ‘I hardly know you, Rihaan.’
He took a deep breath, chest expanding. ‘What’s that got to do with it? What’s to know about me, anyway? A moody writer, an absent-minded plotter. What would you like to know?’ He gestured broadly with his hands. ‘You know what I do, you’ve seen my place and you know how I live… I’m not a neatness freak but I keep my desk organized, so I know what to find if I’m in a hurry. I’m no cook myself but I can’t abide live-in help. I eat packaged food and takeaways more times than not. The only thing I can cook is jaggery rice. I don’t have fixed hours for writing, so my bedtime is variable too.’ He paused and cocked an eyebrow. ‘That suffice?’
‘Actually, no.’ She met his gaze. ‘Those are personal quirks but it takes more to form a person than random likes such as the colour green being favoured over pink. I’d want to know more. What have you been through in your life? If you had a happy childhood or a sad one? How do you feel about love? Why do you write what you do… the stories of men driven too harshly to the end of their tether by circumstances no one can control? You didn’t even tell me what made you get the tattoo.’ Had she said too much? Probably, as usual. A dark look crossed his face, which became hard, like carved granite for seconds.
‘You have a lot of questions,’ he said finally. She waited, wanting to know, suddenly curious about all the questions she had voiced. She hadn’t even known she’d had them in her mind.
Studiously he raked the sand, admitting, ‘I’ve left a lot behind but all that is irrelevant to my life now.’ Slowly, he scooped up the grains, his hand closing on them with such concentration that she wondered if the past was related tothe desert he had left behind. If he was perhaps thinking of another kind of soil when he looked so fixedly at the grains of sand? A sudden flash of intuition convinced her it must be so.
With an impatient gesture, he dusted off his hands. ‘It’s the here-and-now we’re concerned with, not with our respective life histories. Would knowing all those things change anything? Make any difference?’ he asked. ‘Not to this.’ Deliberately he let his fingers curve around her ankle and then slide a path up her leg, moving in a slow,
And he had borne all the discomfort.
It must be important.
‘Why did you get this?’ she asked curiously.
He didn’t answer. Maybe he’d gone to sleep. Emboldened by his supposed unawareness, her touch became freer. Her body warmed up as daringly she traced the line of his spine. She was only returning the compliment, she reasoned away the impulse. It was only incidental that it felt good. Fabulous. The toned skin was a gift to the one touching it.
Only she could go so far…
Realisation seeped into her consciousness, dripping like the incessant flow of water over stone. She’d been carried away by physical need taking over her consciousness. She bit her lip as her hands froze.
‘Don’t stop now!’ The husky plea had her throat closing up as she fought against giving in to him. Giving in to her own surging desires.
‘Saira!’ The call arrested her when she would have turned away. The grating note of need in a single word that crashed through her barriers and made the earth tilt a little. Oh God.
He sat up, a large hand closing on her arm to stop her.
‘Let’s stop torturing ourselves.’ His gaze was brilliant as it held hers. ‘Let’s take it where it wants to go. This desire between us. This tension. You know very well it demands assuaging.’
She swallowed. ‘I… it’s too soon.’
‘I’ve tried to fight it too. But all I did was hurt you. And in a way myself too.’
The admission made her breath catch but she shook her head. ‘I hardly know you, Rihaan.’
He took a deep breath, chest expanding. ‘What’s that got to do with it? What’s to know about me, anyway? A moody writer, an absent-minded plotter. What would you like to know?’ He gestured broadly with his hands. ‘You know what I do, you’ve seen my place and you know how I live… I’m not a neatness freak but I keep my desk organized, so I know what to find if I’m in a hurry. I’m no cook myself but I can’t abide live-in help. I eat packaged food and takeaways more times than not. The only thing I can cook is jaggery rice. I don’t have fixed hours for writing, so my bedtime is variable too.’ He paused and cocked an eyebrow. ‘That suffice?’
‘Actually, no.’ She met his gaze. ‘Those are personal quirks but it takes more to form a person than random likes such as the colour green being favoured over pink. I’d want to know more. What have you been through in your life? If you had a happy childhood or a sad one? How do you feel about love? Why do you write what you do… the stories of men driven too harshly to the end of their tether by circumstances no one can control? You didn’t even tell me what made you get the tattoo.’ Had she said too much? Probably, as usual. A dark look crossed his face, which became hard, like carved granite for seconds.
‘You have a lot of questions,’ he said finally. She waited, wanting to know, suddenly curious about all the questions she had voiced. She hadn’t even known she’d had them in her mind.
Studiously he raked the sand, admitting, ‘I’ve left a lot behind but all that is irrelevant to my life now.’ Slowly, he scooped up the grains, his hand closing on them with such concentration that she wondered if the past was related tothe desert he had left behind. If he was perhaps thinking of another kind of soil when he looked so fixedly at the grains of sand? A sudden flash of intuition convinced her it must be so.
With an impatient gesture, he dusted off his hands. ‘It’s the here-and-now we’re concerned with, not with our respective life histories. Would knowing all those things change anything? Make any difference?’ he asked. ‘Not to this.’ Deliberately he let his fingers curve around her ankle and then slide a path up her leg, moving in a slow,
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