Twelve Hours of Temptation (9 page)

Luckily Vikas didn’t have to perform the threatened gastronomic feat, because when Samir pushed open the door to Nysa’s room Melissa was banging out a hard rock rhythm while Nysa gazed at her in awestruck admiration. Her cheeks were glowing with the effort, and her flyaway hair had come loose and was tumbling around her shoulders.

‘Oh, you’re here,’ she said, pausing mid-beat and looking up at him, evidently conscience-stricken at having abandoned the party. ‘I’m so sorry. I lost track of the time a little.’

Samir had a sudden impulse to sweep her off her feet and kiss her—she looked so naturally lovely. But Vikas and Nysa were looking on interestedly, so he contented himself with dropping a chaste kiss on her brow and putting an arm around her as he shepherded her to the door.

Melissa found the rest of the evening surprisingly enjoyable. Vikas was clearly a bit of a trendsetter among Priyanka’s friends, and because he’d taken an abrupt liking to Melissa the others started treating her less like an interloper. Samir didn’t speak much, but she was conscious of his quiet strength by her side all along.

‘Wasn’t as terrible as you thought it would be, right?’ Samir asked later as they drove home.

Melissa shot him a startled look, and he laughed.

‘You’re pretty easy to read,’ he said, putting a hand on her knee and sending an automatic little thrill up her thigh. ‘Relax—they all loved you.’

Really?
she felt like saying.
What about the two women I met at the beginning?
They’d still looked at her as if she was some kind of cheap slut when she left.

‘As far as I’m concerned it’s more important what I thought of them than what they thought of me,’ she announced. ‘I liked Vikas, and your cousin and Nysa. Didn’t really care for the rest.’

That was so typical, Samir thought, half amused and half exasperated. He was conscious that he’d wanted to see if she’d fit into his circle—it was important that she did if they were to have any kind of future together. She’d done amazingly well, keeping up a light, easy conversation without being sycophantic or intimidated. Trust her to have a completely different take on the situation, though.

When they got home Melissa brushed her teeth and went to bed while Samir was checking the mail that had come for him during the day. It had been a long day, and she was a little upset, and frankly feeling rather stupid. Of
course
he was more worried about her making some dreadful faux pas in front of his friends than he was about whether she liked them or not. She’d been dumb to think that her opinion would matter to him in the slightest.

Feeling hot tears prick at her eyelids, she blinked them back. It wasn’t the end of the world, being at cross purposes with a boyfriend. She should be used to it by now—it had happened before. But Josh hadn’t given out confusing signals like Samir did—he’d just not been in love with her.

Samir hadn’t said he was in love with her either, but it was clear he was serious about their relationship. Introducing her to his cousin and his friends had made it seem as if he wanted to take things to the next level—as far as Melissa was concerned, though, she’d be happier if they first made up their minds about each other before they got other people involved.

Only Samir hadn’t asked her. He’d evidently expected that she’d be overjoyed at the thought of being his official girlfriend rather than staying tucked away in an airtight corner of his life.

Wondering if she was being madly unreasonable, Melissa squeezed her eyes tightly closed and rubbed at her forehead with her knuckles. No, she decided, opening her eyes again. He needed to talk things over with her before he went off making one-sided decisions and subjecting her to being assessed by his family.

Samir came into the bedroom, and she turned towards the wall and pretended to be asleep.

SEVEN

The next day
was a Sunday, and Melissa woke up at six-thirty to the sound of bells ringing in a nearby church.

She lay in bed and listened to the chimes die away. It had been over a year since she’d last gone to church, she realised. When she’d first come to Mumbai she’d gone with Liz to a church in Colaba almost every Sunday. Then slowly inertia had crept in and she’d started going less often, then stopped altogether.

There was a large church near Samir’s apartment complex—maybe she’d try going there one Sunday. Samir was Hindu, of course, and from what she could make out not particularly religious. But he’d studied in a Catholic school for some years, and in the course of a general conversation she’d figured out that he knew more about Catholic customs than Hindu ones. Maybe he’d want to come with her to church. Or maybe not.

She turned to look at Samir. He was still fast asleep, one hand possessively clasping her hip and the other pillowing his cheek. His breathing was even and his face was smooth and untroubled. Clearly he’d gone to sleep the second his head hit the pillow instead of staying up half the night obsessing about a relationship that was going nowhere.

He sighed and shifted a little closer, automatically seeking the warmth of her body. It would be so
easy
to stop bothering about the complicated stuff and just let things happen.

Slowly, she slid out from under Samir’s arm, putting it on a pillow instead. He didn’t seem to mind in the least, and she smiled grimly. She was probably equally replaceable when he was awake, only he hadn’t realised it yet.

After she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face she felt much better. Best of all she’d regained some of her sense of humour—enough to be able to laugh at herself and her silly problems. It wasn’t the end of the world, liking someone more than they liked you—high school was full of such tragedies. Or at least it was for other people. Melissa herself had had a pretty good time in school. It was when she was all grown up that her man problems had begun.

Humming to herself, she went into the kitchen and started investigating the shelves. She’d found a wonderful little store that delivered provisions, and the kitchen was now beautifully stocked. As usual, just being in the kitchen made her mood lift up several notches. Now all she needed was a nice calorie-rich breakfast to get her back to being a hundred percent normal.

‘Something smells nice,’ Samir said, putting his head around the kitchen door after ten minutes. ‘What’re you making?’

‘Pancakes,’ she said and added wickedly, because she knew how particular he was about eating healthily, ‘loaded with sugar and butter and refined carbs.’

‘Oh, well, I’ll just have to spend an extra half-hour in the gym,’ he said. ‘Or you could help me burn those calories in a more fun way...’

Melissa skipped neatly out of the way as he reached for her. ‘Keep your hands to yourself,’ she said, rapping him on the knuckles with a wooden spatula. ‘I’m busy.’

The doorbell rang just as he was about to grab her around the waist, and he paused. ‘Will you go and answer the door?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely not,’ Melissa said. ‘I’m not wearing a bra.’

Samir thought it over. ‘Neither am I,’ he said. ‘So as excuses go...’

He dodged the dishcloth that Melissa threw at his head and went off laughing to open the door.

Five minutes later he was back. ‘It’s my financial consultant,’ he said, making a wry face. ‘I completely forgot I’d made an appointment to go over my portfolio. I’ll try and finish as fast as I can.’

‘Take your time,’ Melissa said, waving a spatula at him. ‘And ask your financial consultant if he’d like some pancakes.’

‘It’s a she,’ Samir said, giving her the quirky smile he reserved for when he was pulling her leg. ‘I’m surprised at you, Melissa, making gender-based assumptions like that. She won’t have pancakes—I don’t think she’s eaten any carbs for the last decade or so. Save my share for me, OK?’

Once the pancakes were done, Melissa wandered into the TV room with her plate and put the TV on. As usual it took her a little while to figure out the various remotes for the satellite dish, the TV and the home theatre system, and when she finally did get the TV on and tried switching channels it insisted on playing one regional language channel after another. Another minute’s tussle got her onto the satellite TV menu, and with a sigh of relief she chose a popular Hindi movie channel.

It was playing an old movie, set in Kashmir, with the obligatory
shikaras
on a lake being rowed by pink-cheeked damsels in traditional Kashmiri costumes. A sucker for old-fashioned romances, Melissa settled down with her stack of pancakes to watch the lead pair coo lovingly at each other.
Ooh
, they were so
sweet
, in their horrendous clothes and bright make-up. It had been a while since she’d watched an old movie—there was only one TV in the hostel, and people preferred chick-flicks and action movies to vintage Bollywood.

She was completely engrossed in the movie when the channel was changed abruptly. Melissa swung around to see Samir holding the remote.

‘Hey, I was watching that!’ she said indignantly as she grabbed at the remote.

Samir held it away from her, easily fending her off with one hand.

‘It’s an awful movie,’ he said. ‘Really, really terrible.’

It probably was, but that wasn’t the point—he hadn’t even bothered to ask her before changing channels. Granted, it was his home, but that didn’t give him the right to be high-handed about every damn thing.

‘I like it,’ Melissa said, and when he didn’t give her the remote she got up and went to the TV to change the channel manually.

‘Melissa...’ he said, and the slightly strained note in his voice made her stop in her tracks. ‘Look, I
really
don’t want to watch that movie.’

‘O-kay,’ she said slowly. ‘Is there a particular reason, or are you just Bollywood-phobic?’

He hesitated, and then shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘But if you want to watch it don’t let me stop you. I can always go somewhere else and read a magazine.’

Hmm...fifty-year-old movie or thirty-year-old boyfriend? Not much of a choice, really—especially not when Samir was looking so incredibly hot. His hair was still damp from the shower, and it was falling over his forehead in sexy spikes, and he smelt amazing.

Wishing she’d had just a little more practice at being seductive and alluring, she said, ‘Or we could do something together.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Play chess?’

‘I was thinking Scrabble,’ she said solemnly, and he laughed, coming up to her and running the backs of his fingers down the side of her face very, very slowly.

She shivered with anticipation as his hand slipped lower, to the neckline of her dress, and she gasped aloud as he finally gave up toying with her and pulled her ruthlessly into his arms.

* * *

It was much later, when they were having lunch, that Melissa asked, ‘Why didn’t you want to watch that movie? It was like you couldn’t bear to look at the screen.’

He was silent for almost a minute, and Melissa began to wish she’d stayed off the topic. Then he said slowly, ‘It was the location. The movie was shot in the town I used to live in as a kid. We had to leave the valley after militants razed the area—we were one of the few families lucky enough to escape alive.’

Melissa stared at him. ‘I didn’t know,’ she said awkwardly. She’d been reading about the insurgency in the valley for years—the newspapers were full of it—but this was the first time she’d met anyone who’d been personally affected.

Samir shrugged. ‘No big deal,’ he said. ‘Like I said, we were lucky to get out of there alive. Lots of people we knew didn’t make it.’

There wasn’t much she could say to that, and she stayed silent. It was ironic, she thought. There she’d been, obsessing about how little Samir knew and understood her, and it turned out she knew even less about him. If someone had asked her which state he was from she’d probably would have said Punjab—she didn’t know enough about Hindu surnames to be able to place people by state. She’d not really thought about it much, other than once idly remarking that his colouring was typically North Indian—fair skin with dark but not quite black eyes and hair.

‘I didn’t have you pegged as a Hindi movie buff,’ Samir said when the silence had stretched on long enough to be unnatural.

‘I’m not,’ Melissa said, shaking her head vigorously. ‘I just like soppy movies. I’d watch them even if they were in Swahili. I’m thinking of writing a book about them one day.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Well, I might. There’s a guy who’s written one about Hindi blockbusters—it’s pretty good. But there’s something else I’m working on right now. If I ever find a publisher for that, I’ll start working on this one.’

‘What’s the first one? A cookbook?’ he asked.

He hadn’t meant to sound patronising, but she seemed to gravitate to the kitchen whenever she was free and it was a natural assumption. It was only when her expression changed that he realised that he’d upset her.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Anyway, it’s at a very basic stage—I’ve a long way to go.’

Samir hesitated a little. He’d picked up on the way Melissa reacted to some of the things he said, only he didn’t know which particular statement would set her off. Yesterday it had been what he’d said about his friends liking her, today it was her book... If it had been any other woman he’d have written her off as being over-sensitive and too high-maintenance to bother with. But Melissa didn’t really say anything or create a scene. It was just by the way her lovely mouth turned down at the corners and a crease appeared between her eyebrows that he knew she was upset, and he’d begun watching her face like a hawk for the tell-tale signs.

Right now she seemed to be over her annoyance, so he let the subject slide. ‘What do you want to do in the afternoon?’ he asked.

Melissa jumped to her feet. ‘Let’s go to the art gallery near Flora Fountain,’ she said. ‘There’s a new artist holding an exhibition there who’s supposed to be really good.’

Samir grimaced. He didn’t mind buying the occasional piece, recommended by a more knowledgeable friend, but given a choice he’d rather spend the afternoon getting a root canal done than wandering around an art gallery.

He didn’t protest, though, and even feigned some enthusiasm as he followed Melissa out of the door. Another first for him, he thought. After Shalini he’d never bothered putting what a woman wanted to do ahead of what he wanted himself. And it would have been staggeringly easy to distract Melissa. For all her feistiness, a few kisses were usually enough to turn her into putty in his hands.

‘I can see that your girlfriend is quite the dominatrix,’ Vikas Kulkarni murmured when they bumped into him at the gallery. ‘And you might want to watch out for that artist dude. He seems quite taken with her.’

Vikas was right, Samir realised as he looked across the room. The artist was ignoring a well-heeled couple who were on the point of buying one of his paintings in order to earnestly explain something to Melissa. Muttering an oath under his breath, he strode across to the two of them. Putting up with Melissa’s whims was one thing. Allowing her to be chatted up by a skinny, long-haired artist was quite another.

The man looked up in alarm as Samir came up to them. ‘I was just telling Melissa the thought behind this painting,’ he mumbled defensively.

Samir surveyed the painting. From what he could see it was a set of random splodges of paint. Presumably it had some deep meaning, but as far as he was concerned it was a waste of a perfectly good piece of canvas. Melissa seemed entranced by it, though, because she kept on standing in front of it even when the artist went off to attend to the couple who were now getting decidedly impatient.

‘If you really like it I’ll buy it for you,’ Samir said finally.

Her eyes widened. ‘But it costs over a hundred thousand!’ she exclaimed after looking at the price tag. ‘The guy must be smoking something—pricing it so high.’

‘It’s a brilliant investment,’ Vikas said, strolling up to them. ‘Shekhar will be big in a couple of years. You’ve got a good eye for art, kiddo. This is the best piece in the show.’

‘Let’s buy it, then,’ Samir said, trying not to show his annoyance at the interruption, and impressed in spite of himself. If Vikas said the piece was good, it definitely was, and he couldn’t help feeling proud of the way Melissa had homed in on it.

Melissa looked tempted for a few seconds, but then she shook her head firmly. ‘I’ve no place to hang it,’ she said. ‘It’s huge. I could put it up in your place for as long as I’m there, but afterwards I’d have to stick legs on it and use it as a cot.’

Vikas gave a suppressed snort of laughter and Samir finally lost his temper. ‘Let’s go, then,’ he said crisply. ‘I don’t see the point of hanging around and wasting everyone’s time if we’re not planning to buy anything.’

Melissa waited till they were back in the car park opposite the gallery before she said tentatively, ‘Are you upset?’

Samir glared at her. ‘I’m not upset,’ he said. ‘I’m flaming furious. What possessed you to start babbling about putting legs on a canvas in front of that old gossip Vikas? You made me look like an absolute fool.’

She was staring at him, her eyes wide. ‘All I meant was that whenever we split up I won’t have any place to put that painting!’

‘
When
we split up. It’s not even
if
for you, is it? God knows I’ve done enough to try and make it work— asking you to move in with me, introducing you to my friends, letting you have your way with all your little whims and fancies. But
nothing
convinces you to try and give us a fighting chance!’

‘I didn’t know you
wanted
us to have a fighting chance!’ she protested, her eyes turning bright with unshed tears. ‘Stop shouting at me, Samir. I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.’

Samir shut his eyes for a second and rubbed at his forehead. ‘All right, let’s start from the beginning,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you. All I’m trying to say is that it’s hurtful when you just assume that we don’t have a future together.’