Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)(31)

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.

She was adorable.

Nayna couldn’t help but smile as the little girl did her very important task with aplomb. Behind her came the wedding party. It was all very stately, stiff and expensive silk saris and dark suits. Nayna much preferred it when the wedding party danced in. She’d have that at her own wedding… if she trusted any man enough to tie herself to him for life. If she trusted Raj. Because he was the only man she could now imagine in the role.

The bride’s special music filled the air.

Exquisite in her designer red wedding garments, Pinky kept her eyes uncharacteristically lowered in a facsimile of meekness as she carried the garland of flowers she’d place over the groom’s head. Gold and red bangles covered her forearms, a heavy gold necklace circled her throat and dripped down her front, hand jewelry highlighted her slender bone structure, and she wore a traditional nose ring attached to her hair by a delicate chain.

Dramatic gold earrings brushed her shoulders.

Her makeup was exquisite and her veil translucent red dotted with tiny mirrors that flashed fire. It had a border of gold velvet and when she passed, Nayna saw that her hair was dressed with flowers under the veil.

She sighed at the beauty and romance of it.

A warm breath against her ear. “Poor groom,” Raj rumbled under the hubbub of oohs and aahs over the bride. “By the time he gets all that jewelry off, he won’t have the energy to get started on the outfit.”

Nayna elbowed him. And came up against rock-hard abs.

Her fingers tingled again.

Thankfully they got to sit down after the garlands were exchanged onstage, and Raj had to behave because everyone had gone quiet. Only once the prayers began again did people slowly begin to talk. As Nayna had told ísa when her best friend accompanied her to a family wedding, talking wasn’t considered rude except at certain points.

Indian weddings were long, some more so than others. It was a big social affair.

She got up midway through to stretch her legs—partly to get away from the gorgeous man who’d decided to play dirty and partly to go pay her respects to the grandmothers. Her own aji sat with them. “How’s the gang of grannies?” she asked after kissing her grandmother on the cheek.