Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)(82)

His glare had zero affect.

“Don’t worry right now,” said the woman who owned him body and soul. “You’re already carrying too much on your shoulders.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips soft and sweet to his, her hand cradling the back of his neck.

He hadn’t made love to her for over a week now, and he ached for her. So much that after he drove his mother and sister home so his father could rest, he snuck out to Nayna’s apartment and woke her up. She was still warm from bed when she opened the door, strands of her hair sticking to her cheek.

And she walked into his arms without hesitation.

He carried her to bed, stripped them both naked, then spent long moments simply stroking his hand over her skin while she did the same with him. Their kisses were deep and tender, the way she spread her thighs so he could push into her a gift. He went in slow, pulled back as slow, heard her breath hitch.

So he did it again, in no hurry to lose her hands on his skin, her voice whispering his name.

“Raj… The way you move…” A shiver rippled over her, her thighs clenching around his body.

He’d gained control since their first time together, rocked her through it, then caressed her until her back arched against his in sinuous feminine beauty, her body holding on tight to his as she melted with pleasure.

“Raj,” she said again, her eyes heavy-lidded and her fingers brushing his lips. “My Raj.”

The hour he spent with her grounded him in a way nothing else could.

She was in his blood and he’d marry her a thousand times over if she’d have him. But if she agreed to his father’s demand, he’d never know if she would’ve chosen him of her own free will—the lack would forever be a shadow on their lives together. And if they didn’t do this and his father died before anything was decided, Raj would never forgive himself.





42





The Boss’s Girl





Nayna’s parents visited Raj’s father in hospital as soon as Jitesh Sen felt ready to receive more visitors. It was as obvious as the nose on Nayna’s face that the Sharmas and the Sens genuinely got along—especially when it came to talking about their misbehaving offspring.

“All these modern ideas,” one said. “As if they’re the first couple to ever meet!”

“I blame it on television,” another added. “I mean, the dramas! And always rebellion, made to look so romantic.”

At which point, the four of them would inevitably fall into a spirited discussion about their shared passion for said dramas with rebellious characters. At least their conversations were joyful. From what Nayna had seen of Komal and Navin lately, their hospital reconciliation had quickly faded into a kind of stiff formality. The two put up a front for Mr. Sen, but—according to Raj—were otherwise living separate lives.

“Navin’s moved into our old game room,” he’d told her. “They aren’t screaming at each other, and Navin’s home more to help with everything, but I think the damage is done.” A shake of his head. “Far as I can figure, both of them broke more than one promise they’d made to each other. Why make promises at all if you’re not going to keep them?”

If Nayna hadn’t already been terrifyingly in love with him, that harsh question would’ve done it.

“Well,” Nayna’s grandmother said to her not long afterward, while the two of them were alone in Nayna’s apartment. Her parents had dropped Aji off while they went on a big shopping trip to get some things for Madhuri’s wedding—including an outfit for their father, who usually never wore a suit but had opted for a full sherwani for the auspicious occasion.

Of course, he’d also added, “Now that your wedding with Raj is also arranged, I might as well get both suits at once.”

Nayna had allowed the statement to pass unchallenged; it was far too soon to rock the boat, what with Mr. Sen still in hospital.

“What is it, Aji?” She looked up from her laptop where she’d been running a search for Madhuri. Her sister had asked her to hunt down a specific cake topper she’d seen in a magazine a decade earlier.

Nayna had begun to see tiny brides and grooms everywhere she looked, but so far there was no sign of a sari-clad princess and an Indian prince down on one knee. Nayna was starting to imagine gluing pieces of various toppers together to Frankenstein it.

“How about a muffin to go with your tea?” she asked before her grandmother could reply. “I made a batch yesterday.” She’d managed to find out Raj’s favorite flavor—banana walnut—then spent her Saturday morning in the kitchen. It was a need inside her, to look after him, to ease the load in even a small way.

Putting most of the muffins in a large plastic container, she’d driven out to the site where he was working and called him to meet her in the parking lot. The security and safety signs made it clear no one was to enter the site without the requisite gear.

He’d walked out in dusty jeans and an equally dusty dark gray T-shirt, a battered brown tool belt around his hips. On his head had been a white hard hat that bore a couple of dents and scratches. His trusty work boots had completed the look. Sweaty and a little scowly from the strain of managing the business while worrying about his father, he’d looked better than any dream she’d ever had.