The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(19)

Bristling, Jay gave an indignant huff. “I’m not insecure.”

“Well, then, let’s see what you’ve got.” She spun in a slow circle, humming a tune as she rocked her hips and undulated in front of him.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had to take his eyes off her. Had to do something because there wasn’t enough slack in his pants to accommodate his rising desire.

“Have a little fun with it, Jay. How about some jazz hands?” She waved her hands in front of him.

“I’m not interested in public displays of any kind.” He instantly regretted his abrupt tone when her smile faded.

“Of course not.” Her voice sharpened. “What was I thinking? You must be desperate to get away.” Without warning, she dropped to a crouch in front of him and dabbed her scarf against his thigh.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

His mouth went dry. “What are you—?”

“Just getting those last few drops. It spilled all the way to your knee.”

Brain freeze. He couldn’t keep up on the crazy road trip from insult to admonishment to sexy-woman-dancing to jazz hands to woman-on-her-knees-with-her-hands-on-his-thigh. Was she trying to seduce him? Confuse him? Tease him? Torture him? Or did she really not understand the effect her position might have on a man?

“Stop.” He caught her slim wrist, drawing her up from the ground. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to think of you walking around all evening in wet pants. I dated a male model a few years ago and every time I looked at him . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “Let’s just say I know from experience how uncomfortable wet pants can be. Sometimes it’s just better to go without.”

Jay tried to push that mental image out of his head. Failed. The need to flee the scene became a pressing concern. If he’d thought the situation was bad when she was patting him down, it was nothing compared to the thought of all those sexy curves bare under her skirt.

“I don’t need your help.” He backed away when she lifted the scarf again. “You’ve done enough.”

Zara’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time.”

He instantly regretted both his words and his sharp tone. But before he could apologize, she turned and strode away.

Buttoning his suit jacket to hide the stain, he watched her work her way through the crowd. If he hadn’t been so unsettled by her attempts to clean him up, he would have handled the situation better, he told himself. He had simply overreacted because of the public display.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was the most captivating woman he’d ever met or that she made him feel things he shouldn’t feel, want things he shouldn’t want.

Nothing.





? 7 ?



By the time she arrived at Tarun and Maria’s wedding reception on Saturday night, Zara wished she’d made different clothing choices for the wedding events. She hadn’t been able to move more than a few steps all day without being accosted by yet another auntie looking to make a match. The fun, flirty outfits she’d worn for the morning baraat and the afternoon ceremony had caused enough problems, but tonight her bright teal lehenga choli, heavily embroidered with gold thread, was attracting aunties like shoppers to a Black Friday sale.

“My nephew Akash is visiting from India. Big, strong boy and only one foot shorter than you.”

“My cousin’s sister’s son just graduated with his Ph.D. in statistics. He reads dictionaries in his spare time. He eats only raw. Very healthy.”

“My neighbor’s boy is single and is looking for a nice girl to cook, clean, and bear his children.”

Dodging and weaving through the crowd in the receiving area, she stopped to chat with uncles, cousins, and friends that she hadn’t seen since the last wedding season. With upbeat bhangra music in the background and everyone dressed in their wedding best, it was impossible not to feel happy despite the constant harassment. Weddings were magic and the noisier, the better.

“Here she is. Here she is.” Taara Auntie grabbed her cheeks and gave them a squeeze. “We hardly ever see you, beta. Layla and Daisy are around all the time. The boys miss seeing their cousin.”

Zara suspected her aunt’s school-age boys didn’t give a damn about their grown-up cousin unless she was bringing them treats. Her aunt was infamous for her bad cooking, often offering her Indian American fusion creations to unsuspecting newcomers. Her children had quickly learned to scavenge for food wherever they went.

“I’ve been busy with work.” She also made a point of staying away from large gatherings if she knew her mother was going to be there. Although most of the season’s weddings were for friends and relatives from her father’s side of the family, there were always one or two where her mom would be present. Luckily, this wasn’t one of them.

“Come see your aunties.” Taara Auntie released her cheeks. “They need a distraction. Lakshmi and Bushra were fighting because Bushra refused to walk in threes when we got here and then laughed at Lakshmi when she said it meant heads were going to roll. Now they aren’t talking to each other . . .” She trailed off when Zara moved in the opposite direction.

“Don’t you want to see your aunties? They have some nice boys for you to meet.”