“Jas?” He said, the beginnings of a frown creasing his brow. “Are you okay?”
Inexplicably, his instant concern only pissed her off further. “Yep,” she gritted out. “Fine, thanks.”
He came to sit beside her, arching a single brow expertly. Irritating fuck. His weight shifted the soft sofa cushions, sliding her towards him. “You were fine when I left this morning,” he said. “You’re not fine right now.”
Despite herself, she felt her cheeks heat at the mention of that morning. Yep; she’d definitely been alright when he’d left. Rahul had made quite sure of that.
He pulled at her curled-up legs until she allowed tense muscles to release. He wrapped strong fingers around one of her calves, just above the gauze still dressing her ankle, and pulled it closer for inspection.
The warmth swirling in her belly dissipated; irritation returned.
“Stop that,” she snapped, pulling her leg back.
“Stop what?”
She spluttered, searching for the words. The words to describe his caring hands, his gentle eyes, the sensation of sun-ripe fullness that burst in her chest at his touch. “Stop checking on me.”
He sighed slightly, sprawling back against the sofa with an easy confidence in his own body. The sight of him in those austere work suits always threw her. The staid, grey outfits didn’t match the tightly coiled power that vibrated though him.
Or, she thought wildly, the things he could do in bed.
And now she was horny again. And irritated. Bad combination. Especially since she had no fucking clue how to handle what they’d done last night.
And this morning.
Several times.
Not that she was fixating, or anything.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze almost painfully sharp, spearing the flimsy protection she’d built around her tender self. She sat still, trapped by his attention, unreasonably afraid that he was somehow, at that very moment, seeing right through her.
It was a senseless fear. She wasn’t hiding anything. She told herself that several times, and almost believed it.
Finally, he spoke. “Alright, then. If you say you’re okay, you’re okay.”
“Yep,” she said tightly. Nope, she thought wildly.
He smiled and stood. “I’ll make dinner.”
“What? You just got in. I can do it.”
“I’m in the mood.” He shrugged off his suit jacket and headed towards the kitchen on the other side of the room. Then he paused, looked back at her. “Jas?”
“Yeah?”
“You should change.”
Slowly, as if in a dream, she looked down at herself. She’d been home for over an hour, but she was still wearing her work clothes.
She should change. They felt too tight, too... heavy, somehow, even though that didn’t make any sense. She stood and began to walk out of the room, already working at the buttons of her shirt. She’d shower, too. Her skin felt like it was suffocating beneath a layer of the city’s grime and—
Wait.
She stopped in the doorway, turned and scowled. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Rahul was already rifling through cupboards, his back to her. But he glanced over his shoulder and raised his brows. “God forbid.”
“Piss off.”
He looked at her. Just looked. But something about the fire in his dark eyes and the firm set of his jaw made her swallow. And then, without a word, he turned back to the cupboards.
She glared at his broad, shirt-clad back for a moment. Then she went to take a shower.
It was better than she expected.
The hot spray pummelled Jasmine’s muscles until she felt as liquid as the water around her. She leant back against the cool tiles and felt them warm up as steam filled the room. Her hair must be frizzing terribly. She hadn’t taken off her mascara, and it was no doubt smudged in rings around her eyes, but that was okay; all of a sudden, she was in the mood for her elaborate skincare routine. She might even moisturise her hair.
Jasmine held out a hand and watched the water bounce off her palm and smiled.
When she eventually returned to the living room, squeaky clean, with her curls piled on her head and slouchy pyjamas clothing her aching bones, dinner was almost ready. Lasagne. Real lasagne, with cheese. She hadn’t even known Rahul could make lasagne. But clearly he could, and well, because she curled up on the sofa with a huge steaming slice and devoured it in ten minutes flat. It was really fucking good.
She put her empty dish on the coffee table and mumbled, “Sorry,” and hoped he’d know what she meant.
He did. He pulled her towards him, dragging her onto his lap, and she came without resistance. But she kept her eyes closed, because the scorching cauldron of emotion bubbling in her chest could not be allowed to boil over, and his face was so dear, it had a way of undoing her sometimes.
When she felt him press a gentle kiss to her cheek, she shivered in his arms. Knew that he felt it. Was too exhausted to be self-conscious.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Now, will you tell me what’s wrong?”
She sighed heavily. “Bad day at work. Nothing serious. Just being dramatic.”
“And?”
She meant to ask him what the fuck and meant, but what escaped her lips was, “I miss my dad.”
He held her tighter. “I thought you might.”
She hadn’t. She hadn’t thought that at all. Yes, she and Dad were close, but it wasn’t like she saw him every day. She was a grown woman. And sure, he hadn’t gone away this long since she was a kid, since he’d taken all those business trips, since before...
She slammed the door on those memories and the dark emotions they stirred.
“For God’s sake,” she muttered. “I’m being childish. Ignore me.”
“No. There aren’t many people in this world who have your love. One of them is far away and will be for a while. If you want to miss him, miss him.”
The bone-deep sadness in his words was like a slap. Because of course, she was complaining about her father, who would be home eventually, to Rahul. Rahul, whose dad had died less than a year ago.
She opened her eyes and pressed her lips together. Almost against her will, she found herself cupping his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
When he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his handsome face seemed suddenly vulnerable. Something warm and soft and simultaneously electric sparked in her heart. She let her head rest against his shoulder, let his cheek, rough with a day’s stubble, fill her palm, and somehow... somehow, peace snuck up on them both.
After a moment, he murmured, “What else?”
And she was so relaxed, she said without thinking, “I don’t know what we do now.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she stiffened. But he shifted her around on his lap until he was almost cradling her, his hold comforting, protective. His eyes open now, and gleaming with gentle humour, he said, “We do whatever you want, brat. Just like always.”
“What does that mean?” She winced at the words. She sounded like… well, like the kind of person she’d drop like a hot potato. What does that mean? Where do we go from here? What are we? It wasn’t that she wanted definitions or titles or a relationship—the idea made her feel slightly sick. But… fuck. This was Rahul. She needed to know what was going on. She needed to know where things stood. And she wasn’t going to bite her tongue.
If she’d thought about it for five minutes, she’d have realised that he’d never expect her to. His expression turned serious. He traced a finger over her cheek, his eyes steady, and murmured, “It means you’re still my best friend. And if you want to…” He took a breath, his exhalation heavy and his brow furrowed. “If you want to repeat last night, we will. If you don’t, we won’t. And whichever you choose, we’ll still be us.”
Jasmine thought about that for a moment. It couldn’t be that easy. It shouldn’t be that easy. People never were.
But she wanted it to be ea
sy, so badly. And it had felt so simple, so natural, being with him.
Despite herself, she smiled. Reached out. Slid her hands over his shoulders, her gaze falling to the lush curve of his lips. “Whatever I want?”
She felt him shift beneath her. His voice was a little less even, a little less calm and controlled than usual, when he said, “Yep.”
Her smile widened. “Okay. I think I can work with that.”
14
Two Years Ago
“Step right up, sweetness. I’ve got something special for you.”
Rahul snorted and rested his forearms against the house’s little bar, watching Jasmine screw the cap off a mysterious bottle. “Another of your tooth-ache-inducing concoctions?”
“The best virgin cocktail in the world, you mean? How did you guess?” She grabbed a fancy glass and started pouring, but her eyes, sparkling with humour and half a bottle of Malibu, stayed on him. They’d been at this rented holiday home in Norfolk for four days now, and Jas already had the bar well-stocked.
Behind them, Mitch hollered, “Special treatment!”
Jasmine looked past Rahul’s shoulder and winked. “You’re damn right, Mitchell. You know this one’s my favourite.”
“Bitch,” Asmita called lazily. She started to say something else, too—but her voice was muffled suddenly.
Rahul didn’t bother turning round. He arched a brow, met Jasmine’s eyes and murmured, “Emily?”
She rolled her eyes. “Emily.”
Asmita’s latest girl. Very giggly. Had a habit of grabbing Asmita and kissing her in the middle of conversations, snooker games, races on the beach, and—most disturbingly—meals.
“Next thing you know,” he said, “they’ll be sharing oxygen.”
Jas stifled a laugh. “Behave yourself.”
“You’re telling me? How the tables have turned.”
She gave him an arch look and grabbed another bottle, this one bright green and fizzy. Rahul watched in alarm as she poured the luminous crap into his glass, on top of all the other shit she’d put in there already.
Jas liked to think of herself as a cocktail ‘artist’. According to the others, she was damn good at mixing drinks that involved alcohol.
Not so great on those without it, though.
“You know,” he said as she bent to rifle through the mini fridge, “you really don’t have to make me anything.”
She popped back up, her hair bouncing, a box of strawberries and a wicked little knife in hand. “I do. I make them for everyone else.”
“I’m happy with lemonade.” He pulled the knife from her fingers and tutted at her grumbled protest. “You’re too drunk to be chopping shit up. Tell me what you want.”
With a huff, she pushed the strawberries over to him. “Just cut one, you know… halfway in half.”
He arched a brow.
With an exaggerated sigh, she picked up a strawberry. “Like this, you see? Just up to here.” She made an imaginary line.
“Alright.” He followed her directions carefully and presented her with the result. She plucked the ripe, red fruit from his hand with a smile so bright, you’d think he’d just handed her the sun.
Moments like that were the hardest. When she flashed all that endless, innocent happiness around, it would be really fucking easy to love her.
But he didn’t love her. Not anymore, he reminded himself. He should be done with that now.
She slid the strawberry onto the rim of the glass and pushed the drink over to him with a flourish. “Voila! Your virgin 6 a.m. Sunrise.”
He eyed the green cocktail sceptically. “You trying to poison me?”
“Would I ever?”
In the background, Mitch’s brother whooped. Some Arctic Monkeys song was on the radio. The music grew louder, and Jasmine’s grin grew wider as she watched their friends over his shoulder.
Rahul didn’t want to turn around yet, though. Didn’t want to see everyone sitting there in the centre of the room, no matter how hard they laughed or how loud they shouted or how much fun they were undoubtedly having. He would, in just a minute. Just one more minute.
But for now, he picked up Jasmine’s awful concoction and took a sip.
Her gaze snapped back to him. She watched with obvious anticipation. He tried to hide his grimace as the bitter-sweet, far too fizzy liquid travelled down his throat.
“What do you think?” She asked. She looked so earnest. She had a thing about ‘including’ him, like he cared that all their friends drank and he didn’t. He’d never cared, never would.
But she did.
So he lied, just like always. “It’s great.”
She clapped her hands together. “Really? You like it?”
“Oh, yeah.” He took another sip. Forced his face into a smile when it wanted to screw up in a wince. “I love it.”
Her eyes lit up. “Tell me when you want another one!”
Aaaand now it was time to turn around. “Sure,” he said, and started drifting—slowly, so slowly—back towards the others. “But not just yet. Want to dance?”
She practically flew around the bar. “Fuck, yes!”
Jasmine loved to dance. Drunk Jasmine loved it even more. So they danced along with everyone else, and talked and laughed and sang, and she barely even noticed when he poured his virgin 6 a.m. Sunrise down the nearest bathroom sink. Nor did she ask if he wanted another.
But if she had, he would’ve said yes.
Hours later, Jasmine woke up in time to see scarlet sunrise peeking through the window. She picked her way through the passed-out bodies of her drunken friends, sprawled across the carpet. She told herself she was going outside to watch nature’s miracle.
Which was bullshit. She was looking for Rahul.
She found him, too, in the most predictable place: the pool sunken into the house’s massive deck. He’d left his glasses by the side, but somehow he still saw her coming. By the time she reached him, he was grinning up at her from the water.
“You’re never still,” she called, as if she didn’t love that about him.
“Too much energy,” he told her. “If I don’t do something about it I’ll erupt.”
“You mean you’d lose control.” She said it carefully, absently, purposefully not looking at him. Because Rahul hated when she dragged the inner workings of his mind out of the shadows and into the light, when she ruined his strict stoicism. But he was more likely to let her do it if he didn’t feel cornered.
Her tactics didn’t work this time. He ignored her words completely and said, “Come in.”
She snorted “I’m not getting in there. It’s fucking freezing.”
So cold, so blue, so different to the sunrise. Like blood, the sky was. She knew, logically, that it was actually pretty. That the birds were chirping, and the temperature was mild, and she was still a little drunk, and this should all be idyllic. But red only ever reminded her of blood.
She wasn’t a fan.
“Suit yourself,” Rahul said. She didn’t buy it for one minute. She sat on the deck while he swam leisurely through the little pool, its spotlights casting strange, shifting shapes beneath the water’s surface. Chlorine-colour looked good on him. But the water was so cold she could feel it from here.
Maybe that was an exaggeration. Whatever. Cold water was for drinking.
Rahul swam closer to the edge, closer to her. Then, without warning, he dunked his head beneath the surface. Came back up in a cascade of water and shining, soaking-wet curls. When he shoved his hair out of his face, her gaze snagged on the muscles working in his arms. On his shoulders, his chest.
Then she caught herself and looked away.
“Hey,” he said. “Bet I can hold my breath longer than you.”
Jasmine arched a brow. “You think you’re so smart.”
“I do.” He grinned.
The word bet sank into her skin, flesh, bone, and he knew it. Not even the word itself really—but the challenge. The dare. The possibil
ity. “I could just hold my breath out here,” she said. But she was already standing up.
“You might cheat.”
“You know I won’t cheat.”
He gave a helpless shrug, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Who can be sure? Get in the pool and we’ll do it properly.”
She pushed her leggings down. It was summer, so the early morning air was mellow and mild. As she stripped, Rahul ran his hand over the surface of the water. Stared at the pattern he’d made.
She pulled off her hoodie and said, “I’m not wearing a bra.”
He looked up with a smile. “Neither am I.”
“Piss off,” she laughed. Usually, she’d go topless. But sometimes, when Rahul looked at her, she felt like more than just a body.
So she kept on the thin vest top she’d worn beneath her hoodie. Then she sat at the edge of the pool and stared at the water for a tense moment before throwing herself in.
She was submerged with a splash and a sharp intake of breath that almost choked her. When she shot up out of the water, she spent a good minute or so coughing. Then she spat, “Holy shit, that’s cold.”
Rahul arched one of those no-nonsense brows in her direction. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Fuck you. Are we doing this or what?”
They were.
Jasmine always closed her eyes underwater. Chlorine stung slightly, but more than that, she didn’t like the tricks that water played. When she looked at herself beneath the water, she felt alien. Not as if she’d changed, but as if the world around her had—and really, didn’t it amount to the same thing?
She shouldn’t be putting her head in at all, because it would dry out her hair something awful, but she couldn’t turn down a bet. Bad habit, yes. She was working on it. Along with all her other bad habits.
When his hands closed around her upper arms, she jerked up out of the water. Swatted at him blindly because she couldn’t open her eyes just yet. “What are you doing?”
“You won,” he said. She could hear laughter in his voice, but he wasn’t panting or gasping for air, and neither was she, because she’d barely been down there ten seconds.
Wanna Bet?: An Interracial Romance Page 14
