Vegas to Varanasi (Fortytude Series Book 1)

by Hickman, Shelly

  Suddenly I feel like I shouldn’t be here, and wonder how she knows such personal things about him. Has he told her? Has Geena? “Of course.”

  “Again.” She places her hand on my knee. “I’m not trying to lay blame on you. I just thought you should know.”

  “I under—”

  “Have you ladies been having a nice visit?” Kiran asks as he comes from Dadi’s room. Both Nisha and I straighten.

  “Yes, just a bit of girl talk,” Nisha says while I give Kiran a weak smile.

  Kiran sits next to me on the couch. “She fell asleep again.”

  “What are you reading to her?” I ask.

  “The Devil Wears Prada.”

  I laugh. “What? The Devil Wears Prada?” I was expecting something more traditional.

  Kiran shakes his head and grins. “Dadi loves chick lit.”

  Twenty-Three

  Later that evening, Kiran and I enjoy a relaxing dinner at a restaurant not far from the apartment. “Are you up for taking in the fire worship ceremony at the ghats this evening?” he asks.

  It sounds like something I should definitely see while we’re here, and I could use the distraction. David’s message has gnawed at me ever since I read it. A simple, Carly is like my own. Why are you being so pissy?

  Well, Carly is my own! I haven’t responded, nor have I read the two other messages I received since.

  Although Kiran’s offer is tempting, I’ve been nursing a headache and I’m not sure the thirty minute drive into old town is what I need right now. Disappointed in myself for not being more adventurous, I decline.

  “Sorry to be so boring, but do you mind if we go tomorrow night? I think I’m still a little jet lagged.”

  “No apologies. We have plenty of time.” He leans forward, his elbows on the table, and his tone softens. “Is there something else the matter, Anna?”

  Yes, there is. I can’t get what Nisha told me out of my mind, and have been feeling self-conscious about my relationship with Kiran ever since that conversation.

  “No.” My voice is pitched slightly higher than normal.

  With a furrowed brow, he gives me a brief nod.

  We return to the apartment, and I prepare a bath to wash away the salty sweat the day’s heat has purged from my skin. As I run the water, I read the other two messages David sent me.

  It’s killing me that you and I aren’t speaking.

  And...

  Please don’t cut me out of your life.

  I plop my phone onto the counter and rub my forehead. Shit! What the hell is he trying to do to me?

  I submerge my body into the bath water, lowering my face in as far as my nose, and hot tears spring from my eyes. For a long while, I lie motionless and stare at the surface of the water.

  I may have lingered in the tub too long because my fingers are all pruny. As I get dressed in my bedroom, Kiran knocks on the door. “Would you like some chai?”

  “Um, yes, please!”

  I head for the kitchen and lean on the bar. Kiran appears to have also showered; his hair a little damp. Taking in his jeans and baggy t-shirt, I admire his impressive shoulders, those perfectly toned, olive-skinned forearms.

  He slides a cup across the counter, then stops mid-motion. “You really aren’t feeling well, are you?” He looks at me sideways. “Your eyes are red. What’s wrong?”

  I groan and take my cup to the living room.

  He follows and sits beside me on the sofa. Before I know it, I burst into tears. Oh my hell! I am not doing this. This has to be from overexhaustion.

  “Anna, what is it?”

  I don’t even know where to begin. I should have just gone to bed and saved myself this humiliation. Unfortunately, I proceed to babble.

  “Today Nisha told me how women have treated you like shit, and what a good person you are, and that she thought I should know. I already know you’re a good person!”

  He leans back, confusion on his face.

  “And then Hayden told me that David has been harassing Carly, asking her about me... and you. He sent me these messages that go from being, I don’t know, pissy—that was the word he used—to pitiful pleas, asking me not to cut him out of my life.” I shake my head. “I swear. He’s a fuckin’ hot mess!”

  Kiran gently rubs my back. “I’m sorry.”

  My nose starts dripping, and he retrieves a box of tissues from the bathroom. For a minute, he waits quietly for me to regain my composure.

  “Let’s take this one topic at a time,” he says, sitting back down. “Nisha should not have said those things to you.”

  I pull my knees to my chest, and he leans forward to look into my face.

  “I’m a grown man, and I don’t need protection. Hey...” He pauses until I meet his eyes. “Especially from the likes of you.”

  Before today, I would have been in agreement. But now, I am so paranoid about doing something that may hurt him. And I’m sure this thing with David must give him a lot of pause when it comes to me.

  I simply stare back at him and swallow.

  “I don’t know what Nisha was thinking when she said those things, but I’m going to find out.”

  “No! Please don’t. It’s not worth causing friction.”

  He lifts his hand toward me. “Look how it’s upset you!”

  “No. I’m glad she told me.”

  We gaze at one another, then he shakes his head with a slight smile and sighs.

  “On to topic number two.” He stands and takes a few paces away from me, then turns around. “I’ve been afraid to ask this, but, I have to know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Do you still love David?”

  Love him, yes. In love with him, no. And I know that’s what he means by his question. “No. I don’t.”

  Kiran exhales.

  “I still care about him, but I don’t understand him. He is the one who seemed unhappy and wanted out, and now he acts like I gave him the shaft.”

  He walks back over and sits on the heavy oak coffee table across from me. Leaning forward on his knees, he gives me one of those penetrating stares he’s kept under wraps for a while. “David doesn’t know what he wants.”

  My heart beats so wildly at this moment, I think I might pass out. Is he trying to say he knows what he wants?

  “Anna, I have a feeling Nisha has put all these crazy worries in your head.” He playfully taps my knees with his fingertips. “Nothing comes with guarantees. I know that. If you’re thinking I’m this fragile creature that needs to be handled with kid gloves, then don’t.”

  I really don’t know what to do or say at this point. Actually, I know what I would like to do, but I’m not sure if I have the courage. I don’t know how long we sit here like this without speaking, but it seems like a while. Do I take the easy way out and break this intense moment between us, ruining a perfect opportunity to show him how I feel? Or do I swallow my fear and potentially improve the time I have with him here, tenfold?

  That’s the kicker. Potentially...

  Before I lose my nerve, I stand abruptly and hold out my hand to him. With a puzzled expression, he takes it and rises as well.

  Without a word, I lead him to my bedroom. The lights are off, but the moonlight coming through the window casts a dim glow upon us. When we get to the foot of my bed, I reach up to run my hand through that luscious, dark hair. My breathing is markedly faster as I lift my face to meet his lips. Unlike yesterday, our kiss is not chaste. I explore his mouth with my tongue, tasting cinnamon and nutmeg from the chai.

  He pulls me close, and his hands slowly move down my back. Briefly, he stops kissing me and grazes his thumb over my cheek, before lifting the bottom of my shirt. He gradually pulls it up and off, and drops it to the floor. His eyes will not leave mine as his fingertips lightly travel my throat, the curve of my jaw. He takes a slow, deliberate breath before his mouth parts, leading me to believe he’s about to say something.

  Instead, his lids go heavy. His lips find my neck, and the warmt
h of his hands on my skin makes my breath catch. After unhooking my bra, he slides off the straps and brushes my shoulder with his mouth.

  My fingers glide down his arms, and it’s my turn to remove his shirt. I’ve never seen him bare-chested before, and when I pull it off, I am completely unprepared for how amazing he looks. Every ripple of muscle is visible, and I’m pretty sure I could wash my clothes on his stomach.

  This can’t be! How does his skin look so damned good after losing seventy pounds? He obviously inherited his mother’s genes, although his father is also very well-preserved.

  Immediately, I’m filled with paralyzing anxiety and wrap my arms about me, wanting only to hide my less than perky boobs and fleshy tummy. “Oh, my God. Are you kidding me? Do you like, spend forty hours a week at the gym?”

  “Anna, stop.” He closes the space between us, takes my arms, and lowers them to my sides where he holds my hands. “Stop.”

  I imagine many a message in those green eyes right now, none of which I know are fact. However, his heady gaze feels as if it reaches into my chest and grips my heart.

  He kisses the tips of my fingers, and for several moments, his touch attends to every curve of my hand before slowly leading it past the waistband of his unbuttoned jeans. I feel dizzy as I anticipate where this is going. But he places my fingers along a ridge on his lower abdomen.

  A scar.

  Puzzled, my eyes flit to meet his. “Surgery?”

  “Yeah.” His voice is little more than a whisper. “So, you’re not allowed to feel insecure with me.”

  Tears threaten at his willingness to reveal his scars, both visible and hidden. Lowering my body to remove his jeans, the thought of being intimate with him has me exhilarated and apprehensive at once. I hate to admit it, gorgeous as he is, I’m not expecting much in the bedroom. I know that’s awful of me, but how much experience can he have, given his history?

  Our kissing grows feverish as he moves me to the bed.

  “I never did rid myself of the crush I had on you all those years ago. I hope you won’t mind the unleashing of twenty-something years of idolatry,” he teases, brushing the hair from my face.

  “Unleashing of idolatry,” I say, scrunching my eyebrows. “I’m not sure what that feels like, but it sounds appealing.”

  He chuckles, and only moments later, I intake a sharp breath as he begins to explore my body. Holy, holy Mother of God!

  Closing my eyes, every nerve ending lights with pleasure. My mind still wants to reject the idea that, in this moment, however transient, I am the object of Kiran’s passion. How did this happen? How am I here with him, in this most mystical of places?

  Oh my... Oh. My. Lord...

  Am I writhing? Yes, I believe I’m writhing.

  I brave opening my eyes and see Kiran’s beautiful face above mine. Our eyes lock, and his skilled touch does not relent. I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull his lips to mine as we move together, locating each other’s tonsils.

  I can’t take this. I’m going to implode. Hooooooh uhhhhhhhh. I use all the control I can muster to keep from digging my nails into his flesh. Skimming my fingers along his shoulders, my parted mouth roams his chest.

  “Anna,” he breathes. The sound of him moaning my name sends another thrill of bliss through me, and my scalp tingles. The sensory overload I experienced in old Varanasi this morning was nothing compared to this. He slides my wrists along the bed to either side of my face and laces his fingers with mine, firmly gripping my hands.

  Two flights to nirvana and forty minutes later, we are spent, and the sheets are damp with perspiration. We lay side by side in bed, facing each other, and Kiran runs his fingers down my hip.

  “I still don’t believe I’m here with you,” he whispers.

  The sentiment is mutual.

  Twenty-Four

  I wake before dawn the next morning to Kiran kissing my shoulder and wrapping his arm around my rib cage. “Good morning,” he says.

  Covering his arm with mine, I squeeze his hand. “Good morning.” I’m glad I needed to pee about an hour ago because when I got up to do my business, I made sure to use some mouthwash before returning to bed.

  “Do you still want to do the sunrise boat ride today?” he asks, nuzzling my ear.

  Mmmmm. His voice sends shivers down my spine.

  I roll over to look at him. “Yes, if you do.”

  He smiles and lightly touches my face. “I have other things in mind, but we would have to rush, and that would be unacceptable.” However, his statement doesn’t stop him from kissing my neck, my collarbone.

  I chuckle and let out a small squeal of delight. “Alright, enough of that,” I say and push him away. “No teasing!”

  He props his head on his hand and scowls. “Okay.”

  “I have to ask you something, and I hope you don’t find it rude. Or insensitive.”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “Ohhhh,” I sigh as I stare at the ceiling, nervous about how to word my question. “You told me you haven’t dated a lot.”

  “I haven’t.”

  I place a hand on my forehead, feeling ridiculous for what I’m about to ask, but I have to know. “How did you get so good in the sack?”

  “Why, thank you,” he says with a grin.

  “No, I mean it.” I raise my eyebrows. “Really good!”

  He laughs at my candor, and if the room wasn’t so dimly lit, I’m sure I would detect a blush in his dark complexion.

  “Am I getting too personal?” I ask.

  He makes a face and groans as if he’s uncomfortable. “It’s not too personal, but a bit embarrassing to tell you.”

  “It’s the Kama Sutra, right?” I’m joking, but the second I say it, I wish I hadn’t and bring my hand to my mouth. “I hope that wasn’t racist.”

  “You are a crazy one. And no. Not the Kama Sutra.” He sits up in bed and leans against the wall. And oh my God, that chest! I just wanna take a bite out of him. “This never goes past this room,” he says, raising a finger. “Especially, to my mother.”

  I sit up as well, holding the blankets to my body. “Okay, now you’ve really got my attention.” He’s not going to share some story involving a brothel, is he?

  “After I was nearly down to a normal weight, I started going to the gym—”

  “Clearly!” I gesture to his body.

  He smirks at me. “... And hired a personal trainer. She was a few years my senior.”

  Ah, I see.

  I smack him in the arm. “You scamp, you!” Scamp? Who says scamp? “Kiran had himself a cougar to show him the ropes.”

  He crosses his arms and lowers his head, grinning sheepishly. “Yes, I did. A younger woman could have easily played that role. It just turned out that she was... seasoned,” he says with slow nod.

  I creep toward him and kiss him on the lips. “I believe I need to send her a thank you card.”

  ***

  We reach Dasaswamedh Ghat at sunrise to the clanging of brass bells, and a heavy fog hangs over the Ganges. Though the temperature is already in the eighties, compared to the unrelenting heat of late morning and afternoon, the air is cool and moist.

  Small row boats float in clusters at the bottom of the ghats, where locals await passengers for tours on the river.

  After Kiran secures a boat that we will share with several other tourists, he steps on board, holding out his hand to me as I follow. He continues to hold my hand in his lap once we are seated toward the front of the boat, and I feel like a giddy schoolgirl.

  “What do the bells signify?” I ask quietly, leaning into him.

  “They’re to attract the attention of the gods.”

  “Is your family Hindu?” I don’t want to assume that just because they are Indian, that automatically makes them Hindus. They could be Christian, for all I know.

  “Dadi is a practicing Hindu. Both of my parents were raised Hindu, but they aren’t practicing, and didn’t raise me with a particular faith.”<
br />
  “Same here. I’ve only taken Carly and Hayden to church a handful of times. I kind of always wanted to let them decide on their own.” I’ve bounced around a few churches in my life, but never found one that I truly connected with.

  We now slowly journey down the river, and our guide begins sharing various facts about Varanasi. Though he speaks English, he talks very fast and his accent is thick, making it difficult for me to keep up with what he’s saying. His words become muddy background noise as I focus my attention on the tranquility of the river. Several boats surround us as we travel, and the passengers loaded in each vessel speak in hushed tones.

  I have a much better view of the buildings than I did when we walked along the ghats the day before, and I take out my camera to capture some images of the colorful architecture that rises from the ground, resembling small castles. Contemplating the antiquity of this place is somewhat surreal. I’ve never been anywhere whose history spanned centuries, and this realization brings about a reverence that’s hard to express.

  Birds chatter, swooping through the air above us, as we watch people perform their morning bathing ritual in the river. Women descend into the water wearing their saris, far enough to launch tiny boats lit with candles. Our guide explains that these are offerings to the Ganges, usually made with leaves joined together by twigs, holding marigolds and camphor inside.

  As I observe the worshippers make their offerings, and the little boats gently bob on the surface of the river in the still of the morning, my throat tightens with emotion. Yes, this is all simply ritual that may or may not have any aftermath for these people, but the devotion and earnestness with which they surrender themselves to this holy water, with its poisons, sewage, and on occasion, decomposing flesh, is in some strange way, beautiful.

  My aversion to the water yesterday feels almost sacrilegious, for there is something truly spiritual about this place that can never be conveyed in words. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I rub my arms.

  It suddenly feels as if I’m being watched, and I look at Kiran to find him studying me. He smiles softly, and I hug his arm. “It’s... This is kinda moving.”