by Nalini Singh
Laughing, Nayna hugged her again, then snuck a fresh taro chip out of the small bowl of fried ones. “Mmm, carbs.” Crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Nayna loved salted taro chips even more than she loved fries. “Can’t eat any more though—the dress I’m wearing will show every gram.”
Aji patted her arm with a soft hand that had soothed many a childhood hurt in Nayna. “Go have fun at the party,” she whispered, a willing conspirator. “I’ll stay home and supervise your parents. You know they get very excited at their show.”
Nayna bit back a grin. “I will.”
The twinkle in her grandmother’s eye altered, became solemn. “You’re sure, beta? That you want us to find a boy for you? If you have someone already, you can tell your aji. I will make it all right.”
“I don’t have anyone.” That was part of the problem; she’d talked herself into the arranged-marriage madness partially by pointing out that she hadn’t exactly done better on her own. The constant rejection at high school when added to her inexperience at college had left her floundering out in the modern dating world.
Nayna didn’t know how to flirt.
Not unless talking spreadsheets and financial forecasts was sexy.
So she, a woman addicted to historical romance novels, had convinced herself she’d be okay with a “suitable” match. Sometimes she was an idiot. But she’d made a promise and she’d keep it. Her family needed her to keep it. They were still so fragile, the hurts and the anger of the past a lingering cloud that had never quite dissipated.
“But,” she said to her grandmother, “I think I should have some secrets to take into a marriage, don’t you?”
Her grandmother’s laugh was a big, warm thing. “Yes, I think so.” She lifted a finger to her lips. “But go now. Don’t let your parents find out. I love my son, but he was born a fifty-year-old curmudgeon.”
In full agreement, Nayna snuck out. Once in her car, she drove down the block, then ditched her coat and the sensible shoes. The heels she slid on were considerably skinnier and sexier, and as for the coat, that was going to stay in the car.
She blew out a breath and put her hands on the steering wheel. “This is it, Nayna. Tonight, you be bad if it kills you.” Being a virgin at twenty-eight was one thing—yes, it was unusual, but contrary to what the media might have people believe, she wasn’t a unicorn. She knew that because she’d googled it in a fit of midnight desperation.
One study had shown that one in eight of her generation stayed virgins till at least twenty-six. Religion and culture were two reasons why, but shyness played a role for many. It did for Nayna. And like her anonymous brethren worldwide, she kept her mouth shut when others exclaimed over the improbability of a late-twenties virgin. As a result, the vast majority of the populace didn’t believe her kind existed.
So yes, she could deal with not having lost her virginity yet.
But being a virgin who hadn’t really done anything, that sucked.
She’d been such a nerd at school and university that boys hadn’t seen her as anything but a source of study notes. With graduation had come professional confidence. She was fine with male clients—but that confidence didn’t translate to dealing with men on a male-female level.
“Tonight it does.” She squeezed the steering wheel. “Tonight you’re a fearless femme fatale with no panties and a plan to be bad.”
3
Warning: Collision Imminent
Raj walked into the party with his friend Sailor by his side. “Thanks again for the company, Sail.” He liked the couple giving the party and had wanted to show up for at least a short while but had a feeling the crowd wasn’t going to be his usual, so he’d asked Sailor along.
“No problem.” Sailor scowled. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”
“Still moping about the girl who kissed and ran?” Intriguingly, that was all Sailor had said about the woman responsible for his current mood, but she must’ve been something special. Because while Sailor was four years younger than Raj, the two of them having met through a social rugby team, the other man was as focused on his business as Raj was on his work.
Those rugby games and family events were about the only times the two of them took off.
“Raj!” His hosts came over.
“Tara, Geoff.” He shook Geoff’s hand, got a kiss on the cheek from the statuesque brunette who was Geoff’s wife. “How’s the house holding up?” He’d worked on this project three years earlier.
“Brilliant! We adore it!” Tara waved her arms open wide. “You and your crew do stellar work. I’ve just recommended you to two friends of ours, so look out for a call from the Fabers.”
Raj allowed himself a quiet smile; it was good to hear the praise after a day spent dealing with a dickhead who wanted Raj’s people to do double the work on half the budget. Raj had shut that down hard, but making the dickhead see the light of day had screwed with his entire schedule. All he wanted was a beer and the TV, but he couldn’t stand up Tara and Geoff.
“This is Sailor,” he said. “He actually did a little work on your grounds while he was apprenticing.” Raj’s friend was naturally skilled with plants, but he’d needed more experience on his CV before he could pitch himself to clients. “He’s got his own company now and does great landscaping if you decide you need a change outside. He’s done several homes for us.”
“Oh, wonderful. We’ve been thinking about maybe jazzing things up for next summer.” Geoff shook Sailor’s hand. “But no work tonight. It’s a party!”
“Wait, before you go.” Raj showed them an image on his phone. “I built you a replica of that small side table you wanted. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.” A gift had seemed appropriate since this party was both a pre-Christmas bash and an anniversary celebration.
Tara screamed. “Oh my God! It’s perfect!” Another kiss on the cheek on a wave of opulent perfume before the couple dragged him and Sailor off to introduce them around.
As Raj had expected, the crowd was composed of rich people with white-collar jobs; he and Sailor stuck out like toughened steel at a platinum shindig, but they both ended up making a number of good business contacts. Unfortunately, they also attracted women who wanted “a bit of rough” for the night.
Raj had to fight to stay polite while they looked him up and down like a side of meat.
“An hour,” he muttered to Sailor after they’d both grabbed a beer.
His friend tapped his bottle to Raj’s, his blue eyes piercing. “Lot of women here who seem to be on the prowl. You might find one who leads you astray from the whole marriage deal.”
“Yeah, I don’t see it.” These women saw Raj as a body, nothing more.
And Raj was after something else altogether. For a man who’d been abandoned by his biological mother at four years of age and adopted two long years later at six, family meant everything. The bonds of history and tradition, they anchored him. Where others might rail against those bonds, he embraced them. And it wasn’t as if his family was arranging introductions with utterly unsuitable women.
All the women he’d met so far had been sweet and intelligent. But Raj kept saying no. He didn’t just want a wife. He didn’t want a woman for whom he was just an acceptable choice. He wanted a lover who saw him and who would become his in the deepest possible way, a lover with whom he could create a family of their own—a family she wouldn’t mind dedicating herself to loving and raising.
His younger sister called him a throwback, but Raj was open in his desire for the traditional setup, in wanting his children to have a parent around when they came home from school. His mother had been his father’s right hand in the family business, but as they’d run it out of their home all through Raj’s childhood, he’d had her there always.
To walk in to be hugged in welcome, it had mattered to a boy who’d been unwanted for six formative years. He wanted that same sense of security for his children. Which was why his parents had been seeking out smart but tradition
ally minded women for him; the last thing Raj needed was to end up with a woman who found his desire for home a regressive imposition. He’d make her miserable, and she’d do the same to him.
One thing you could say about parental matchmaking—it was honest. No setting up disparate types in the hope opposites would attract. That was for the movies and for books. In real life, it was better to lay all your cards on the table.
And Raj’s cards said tradition, family, domesticity.
Other people could chase fiery passion and wild adventures. Raj was planning on stability and loyalty.
4
Nayna & Raj & Champagne
They’d arrived.
Opening her door, Nayna glanced over at Ísa—whom she’d picked up on the way to the party. Her gorgeously curvy friend looked at her, swallowed, then gave a nod, the red of her hair vibrant against the rich cream of her skin. She looked stunning, but those same curves, hair, and skin had made her life a misery as a teenager. The queen bitch of their high school had made it her mission to torment Ísa with a side helping of meanness doled out to Nayna.
“Nerd No Tits,” that had been Suzanne’s loving way of addressing Nayna. Nayna knew Ísa was infuriated at the fact that her chief tormentor and the major-league asshole who’d dumped her in such a cruel fashion in college were getting a happily-ever-after, but personally, Nayna saw no happiness in either one’s future. Cody was a sniveling slimeball with no concept of loyalty, and Suzanne was pure, black-hearted evil.
Nayna wished them an eternally hellish life together.
Meanwhile, she and Ísa were going to paint the town red.
Together they stepped out into the balmy night air. December in Auckland was the start of true summer, with the heat building to a searing burn by February. It could still be a little chilly at night this time of year, but they were currently having a run of near-January weather.
The two of them giggled as they walked, neither one used to such thin heels. Nayna caught Ísa trying to tug down the hem of her strapless dress of sequined blue, found herself doing the same.
Ísa’s shoulders shook before she hooked her arm through Nayna’s. “Devil women,” she said. “That’s what we are tonight.”
“Wild, wild devil women,” Nayna replied. “Definitely not good girls who do what their families want.” She felt a primal desperation inside her that she knew was dangerous, but she didn’t care. Tonight could well be her last night of freedom. Her parents had stepped up the speed with which they were arranging introductions—the Sharmas were serious about making sure their youngest daughter settled down.
Sooner rather than later would walk in an eligible man who ticked all the right boxes and didn’t alienate her parents, and then Nayna would be stuck.
“I dare you to kiss a random guy tonight,” Ísa whispered wickedly. “A gorgeous, ripped guy you’d never normally approach.”
“Dare accepted,” Nayna said without pause, though she’d never propositioned any man, much less a gorgeous, ripped one.
Liquid courage might be the order of the day. Enough tequilas in her and maybe she’d turn into a siren, luring men to their doom in her arms. Or—more likely—she’d pass out comatose at the feet of the hunk she was attempting to kiss. New plan: she’d just pretend she was someone else and go hell-for-leather.
“Since we’ll never again see each other,” she said to Ísa on the topic of the poor, ripped man she was planning to accost, “who cares if he thinks I’m a crazy woman?”
A tiny frown between Ísa’s brows, as if her friend had picked up on Nayna’s true level of crazy tonight. “Just tell me if you’re going to go off with someone so I don’t worry.”
“You do the same.” Stopping by the open front door, Nayna took a deep breath. “Let’s go do bad-girl things.”
Ísa, at least, had gotten a start on that with her make-out session with a blue-eyed gardener. Nayna still couldn’t believe her buttoned-up and often self-conscious best friend had gotten wild with a man whose name she didn’t even know, but she was taking inspiration. If Ísa could jump a gorgeous guy in a school parking lot, surely Nayna could find a likely suspect at a party?
The partygoers were in great form when they stepped inside. Nayna took in the sprawling lounge that opened out into an equally sprawling deck that ran to the edge of a crystalline pool lit from within. Several people swam in it already, splashing one another playfully while in one corner of the lounge, another group danced under shimmering disco-ball lights.
Regardless of race, height, or hair color, it was as if they’d all come out of a catalog titled “Beautiful People with Beautiful Bodies.”
More beautiful people mingled in the rest of the lounge.
Nayna wished she’d worn her reading glasses; she didn’t need spectacles in normal life, but she could’ve done with another level of armor. Her face felt so bare, so open to judgment. Fighting the urge to tug at the hem of her dress again, she reminded herself she was a modern woman. Her dress was sexy.
And she had no real breasts to speak of, piped up a morose part of her brain.
“Nayna!” Tara walked toward Nayna, arms open. She was tall, brunette, and looked like a retired supermodel who might still strut the catwalk for the right designer—which was exactly what she was. A regular at international shows these days, often as a judge, Tara was one of Nayna’s favorite clients at the firm—Nayna had started doing some work on Tara and Geoff’s business account as a junior associate before slowly becoming their main point of contact.
After returning Tara’s hug, she gave the other woman the spa package she’d picked up as a gift and received a delighted smile in response. Wealthy as she was, Tara remained cheerfully happy with life, nothing jaded or false about her. It helped that she and Geoff had been together fifteen years and their love showed no signs of waning. Just last week, they’d been snapped indulging in a very public display of affection.
Nayna looked at smart, accomplished, happily in love Tara and saw the woman she wanted to become. “This is my friend Ísa,” she said, well aware that she wasn’t likely to end up with a man who didn’t mind a little PDA. Not that Nayna was as self-assured as Tara about such things, but it must be nice to know your husband loved you so much that he didn’t care who saw him adoring you.
Tara hugged Ísa too. “I hope you two brought swimsuits,” she said, her tone sinful. “Though”—she winked one lusciously made-up eye—“from the look of it, not everyone is bothering with suits.”
Another woman tugged Tara away before Nayna could reply. Ísa and Nayna looked at one another, both of them grinning before they headed directly for the pool. Nayna’s heart thumped at the idea of skinny-dipping, but she wasn’t ready to be that wild. She needed time to build up to such an extreme level of craziness.
Madhuri had probably done it multiple times by now. Only… her sister didn’t do things that messed up her hair or makeup, so likely Nayna could be the first Sharma daughter to skinny-dip. On the other hand, how did a woman in an arranged marriage go about skinny-dipping? From her experience so far, men who wanted an arranged marriage tended to be stuck on the stuffed-shirt end of traditional. A man like that would never be her partner-in-crime in throwing off the shackles and breaking the rules.
The only thing such men wanted was a woman who was a paragon of virtue and tradition.
The fourth ass she’d met had actually rated the snacks she’d made on a scale of one to ten. He’d given her a five-point-five. “Plenty of room for improvement.”
That was when her grandmother had put on her “sweet old lady” face and lied her ass off, saying she’d made all the food since Nayna had been held up at the office. The would-be-bridegroom had frozen while stuffing his face. Horrified at the gaffe, his parents had hustled him away.
Five-point-five. Hah! She’d like to see him make fresh bhajias as good as hers. The only thing he’d probably get a ten out of ten in was eating. Nayna would never judge anyone’s weight, but she did judge
thirty-year-old men with overhanging beer guts. Especially when those men felt free to judge her out loud.
She was not too thin, thank you very much. She was—
Oh.
Her internal muttering came to a sudden and abrupt halt, snagging on a male who was the definition of rugged and ripped and way out of her league. He was taller than her by a good few inches, had bronzed skin that glowed with health, and muscles that didn’t look real, they were so perfect. Not too big, not too small. Just right.
His black hair was a little messy, his jaw rough with dark scruff.
While his jeans were comfortable rather than ridiculously tight, his T-shirt fit well, hugging his pecs and biceps. The man was just beautiful.
“Oh my God.” Nayna managed to get out a few words. “Is he even real?” Her mouth went dry; she wished she had the guts to go up to him and haul him down to her mouth for a kiss. What a memory that would be in her wrinkly-old-lady years.
“Go for it.” Ísa’s voice in her ear. “That’s your kiss target right there.”
Nayna stared at her friend, wondering when Ísa had lost her ever-loving mind.
“Wild women, remember?” Ísa said pointedly.
“Not humiliated women though.” Madhuri had inherited all the sexy induce-men-to-begging genes in their family. “Have you seen the woman he’s talking to?” she murmured when Ísa nudged her.
Only then did she realize she was still staring at Mr. Gorgeous.
Flushing at the idea of being caught all but drooling, she looked away and tugged at her dress. She knew it covered her butt—she’d checked in the mirror before leaving home—but she’d never worn anything this short. She kept feeling strokes of cool air where air didn’t normally flow.
Jeez, she hoped she didn’t accidentally flash someone. With her luck, it’d be a client.
