Rebel Hard (Hard Play #2)

by Nalini Singh

  Madhuri wrinkled up her nose. “Ugh, just flabby oldies. I’m divorced, not desperate.”

  “One hundred percent true.” Nayna spotted the food table, set up for self-service—it was casual tonight with only close family and friends in attendance. “You hungry?”

  “Starving. Sugar and ghee, here I come.”

  Nayna ran into one of Madhuri’s closest friends, Anjali Kumar, over the mango barfis and white pedas. Basically sugar and milk and flavor and deliciousness. “Anj,” she said with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Nayna.” Anjali gave her a hug and a smile that was ragged at the edges; her makeup was as flawless as always, but she had dark shadows under her eyes. Hardly surprising when she had an eighteen-month-old and a new baby. “Where’s Maddie?”

  “Did someone say my name?” Madhuri popped up beside Nayna, having successfully navigated the savories and come away with a pile of goodies for them to share.

  As Nayna put some sweets on her plate, Anjali and Madhuri fell into soft conversation. Their conversation was intimate, with Madhuri asking, “Has Avinesh been helping with the baby more since his parents had that talk with him?”

  “I wish,” Anjali muttered. “He wakes me up when the baby cries, doesn’t know how to change a nappy and doesn’t want to learn, and now he’s picked up squash. Plays three nights a week, then has soccer on the weekends.”

  Nayna flinched inside. Three years earlier, Anjali’s now-husband had proposed with a plane flying a banner while they had a private picnic on a beach. Nayna had been overcome by the romance of it all, even more so because theirs had been an arranged match turned love match.

  “I wish I’d never gotten married,” Anjali added bitterly. “I love my two boys, but I’d happily divorce Avinesh now if my parents wouldn’t throw a fit.”

  “I recommend divorce for getting rid of excess baggage.” Madhuri’s comment made her friend laugh, Anjali’s resentment falling away to reveal the pretty young woman she was underneath it all.

  “I better go—Mum’s waving me over. The baby must be grizzling.” She left after exchanging a one-armed hug with Madhuri.

  “Well, that was pretty awful to hear,” Nayna murmured to Madhuri after Anjali was out of earshot. “Avinesh was so lovely with her.”

  “All men are before marriage,” Madhuri said sagely. “The real trick is finding a man who’ll be lovely after the rings are exchanged.”

  On that less-than-cheerful note, they look their plates of snacks and found seats. As the ceremony went on up ahead, they chatted and people-watched and ate too many sweets and savories while discussing which outfit was the blingiest—a serious contest at an Indian wedding—and for a while they were simply sisters again. For one night Nayna wasn’t angry at Madhuri for how she’d changed the course of Nayna’s life.

  When her phone buzzed with a message toward the end of the evening, she checked it to see the words: I got the Pride and Prejudice audiobook and listened to a chunk of it while working on a site today. Mr. Darcy is kind of a dick.

  Nayna’s body got all warm, her chest squeezing. That big, tough, physical Raj was reading her favorite Austen book, it chipped away more of her armor. It was better than planes flying banners or grand gestures like elopements. She was glad that Madhuri had gone over to catch up with a friend and quickly typed back a response: He holds the title of one of the dickiest heroes ever, but there is a redemption arc.

  Raj’s response made the warmth inside her turn fizzy: That Wickham guy is shady. Why is Lizzy being an idiot? No guy goes around spilling his guts like that.

  Nayna held a fisted hand up to her mouth, fighting a laugh. She’d never heard a male point of view on Pride and Prejudice, and clearly she’d been missing out. Lizzy isn’t perfect, she wrote back. She’s the prejudice part of Pride and Prejudice.

  Madhuri bustled over. “Are you messaging Ísa? What’s she say?”

  Quickly typing, Have to go, Nayna slid away her phone—and tried not to think about Raj and Madhuri coming face-to-face for the first time. “Oh, nothing much,” she said through renewed nausea. “Did you see Pinky’s engagement ring? Enough to take out not just an eye but the entire face.”

  * * *

  Raj put down his phone and was about to start the audiobook again when there was a knock on his door, followed by Aditi’s face poking inside. It struck him suddenly that she’d lost the layer of baby fat she’d carried around for years, her facial bones becoming defined and striking. Around that pointed face with large chestnut-brown eyes bloomed dark curls. His seventeen-year-old sister, he realized with brotherly horror, was turning into a pretty woman.

  “Hey,” she said, wandering in to collapse on the battered sofa he kept to one side of the living area he used as his home office. As with all teenagers, her limbs were liquid, arranging themselves in anatomically impossible ways.

  “Here, I got you this.” He threw over her favorite chocolate bar, which he’d picked up on the way home.

  A small smile, but she put it aside instead of devouring it like she usually did.

  Right.

  Turning his chair from his drafting desk, Raj rolled that chair across so he was facing her. “Spill it, Monkey.” A childhood nickname from the time she used to clamber all over Raj and cling, giggling and refusing to release him.

  “It’s nothing.” She took out her phone, began to scroll through it. “I just want a break from the parentals.”

  “Adi,” Raj said quietly in a tone she’d never disobeyed.

  Lips pursed together tightly, she sat up. Her body was nearly vibrating. “I have a friend who’s a boy and he asked me to go to the movies as a friend, and you’ll all say no and it’s not fair!”

  Raj’s entire body had turned unyielding at Aditi’s first words, the automatic and protective refusal on the edge of his tongue. It was Nayna’s voice that stopped him, the echo of her piercing frustration at the constrained life she’d lived hitting hard. Would she have said yes to him if she hadn’t been so strictly caged? Would she be happy instead of bruised inside to the point where she might never trust him to value her dreams and needs?

  “What’s his name?” he asked calmly.

  Aditi gave him a mutinous look. “Are you going to go warn him off?”

  “No. But I will Google him.”

  “Harlow Chan.” Aditi folded her arms across her chest. “He won that Crafty Corners internship.”

  Raj raised an eyebrow. He knew all about that hotly contested business internship because Aditi had seemed fascinated with it. Now he understood why. Even if this boy was just a friend now, Aditi liked him in a deeper way. “He must be smart.”

  “He is.” Though her eyes remained suspicious, Aditi launched into a spiel about the virtues of the boy.

  If all of what she said was true, Harlow Chan was exactly the kind of boy his sister should be calling a friend. “When did he want to go out?”

  Aditi scowled at him. “Anytime. The internship is really tough, but he has time after work sometimes. And it’s vacation, so I don’t have to worry about waking up early.”

  Raj considered it. “I’ll talk to Ma and Dad,” he said, holding his sister’s gaze. “I trust you, Adi, but you have to keep on being honest with me. Keep me updated on your plans and don’t try to sneak around.” It scared him to let his sister out into the world that might hurt her, but keeping a wild bird in a cage wasn’t fair to that bird. “And if you two become more than friends, you tell me that.”

  Lower lip quivering, Aditi launched herself off the sofa and into his arms. Raj held his baby sister and hoped he was doing the right thing. Especially when, an hour later, his father said a flat-out no to Raj’s proposal that they allow Aditi to continue her friendship with this boy. But Raj could out-stubborn anyone in his family, and he got what he wanted: permission for Adi to go on the movie date after she’d introduced the boy to the family and he’d been approved.

  Harlow Chan would get grilled to within an inch of
his life.

  After delivering the news to his deliriously happy sister and getting a huge kiss on the cheek and a hug in thanks, Raj walked back to his flat and found himself looking at his phone. Why did Nayna’s opinion matter so much? But it did. Again, that power she had over him. Fear gripped at his throat.

  There was, he thought, only one way to conquer that fear without hurting her as he’d so stupidly done at their lunch. He had to make Nayna Sharma fall madly in love with him—until she was willing to be his without questions or hesitations. Until he never had to fear that she’d walk away and leave him alone once again.

  He picked up the phone and sent a message: Just a warning—I want you, Nayna Sharma, and I intend to play dirty to win.

  16

  Playing Dirty

  After Raj’s threat, Nayna was on tenterhooks the next day, but it passed disappointingly smoothly. Even her parents stopped their attempts at an inquisition. Nayna got an answer as to why when she accidentally overheard them talking.

  “I thought Raj was a good boy,” Nayna’s father was saying, openly dubious.

  “I’m sure he is. I spoke to Babita yesterday at the Mehras. She knows the entire family, and she said Raj is very honest and hardworking. She even tried to set up her own daughter with him, but he said no straightaway. Didn’t try to take advantage or lead her on. So if he’s still thinking about Nayna, he must be very serious.”

  “Well,” her father mused. “That Babita does know everyone’s business. I think she has people’s houses wired.”

  Nayna’s lips twitched as her mother laughed. Thank God for nosy aunties like Babita. At least Nayna would have clear air for a while before her father decided it was all taking too long. Tiptoeing away from the bedroom door that had been left slightly ajar, Nayna made her way outside.

  She’d thought her grandmother was out here, but there was no sign of her. Frowning, Nayna glanced toward Mr. Hohepa’s house. Her lips curved as she spotted them through the window—Mr. Hohepa and her grandmother were dancing, slow and sweet, with proper steps. For a long time, Nayna just watched them, her heart full.

  When her mother opened the back door, she called out a loud, “Hi, Ma!”

  “Don’t wake the whole neighborhood, beta. Come help me in the garden.”

  Nayna snuck a look at the neighboring window as she walked. The dancing figures had disappeared. Sweetly delighted at being able to help the secret romance along, Nayna took the spare hat her mother had brought out, then got down on her knees in the dirt. Her mind suddenly announced that this would be an excellent position for her and Raj. Her height wouldn’t matter then.

  Skin burning to ash from the inside out, Nayna told her brain to shut up. The last thing she needed was more sexual frustration. She’d already spent the previous night sweat-soaked and woken with the sheets tangled around her legs, her dreams full of dirty things. If he’d phrased his message to drive her insane, he’d succeeded. Oh, how he’d succeeded.

  “Did you see that article your father printed out about Raj’s last project?” her mother said. “Such intricate work.”

  “Yes,” Nayna said past the thickness of arousal threatening to choke her. “He’s very talented with his hands.”

  Her breasts ached, wanting those talented hands on them.

  She was cursing him under her breath by the time she got dressed for the wedding that night. Tonight was the actual ceremony and she had to bling it up. Anything less than dazzling and her mother would accuse her of making them look poor and hard up—and the assorted aunties would shake their heads at how she was letting herself go. Sure sign she was on the road to spinsterhood.

  She was fingering a stunning but heavy sari of a deep burnt orange accented with peacock blue that had been a gift from Aji on her birthday when Madhuri walked into her room. Her sister was already dressed in a shimmering black sari with intricate glass beading of emerald green and white. Hair shiny and healthy—and tousled just so—brushed her shoulders. The black kurta she wore below the sari was sleeveless and cut to fit snugly just under her breasts. Black bangles covered her wrists and iridescent black jewels fell from her ears.

  “You look like a movie star,” Nayna said, astonished as always that this divine creature was her big sister.

  Madhuri beamed. “You’re going to knock it out of the park in that sari.”

  “Hah.” Nayna shook her head. “This is way too hard for me.” Not only was the material a nightmare to handle while pleating, the pattern was such that it had to be wrapped in a specific way. “I’ll—”

  “No, no.” Madhuri halted her when she would’ve reached for another piece. “We have time. I’ll put you into it.”

  Nayna hesitated, but Madhuri was already in full motion. She pulled out the matching orange underskirt, found the peacock blue kurta, and threw both at Nayna. “Which shoes?”

  “Nothing too high,” Nayna said. “I’ll trip.”

  “Hmm.” Madhuri walked effortlessly across the carpet in her own ice-pick-thin heels. “These?” She held up a pair of low-heeled silver sandals. “Easy to walk in but sari appropriate.”

  Nayna took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

  Stripping to her nude underwear, she pulled on the underskirt and tied it around her waist. Madhuri snorted. “That’s not tight enough.” She took over.

  “You’re cutting me in half!” Nayna moaned as her sister pulled the drawstring waist to a vicious tightness.

  “The weight of the sari will pull it down, you wuss,” her sister said. “It has to start off circulation erasing.” That torture complete, she shook her head at Nayna’s bra. “That’ll show in the kurta. It’s got a crisscross back.”

  Nayna picked up the top, examined it. “Built-in bra.” Lucky for her because she hadn’t bought a special bra to go under the top. And not even women with small breasts looked good in this kind of kurta without having some structure in that region.

  Once she’d put on the kurta—it was about the same length as Madhuri’s and fitted as close to her body but had cap sleeves—she stepped into the heeled sandals and the wrapping began. Only neophyte sari-wearers attempted to put on a sari without shoes on. That way led to disaster. Either too short or too long, never just right.

  Madhuri tucked and wrapped and pleated with quick fingers, all the while keeping up a running commentary. “Remember when we used to dress in Ma’s saris when we were young? You had the yellow one you loved.”

  “And your favorite was the sparkly pink.” Nayna smiled, a poignant sadness in her heart for the past that would never again come. “I’m glad we’re all family again, Maddie.”

  Her sister looked up from her pleating. “Me too, Ninu.” A wink, no echoes of the past in Madhuri’s voice—she had an enviable way of setting bad things aside and “forgetting” them. “Next time I get married, I’ll expect you to walk down the aisle in front of me in a circulation erasing sari.”

  Nayna laughed and the two of them worked together to finish dressing her. To make it easier on herself, Nayna went for the classic look with the end of the sari pleated neatly across her chest and pinned to one shoulder to fall all the way to her calf. The peacock blue shone against the orange.

  “Hair up I think,” Madhuri said and fashioned Nayna’s hair into a bun at the back of her head with tendrils framing her face. “Unless you want curls? I brought my hair iron in case I needed a touch-up before we left.”

  “My hair still doesn’t hold curls, doesn’t matter what product I use.” Nayna made a face. “This is nice.” Simple but soft. “Let me do my makeup and you hunt for some bangles.” As Nayna, Madhuri, and their mother all had the same size wrist, they had a shared collection of bangles in every conceivable color. It had just kind of built up over the years.

  Madhuri chatted along about her new job and her crotchety neighbor and how she was in love with the guy on The Bachelor.

  Nayna stuck out her tongue. “No way. He’s so plastic.”

  “Whatever, Ninu.
You have no appreciation for a nice pack of abs.”

  Nayna’s fingers tingled in sensory memory of a certain chest she’d explored, of the ridged outline of a very nice six-pack that she really, really wanted to touch again. Embarrassingly damp between her thighs, she finished putting on her eyeshadow and began with mascara. Behind her, Madhuri gave an exasperated sigh. “You go too light on the makeup.”

  “I can’t stand too much on my skin.”

  “I’ll do it for you next time,” Madhuri said before extending her hands. “Here, I found silver bangles, orange ones, and blue. You want to color block or mix and match?”

  Nayna went for the silver, adding silver bells to her ears to match and a silver bindi with a center of peacock blue. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt pretty damn good. She was no Madhuri, but she looked sleek and, dare she say it, elegant. “Thanks, Maddie,” she said while her sister added another safety pin to ensure the sari stayed in place.

  “There. Done.” Madhuri came up beside her, looking in the mirror to fix her own hair just right. “The Sharma girls are ready. World won’t know what hit it.”

  * * *

  When they walked into the grand wedding hall side by side, Nayna saw all eyes go to Madhuri. She wanted to smile. That was the way it had always been and would probab— Her thoughts cut off mid-word, her eyes locking with those of darkest brown across the room.

  What was Raj doing here?

  “Who is that smoking-hot hunk of deliciousness?”

  Madhuri’s whisper had Nayna jerking. “Raj,” she said through a dry throat, her pulse a panicky beat. Because she knew what happened to men when they saw Madhuri. She knew.

  “Oooooh.” Madhuri’s tone was intrigued. “I see what you mean about you two not suiting. He’s what, six three?”