With Daniel, there was no doubt I’d be severely in the red if we were keeping score. He’d put himself in danger, pulled several strings, and spent an enormous amount of money—even if it wasn’t his—making sure I was taken care of. Granted, he had his moments of supreme jerkery—the scene at the chicken walla was proof of that. But in general, when he wasn’t dead set on uncovering dragon plots of world domination, he was a pretty decent guy. Tonight proved it.
No wonder he had girls humping his leg and offering to make him chapati in the middle of the night. He had a way of making a woman feel like she was the only one who mattered.
I shifted when his hand touched my bare waist, and I turned my face into the crook of his neck and breathed deep. I could certainly get used to this.
“Carol, look.” I opened my eyes and followed the tilt of his head. Far above, shadows circled in the sky, making lazy patterns against the starry night. One by one the other couples stopped to stare, pointing at the magnificent creatures that had joined the festivities.
The air was filled with a mixture of music and dragon song as the massive beasts called to each other in the air.
Daniel pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me and touching his nose to my temple. “We’re dancing with dragons.”
* * *
It was around eleven when we made it back to the apartment. I waited at his side as Daniel keyed us in, and then I slid out of my shoes just inside the door. He walked past me toward the refrigerator.
“I had the apartment manager stock the kitchen. Do you want something to eat, drink?”
“I had way too much to eat at dinner, but I’d take a glass of wine if you still have any.”
“Red or white?”
“White. Thanks.”
I headed toward my room, anxious to change out of my sari before it wrinkled further. I was beginning to get the hang of wearing the garment, but I’d managed to crush the skirt by sitting on it during the auto-rickshaw travel from the restaurant to the apartment, and then later in the grass. I wasn’t sure whether I’d have a chance to have it ironed before I needed it for work.
My other sari blouses should be ready for pick up tomorrow morning according to our discussion with the shopkeeper, but just in case, I unfolded the other length of cloth that matched the green top I’d worn today. Pulling on a long T-shirt and pair of leggings from yesterday’s purchases, I re-entered the living room.
Daniel sat at the sofa, two glasses of wine resting on the coffee table, along with a pair of tiny scissors, some cotton balls, and a massive jug of hydrogen peroxide.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are we having a party?”
The corner of his lip twitched. “Something like that. It’s time to take your stitches out.”
My hand immediately flew to my head. The injury was practically invisible unless someone knew where to look, and with careful styling I’d managed to hide the shaved portion of my scalp from view.
In fact, today’s excitement combined with Daniel’s charming conversation over dinner had made me actually forget about the change in my looks. His words reminded me of my fall from redheaded temptress to scruffy refugee, and my mood plummeted.
But he was right, the stitches needed to come out. The itching around them was so distracting there were times I could swear I’d contracted head lice. If it got much worse, I’d end up tearing them out with my fingernails.
No, Daniel’s way was better.
I sighed and approached the sofa, placing my rear on the floor between it and the coffee table. Grabbing my glass, I drained the wine in four quick gulps.
“I’m not really a fan of blood. Or surgery. Or basically anything that requires cotton balls and peroxide.”
Daniel stared at my now-empty glass in surprise. “I can see that.” Without another word, he pushed off the couch and went back to the kitchen. Returning moments later with the opened bottle of wine, he sat and pushed his glass—still full—in my direction. “Here. It’s probably best if I wait until after for a drink.”
“I’d appreciate that.” I shot him a sideways glance before repeating the gulping process with his wine, daring him to comment.
He wisely refrained, instead tipping my head down for better access to my wound. The wine was quickly working its way through my system, and despite the horrible snick of the scissors as Daniel opened them for use, I was able to stay relatively still.
I winced when I felt the pull on my skin, and as soon as he took his hands from my head I poured myself another glass. Soon we developed a rhythm. Each time he’d pause, I’d take a sip of my drink.
I let out a small yip of pain as he slowly worked the nylon threads free.
“Tell me a little more about your life in Tulsa. You work for CreaTV, you’ve got to have other stories about crazy artistic people in your past.”
“None that I can come up with right now.” It was as if the metal scissors had short-circuited my brain. They were all I could think about.
“You told me you’re a manager at CreaTV. For which magazine?”
“I uh,” the knuckles of my left hand tightened on Daniel’s knee as I felt another pinch, “I’m the art director for American Style. I’m basically responsible for making sure the magazine looks good before it’s ready for the racks. Contracts, photography, editorial content...you name it, and I have a hand in the pot.”
“That’s great.” The scissors snicked. “What do you like about it?”
Daniel didn’t actually care about the answer. I knew he was only trying to keep me still by taking my mind off the Frankenstein project above my forehead. But I answered because I needed the distraction, or else I might put a hole completely through his leg with my nails.
“The variety, I guess. Though after this past month, I have a new appreciation for the control I have over the finished product. Myrna gets a kick out of dealing with the unknown. I get ulcers.”
“I think I got them all.” Daniel laid the scissors on the table and opened the bottle of peroxide. I breathed a sigh of relief. Until the saturated cotton touched my head.
“Ow! That freaking stings!”
“I’m almost done.”
He’d stopped asking me questions, too focused on pouring acid onto my poor skin, so I decided to see if the distraction worked both ways.
“So tell me a little bit about being a newspaper reporter. What do you have to be good at?”
“Research. And people. You have to be able to drill down to the truth in an instant. To have an instinct for what a person means instead of what they’re saying. More often than not, it’s not the same thing.”
I laughed. “I would be a terrible reporter. I can’t read people at all. Case in point, I’m the idiot who jumped on a plane with a guy I’d never met before.”
He chuckled. “I’d say you did pretty well, but I’m probably a little biased.”
I struggled into a standing position, but three glasses of wine in rather quick succession had left me less than steady on my feet. I tilted, windmilled, and would have fallen flat on my face had Daniel not sprung up from his seat to catch me. My nose flattened against his chest, and I turned my head to the side, resting my cheek against the warm fabric of his shirt while I listened to the steady thump of his heart.
“You’re not. Biased that is. You’ve been incredibly kind to me.”
He brushed a strand of hair back from my face. “Carol, look at me.”
Placing a hand against his chest, I drew back to meet his eyes. They’d gone dark with emotion.
“I have not been incredibly kind to you. In fact, I’ve spent the last several days mentally berating myself for blackmailing you into doing something you really, really don’t want to do. I owe you an apology.”
I touched his cheek with the palm of my hand. “Apology accepted.”
“No. You shouldn’t let me off that easy.” He pulled on my fingers as if to dislodge them, but he seemed to change his mind at the last second. Instead of dropping my ha
nd, he brought it to his mouth, running his lips from wrist to elbow.
And that’s all it took. Even through the haze of alcohol I felt the familiar jolt of attraction, and suddenly the steady pressure of skin on skin seemed to drive the increasing heat pooling low in my belly. I snuggled closer, wanting to feel the touch of his solid form against the parts of my body that were rapidly coming alive in his presence.
I felt him pause for an instant before strong arms crept around my waist.
“Chemistry is an odd thing, isn’t it?”
I felt the vibration deep in his chest when he laughed. “Wine can do a number on your balance, that’s for sure.”
I leaned back to meet his eyes. “I’m not talking about my balance.” I placed my hand against his heart, gratified to feel the skin on his chest contract at my touch. I wasn’t the only one who felt the thick pull of seduction tonight. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I ran my palm up to his shoulder and over the thick muscles along his left arm.
Taking my time, I traced the path my eyes had taken earlier in the day, stepping free of his embrace to follow the curve of his spine. He twisted slightly to track my movement and I sighed, leaning once more against the hard contour of his back.
“I wanted to do this earlier today, at Savitri’s.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice was husky, and I smiled at the sound of breath hissing through his teeth as I ran a hand under his shirt for a touch of bare skin. He tensed when I lifted the hem and placed my lips against that same patch of bare skin. He smelled wonderful—all warmth, and strength, and with just a hint of something uniquely Daniel.
“Carol.” His words were ragged. “You have to stop.”
“Why? Because I’m really bad at reading people?”
“No. Because you’ve had a lot to drink, and when you touch me like that, it makes me want to forget that fact and kiss you senseless.”
I pouted a bit, pulling the shirt even higher and nibbling at the spot just below his shoulder blade. But then I stopped, and dropped the T-shirt. “I know. I want to kiss you senseless too.”
I felt his heartbeat kick up a notch more.
He stepped forward and then turned to face me. I had to smile. His eyes were wide, and a little wild, and I couldn’t help but feel just a little powerful to be the thing that finally caused the always-collected Daniel Wallent to panic.
I let him flounder for a moment, enjoying the fact that while he tried to form the words to tell me I was far too drunk for sexual decisions, his eyes kept dropping to stare at my breasts, which were no doubt standing at attention through the thin cotton shirt.
“You know, since I’m such a bad judge of character anyway, I don’t see why a few glasses of wine would change that. Kiss me, Daniel.”
He lasted a single beat before his lips were on mine, his tongue coaxing me to open for him.
I did, and had to gasp at the pleasure. Daniel in a teasing mood was one thing, but Daniel aroused was something totally different.
And totally delicious.
I moved closer to his hard body, rubbing against the hard ridge of his erection.
Daniel groaned and pulled me even tighter. “Carol, honey, you’re killing me.”
I pulled back from his grasp just long enough to help him lift his T-shirt. Soon my blouse hit the floor next to his, and I was kissing him like there was nothing better in the world.
His skin was smooth, and warm, and just different enough from mine to make my body sing. I reveled in the feel of a calloused hand as it traced the outline of my waist.
“You are so beautiful.” His voice was mere inches from my ear, and I sighed when I felt the tips of his fingers slide under the waistband of my pants and push down. “If you want me to stop, I need you to tell me now.”
“Daniel Wallent.”
His breath was a hiss of sound as I returned the favor and loosened his zipper. “Yeah?”
This was going to be the most painful thing I’d done in a while.
“Remember when you told me I let you off too easy?”
An unintelligible groan was his only response.
“You were wrong. I’m just as vindictive as every other woman. The good news is, once you’ve accepted your punishment, I consider the slate wiped completely clean.”
I pulled my hands from his body and stepped back. “Consider this your punishment. Goodnight, Daniel.”
Chapter Thirteen
I wasn’t exactly skipping to work the next morning, but my mood had nothing to do with the dread surrounding my new job. Instead it was a mixture of acute guilt and a not-so-slight hangover that had me simultaneously tiptoeing out the front door of the apartment and recoiling in horror at the bright sunshine awaiting me outside.
From the moment I woke, my mind had been replaying the moments where I’d slowly run my hand up the front of Daniel’s jeans and he’d looked right at me, his face a mask of desire and confusion as I stepped back and left him with barely a word.
When we first met, I’d accused him of playing games to get me into bed. That exchange had turned out to be a misunderstanding. But now, I was the one playing games, only what I had done was worse. Because what I’d done was real, and it was done deliberately.
I could feel my face heat at the memory. Just outside the gates of the apartment complex, I paced back and forth along the road, trying to come up with some way I could face Daniel and explain that I really wasn’t the angry, pathetic excuse for a human being that I’d been last night. While Daniel had been patiently dealing with my physical injuries, I’d drunkenly attempted to deal with my emotional ones. And there, in the floor, I’d realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually felt in control of my own future. China, the Tulsa bombing, and now Bangalore, I was still dangling like a puppet for whoever was around to pull my strings.
I’d suddenly decided that I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I wanted to strike back at the events that had lead up to my current situation. Unfortunately, the alcohol I’d consumed to settle my nerves had ensured that my attack was fully directed at the only other person in the room. And now all I wanted to do was apologize and make it right.
But just as it was when I’d first opened gritty eyes to face the day, my brain was completely empty of ideas. How did you explain to someone that you were mad at fate?
“Oh Lord, what am I going to do?” I didn’t notice that I’d spoken aloud until a young man, maybe twenty years of age, stepped into the path I was wearing into the ground.
“Ma’am? You require an auto?” He gestured to the small green-and-yellow vehicle parked a few feet away.
I couldn’t help but look toward the top floor of the apartment complex, where I knew Daniel was sleeping. He probably hated me now.
“Um, yes. Yes, thank you.” I gave the man the address of the sari shop on MG Road, as we’d received word that the rest of my choli tops were available for pickup.
It was cowardly for me to use the clothing as a reason to leave before Daniel was awake, but after last night’s performance, it was a welcome excuse to give me some time to think. I’d left Daniel a note on the kitchen counter, telling him not to expect me until later in the evening, as I planned to go straight to work after my errand. I’d initialed it with an elaborate J, just in case the super decided to stop by with more groceries.
Soon, we’d pulled up to the small shop, and I circled around to the side entrance as instructed, since they weren’t open for another hour or so.
Lakshmi, the same woman who’d assisted me during my shopping spree, met me at the door, and I gave her a distracted hello.
She grinned widely and hustled me in, muttering something about clasps and embroidery. One by one, I tried on all the blouses, and Lakshmi made minute adjustments to the fit when needed. I’d brought the pale blue sari with me, so I saved that blouse for last.
“Your husband did not join you today?” She peered around me, as if Daniel would suddenly materialize from the corner.
“No.”
She gave me a curious look but said nothing, instead concentrating on helping me into the sari’s matching petticoat. I glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. I had fifteen minutes before Krishnan expected me to report to my new job.
“Lakshmi, thank you so much. It’s beautiful. They are all beautiful.”
I admired the blue silk in the mirror, and marveled at the intricate details on the choli. They’d definitely done a lot in a small amount of time. Tiny pale blue flowers were hand-embroidered along the cuffs of the navy blouse in the exact color of main sari material.
When I got back to Tulsa, and if I still had a job, I wanted to do a magazine spread on India. Specifically their fashions.
“Do you have paper?” I took the scraps of an old bill from Lakshmi and scribbled a number across the surface. “I’d love for you to call this office. A friend of mine would be very eager to view your work.” I gestured to my sari.
Lakshmi took the paper with a confused smile, and walked with me to the door.
It was time for my first day at work. And since I couldn’t think of a good way to apologize for last night, I had a puritanical urge to make up for it.
* * *
Krishnan was all smiles when I walked through the door, and after filling out the usual employment forms, he quickly escorted me to a small cubicle in the busy ground floor of Savitri Enterprises. My eyes widened at the boxes of paper stacked chest-high in every available space.
Krishnan winced at my expression. “I might have underestimated the amount of work we had waiting for you.”
I stared at the boxes. This paperwork could take weeks to go through, and that’s assuming it was legible, organized, and I could simply skim it. But judging from the way most of the box lids sat unevenly along the tops and edges of paper poked through the handles on the sides of almost every box, I was guessing organization hadn’t been the top priority.
It would take a hundred years to find military records in here, and that’s assuming there were any.
Dancing with Dragons Page 13
