Different Senses

by Ann Somerville

  “Who’s that? Lalit?”

  “No, Javen. Remember? You asked me to stay?” I touched on the side lamp, and found him staring at me in confusion. “It’s Javen, Tushar.”

  He slumped back, hand over his side. “Yes. I remember. Sorry. I was dreaming and it was all mixed up. You really stayed.”

  “Of course I stayed. Do you want me to stay the rest of the night?”

  He looked at me with those lovely eyes. “Please?” He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. “If you like, I could—”

  “No, you couldn’t. Not only are you injured, you’re my client. And I’m not a complete oaf. I want to stay, if it helps.”

  “It does. When I woke, alone, I felt terrified. I didn’t know where I was, or what was happening.”

  “The drugs. The doctor gave you a sedative. Don’t like them myself, but they can help.”

  “I wish I’d known. I don’t want to be drugged. Come closer, Javen. I can’t slide to you.”

  I obeyed, turning the light off and lying down under the covers. He cuddled close to me. “How’s the pain?” I asked.

  “There, but bearable if I don’t move. You’ve had worse.”

  “Yes, but knife wounds are terrible. They cut through so many nerve endings, and on your side, they pull.”

  “Yes. You understand. Lalit panicked when he found me. I had to tell him to call the police and then the medics. You don’t panic.”

  “Not often. You should really go back to sleep.” I stroked his head. His braids were smooth, quite unlike touching unbound hair.

  “I will in a bit. Do you do this for all your clients?”

  I laughed. “No, I certainly don’t.”

  “I’m special.”

  “Yes, you are. Talented and lovely and a treasure for your people.”

  “Just my people?”

  “No. Stop fishing for compliments. You know you have an extraordinary gift.”

  He chuckled quietly. “But I love to hear you say it. You have a beautiful voice, Javen. So deep and...commanding.”

  My cock throbbed as his voice dropped on the last word. “Stop it. You know what you’re doing.”

  His hand slid down over my crotch. “You have a beautiful body too.”

  I pushed his hand off me. “Enough of that. I’m not made of stone and there are ethics to consider, not to mention the fact you have a bloody great slice along your ribs.”

  “Okay.” I heard the pout in his voice. “It’s sad you don’t have a lover. Don’t you even have someone you’d like to sleep with?”

  “This conversation is verging dangerously close to unprofessional, but to answer your one question, yes, I do, and no, I’m not telling you who. Go to sleep, brat.”

  “I’m not a brat.”

  “You certainly are, and sanity knows what you’d be like without an injury.” I tugged him carefully closer to me, the warmth of his bare chest delicious through the thin cloth of the sleeping shirt. “A very attractive and tempting brat who needs rest to recover from the injury and shock of a crappy experience. Sleep, Tushar. You’ll be amazed how much better you feel in the morning.”

  “And you’ll be here.”

  “I will. Though I’ll have to escape early. I have work to do.”

  “I understand.” He wriggled, hissing in a breath. I was about to chide him for hurting himself when I felt his lips, soft and warm, on my cheek. “Good night, Javen.” His words vibrated against my skin.

  Sanity, what a gorgeous voice. “You too.”

  He fell silent and I kept quiet, hoping the drug in his system and the tiredness of injury would work their will. In very little time, they did, his breathing going deep and slow, his breaths wafting gently across my neck, which did very little to help me control my libido.

  He wasn’t the first client to make a pass at me. Something about my job turned people on, which I didn’t understand, and there was always the old “Can you take a little off my bill if I make you a happy man?” ploy, which was good for a laugh, though not much else. But he was easily the most attractive to try it. And the first to tempt me even slightly.

  And the absolute last one I should take up on the offer. I sighed quietly. I really, really needed to find someone to have sex with who wasn’t a client, didn’t look like a teenager, didn’t remind me of Shardul, and wouldn’t involve me in messy emotional games. Kirin would sleep with me out of real affection and as a friend, but that would take us back to territory neither of us wanted to revisit, so he was out as an option. Hiring someone was always possible, but I was just romantic enough to want a genuine connection of hearts and minds, even for a few hours. I wondered what Shardul’s “female relatives” would prescribe for my malady?

  Enough. I closed my eyes and determinedly ignored the heat and subtle scent of the delectable presence next to me. Security plans for the Institute—that would distract me. Positioning of scanners and cameras. Important, boring stuff.

  Tushar sighed and moved, his hand falling over my hip and onto my stomach, a centimetre or so above my wide-awake erection.

  It was going to be a very, very long night.

  ~~~~~~~~

  The first rays of sunlight found me wide awake, with a cramp in my leg I desperately wanted to ease, but I didn’t want to wake Tushar to do so. My companion, naturally, had slept like an innocent, pinning me in position, and making me regret my altruism in agreeing to stay. Not that it was his fault, but in the name of reason, what the hell had I been thinking?

  The sun grew brighter, and Tushar slumbered on. If I didn’t move soon, I wouldn’t be able to walk. Maybe I could wake him and he’d go back to sleep.

  But then he sighed deeply and opened his eyes, looking straight into mine. “You stayed.”

  “Yes, but I’m sorry. I just need to....” I climbed out of bed and stretched, wincing at the pain. “Sorry. Cramp.”

  “Because of me?”

  “A little.”

  His expression fell. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a nuisance to people over this.” He covered his eyes with his hand.

  I sat and stroked his hair. “Hey, I’ve had worse sleeping with someone I lived with. It’s nothing.” I bent and kissed the bit of cheek I could see. “Forget me. How are you?”

  “Sore. Not so tired.”

  I tugged his hand away from his face, and kissed him again. “Good. You don’t look as pale.”

  “Next to you, I always will.”

  I smiled. “Yes.” I touched his face—my fingers look very dark against it. “I should go before the press come swarming.”

  “Maybe you should stay until they get bored.”

  “That could take a while.”

  He kissed my fingers, then trapped them in his hand. “I wish we’d made love, Javen.”

  Sanity, that was all I needed. “A bad idea, Tushar.”

  “Kiss me. Kiss me properly.”

  “Tushar—”

  “Nothing more, I promise.”

  Like I said, I wasn’t made of stone. I bent and touched my lips to his, letting him guide me. He cupped my head and pulled me close, his tongue slipping into my mouth, his lips demanding me, testing mine. Young he might be, but he knew what he was doing—more than me, I thought. His hand roved, slipping under my shirt onto my bare skin, until I trapped it. He smiled under my mouth, and redoubled his sweet attack on me.

  I had to stop this. I pulled away, though his moan of disappointment echoed my own silent one. “Any more and I’ll never get out of here.”

  His smile asked “This is a problem, why?” but he didn’t move to make me stay. “You kiss like a dream.”

  “So do you, and you know it.”

  His mouth quirked. “Brat. You forgot the ‘brat’.”

  “Hmmm, so I did. Brat.” He grinned and my heart flipped a little. “I’ll call later, I promise.”

  “Come by?”

  “Maybe. But I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself.”

  “Lalit will.”


  “Yeah.”

  He blew me a kiss and I smiled. “‘Bye, Tushar.”

  “‘Bye, Sri Sexy Voice.”

  Definitely a brat.

  I changed in the main house to avoid temptation. Ursemin was nowhere to be seen. It was only seven so I had plenty of time to go home, catch Yashi and Tara, shower and eat. But damn it, I’d forgotten about my auto. I placed an order for a taxi to meet me out front, and went outside to wait.

  Or that had been the plan, anyway. When I stepped through the front door, I stumbled, battered by the sheer force of emotions projected from what to be....

  Hundreds of people. Mainly women. Spilling out across the pavement and roads, holding candles, and flowers, and incense, for sanity’s sake. One of them spotted me, and the screaming started. “What the fuck is going on?” I yelled at the cop guarding the entrance.

  “Vigil for Sri Omanand.”

  “He’s not dying.”

  The cop cocked his thumb at the crowd. “Try telling them.”

  “And how am I supposed to get through that lot?”

  “I heard you used to be on the force, sergeant.”

  I made a face at him. “You’re a fat lot of good.”

  Nothing for it but to walk quickly and make my total lack of being Tushar obvious. But as I strode manfully and with purpose towards the gate, someone yelled, “There he is! Sri Ythen, look this way!”

  Startled, I obeyed, and a rush of camera clicks recorded my confusion.

  “Sri Ythen, is it true you’re Sri Tushar’s lover?”

  “Sri Ythen, does your father approve of your relationship with Sri Tushar?”

  “Sri Ythen, what’s it like having a famous banis lover?”

  “No comment,” I gritted out, wishing I could say “Fuck off” instead, but I’d been brought up too well, unfortunately. If I stopped to answer questions like this, I’d end up feeding idiotic speculation, and that was the last thing this situation needed.

  The questions and the cameras followed me out onto the street. Between the annoyance at this unwanted development, the still overwhelming emotions from Tushar’s worried fans, and the frantic interest of the media, my head felt like my skull was three sizes too small for the contents. My temples throbbed with pain. My eyeballs throbbed.

  The taxi driver nearly drove off when she saw the press pack. “Lose them and I’ll pay you triple fare,” I told her.

  “Where to?”

  “I honestly don’t care. Head northish.”

  She tore off.

  “Are they following?”

  “I can’t see anyone, sir.”

  “Just keep driving. I’ve got to make some calls.”

  “Yes, sir. Are you really Governor Ythen’s son?”

  “Just drive, please.”

  I called Madan. “Remember all that crap after the Governor’s Ball? You can double it. We better close the office for the day. Tell the kids to stay low and not answer any strange calls.”

  “Again? Who is it this time, Javen?”

  “Tushar. Only it’s not. It’s a beat up.”

  He whistled. “Sleeping with the clients is a no-no.”

  “Yeah, I do know that. I wrote the rules for the staff, remember? Just hunker down until this goes away again.”

  “Okay. But it’s good publicity for us, in a way. If Benay’s the guy, I mean.”

  “Yeah.” Good publicity for Tushar and Ursemin too, though I doubted Tushar realised it yet. “I have other calls to make. I’ll be at home if you need me.”

  Next call was to Yashi to warn him. He wasn’t at all pleased since he had to work and there was no chance of making a getaway like he had last time. “We need you settled down with someone dull, brother. The novelty has worn off. Mum and Dad will be furious.”

  “Right now, that’s the least of my worries. Tell Tara I’m sorry too.”

  Then I called the police station and asked for Lieutenant Mahre. “Ah, sergeant, I’m glad you called. I wanted to thank you for the tip-off on Benay.”

  “He confessed?”

  “He’s definitely the one who’s been sending the messages and threats to Sri Tushar. I haven’t managed to get a confession about the attack, but with the knife and Sri Tushar’s blood on it, there’s enough to charge him.”

  “Good work. It’ll be a relief to my client.”

  “The early news is full of reports about you and your client.”

  I didn’t think I’d imagined the slight leer in his voice. “Press fantasy, as usual. Not the first time, with my father’s position and so on.”

  “Yes. You didn’t mention your father yesterday.”

  “Because it’s not relevant to the case or anything else. Can I tell Sri Tushar Benay’s out of action?”

  “May as well, but he shouldn’t drop his guard. The loonies have been coming out of the tall grass on this one. I had six people drop in and confess to attacking him before eleven o’clock last night.”

  “Wonderful. Better you than me, as they say.”

  “Thanks very much, sergeant. I’ll keep your client informed.”

  Yeah, that was definitely a leer. Bastard.

  The driver looked at me in the mirror. “Sir? How much longer?”

  I gave her the address for Yashi’s house. No press hounds there, but voice messages had been left while I’d been on the phone. I paid the driver her promised triple fare, then scanned through the list. I deleted all but one, from Shardul. “Javen, what’s going on? I’ve had some very irritating calls about you this morning.”

  Damn it. I sent him a text message asking for a face to face over lunch, or chai. He replied ten minutes later. “Chai at eleven. Can spare you half hour only. Make it worth my time.”

  Great. Nothing was pissier than a pissed off Shardul.

  I showered and shaved, then checked the news reports. My rumpled face and clearly just out of bed hair was all over the media channels, along with unseemly speculation about my relationship with Tushar. The attack itself was covered in full, though the focus had shifted to Benay’s arrest and the vigil outside Ursemin’s house. One channel reported that a statement was expected from Tushar’s manager at eleven.

  Nothing about Benay being charged. That was one bit of good news to mollify Shardul. Loonies or not, the one known loony had been exposed and taken out of the equation. Gave the indigenous community and me some breathing space to come up with a way to keep their golden child out of trouble and safe.

  The dull and unexceptional chai house which had been my unofficial office for a couple of years and still made a discreet place for client meetings, served again today. Shardul strode in as if he owned the place, and the owner, who habitually paid no attention to anything happening in her place, blinked at his appearance. He gave her a brilliant smile. “Chai, please, unsweetened and no dairy.”

  She stared at him until he shrugged and come over to where I was sitting. He sat down and glared. “Well?”

  “Hang on, I want to hear this.” I pointed to the media screen at the table.

  “Javen.”

  “Shhh. It’s important. You’ll want to hear it too.”

  The video cut to Ursemin, reading a prepared statement, Tushar standing at his side. “We wish to thank the police and Tushar’s fans for their support and good wishes. Tushar is recovering well and performances will resume tonight.”

  A shift of camera shot showed there were at least twenty reporters covering the story, and the crowd of female fans who’d greeted me outside the house, looked as large and devoted as it had earlier that morning.

  “Sri Ursemin, any leads on who carried out this attack?”

  “You’ll have to ask the police about that, I’m sorry.”

  “Sri Tushar, how are you feeling?”

  Tushar gave the camera a wobbly smile. “Much better, thank you. I’d like to thank my doctor for his kind treatment, and thank my friends who are listening, for all their prayers.” Prolonged cheers and applause greeted this, and he
waved to his fans.

  “Sri Tushar, what’s your relationship with Governor Ythen’s son?”

  “Sri Ythen is working for me,” Ursemin answered.

  “He’s a friend,” Tushar added. “And that’s all.”

  “Sri Tushar, will this attack make you reconsider public performances?”

  “Not at all. I’ll stop performing when my audiences ask me to, not before. Do you want me to stop?” he asked, batting his eyelashes, prompting a few laughs from the reporters, and rowdy denials and shouts from the crowd.

  “Don’t think so,” the reporter who’d asked the question said. “Will you be able to give your usual performance?”

  “The doctor tells me I mustn’t dance just yet. Yes, I know,” he said, as the crowd groaned. “But I’ll sing more songs to make up for it!”

  The programme switched over to another item, and I closed the screen. “He handled it well, I thought.”

  Shardul raised an eyebrow as he sipped his chai. “They’re making the most of a bad situation. Why are reporters pestering me about you?”

  “Er, because they probably want my alleged fiancé’s opinion about my new lover.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I spent the night at Sri Ursemin’s, keeping an eye on Tushar. The kid was a mess. He needed someone to get him through the worst bit.”

  “I see. And someone told the press. Did you learn nothing from that fiasco at the ball?”

  “A fiasco you set up, so cut the lecture. Yes, someone tipped them off. I had other things on my mind.”

  “Like getting into Tushar’s admitted delectable salwars?”

  “No! You didn’t see him. He was in shock, real shock. Terrified. At least we’ve caught the bastard who did it. It was the guy we fingered as the stalker.”

  “Hmmm. Convenient.”

  “And what the hell does that mean?”

  He sipped his chai again, and radiated irritating inscrutability. “What I said. Convenient to solve two crimes with one man.”

  “Well, yeah. But there are other people out there who’d love to take a shot at our boy, so if your people plan to do something to stop that happening, now’s the time to do it.”

  “Plans are being made. And what are yours?”