by Alyssa Cole
Table of Contents
Sweet to the Taste
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
Also Available
Thank You
Sweet to the Taste
by
Alyssa Cole
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Sweet to the Taste
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Alyssa Cole
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, February 2014
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-260-8
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
I’d like to heap thanks upon Colleen,
Derek, and Krista.
They are the best critiquers a lady could ask for!
And to Nicolas: main tumse pyaar kartee hoon.
Chapter One
“Callie Jane Roberts, if I had known how good that sari would look on you, I would have loaned you an uglier one,” Priya said, laughter animating her voice as she squinted into the mirror and adjusted the bridal scarf pinned to her thick black hair.
Callie moved beside Priya to examine herself in the mirror, too, finally getting a chance to see herself in the sari she had borrowed that morning. It had taken three helpful cousins to wrap and pin her into it, but the final result was worth it. She rubbed the silky, cream-colored fabric between her fingers, still wondering how she’d been talked into wearing something so revealing. The midriff-baring top, or choli, that she wore beneath the sari was well beyond her usually conservative dress, but the material of the long skirt that pleated at her waist, draped over her shoulder, and was held in place with a pin gave her some sense of modesty. The rich, satiny fabric sliding against her nut-brown skin made her feel decadent, although she knew that for many women, it was an everyday outfit.
Callie turned to Priya and was surprised by the sudden rush of emotion that choked her up as she took in her friend’s attire and the serene smile that tilted the corner of Priya’s mouth. Her friend had come a long way from the baggy jeans and hockey jerseys she had been fond of in high school. Callie wasn’t one to cry at weddings but, then again, her best friend had never gotten married before.
“Trust me, my dear, all eyes will be on you,” Callie said, trying to hide the shake in her voice that signaled waterworks were eminent. “You look amazing.”
She wasn’t exaggerating.
Priya’s wedding sari was of the deepest red and struck through with golden fibers in a starburst pattern. The headscarf that she kept plucking at was made from more of the same. Gold jewelry twinkled at her wrists, fingers, and neck, and a thin gold chain snaked from one of her earrings to the piercing in her nose, making her look delicate and badass at the same time. Intricate henna designs had been inked onto her hands and feet, and kohl lined her large almond-shaped eyes, making them seem even darker and more captivating.
“Actually, I think most of the elders will be gawking at the tall, curvy black lady rocking Indian clothing,” Priya teased as she gave herself a final glance in the mirror.
They started making their way from the reception hall bathroom to the large park and pavilion outside, where the wedding ceremony was taking place.
“Please don’t break their fingers if they try to touch your hair. They don’t know any better,” Priya said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She loved when Callie got annoyed; the occurrences were few and far between, and she obviously enjoyed seeing Callie lose her usual reserve.
“I’ll try to restrain myself, but I can’t guarantee anything,” Callie said with a grin, running her fingers over her long, dark dreadlocks, which had been pinned into an elegant up-do. “Most of your relatives are darker than me, so I still don’t get why they’re so fascinated by me. It does make me feel like a celebrity, though.”
“Some of them are very easily surprised by anything outside of their little community. Which is why we have to have this long-ass traditional ceremony,” Priya replied with a grimace.
“It’s not that traditional,” Callie said, and then mock-glared at her friend. “I was promised elephants.”
“We’re in New Jersey, not New Delhi,” Priya said, and then stifled a yawn. “Madhuparka this, veda that…I just wanted to go to city hall. I really hope I don’t fall asleep at my own wedding.”
“Amal might have a problem with that,” Callie said. Amal had already been chased away from Priya’s door by a pack of enraged aunties while trying to get in a quickie before the wedding, something neither Priya nor Callie would ever let him live down.
“All Amal needs to worry about is not sneaking too many shots of whiskey at the reception. I intend to have fun on my wedding night,” Priya said with a devilish smile.
The two women joined arms and moved languidly toward the large crowd of similarly garbed guests milling about when Priya stopped and looked up at Callie.
“Thank you so much for being here. After the year you’ve had…” Priya grimaced, giving Callie’s arm a squeeze. “I know you miss him, but David really was a dickface. You deserve someone better, something better. I mean, you put up with so much crap from him and he couldn’t even get you off for your trouble.”
Callie drew in a sharp breath at the harsh reminder. Reflex made her want to defend him, as she had done for years, but then she remembered that David was no longer her fiancé. He was her ex. And Priya was right; he was a dickface. He had wasted two years of her life. Three, if she counted the last year she’d spent trying to get over the emotional damage he’d wrought.
“There’s no way I’d miss your wedding, dummy,” Callie said, reigning in her emotions. “Besides, isn’t a wedding supposed to be a great place to find a hottie for a one-night stand?”
Priya rolled her eyes, and Callie felt a pang of embarrassment. Priya knew better than anyone that Callie was too self-conscious to “find a hottie” even if someone handed him to her on a platter. David had been her first and only lover, and none of the men she had forced herself to go out with after the breakup had been tempting enough for her to change that. Maybe David had been right when he’d called her frigid. Then again, maybe there was a guy out there that could make sex more enjoyable than closing her eyes and thinking of England.
“I’m sorry, but my wedding isn’t exactly a meat market,” Priya said, saving Callie from her own thoughts. “Most of my cousins think windbreakers are proper evening wear. The singer my dad hired is cute though. Maybe Amal should get drunk tonight…”
Callie smothered a shocked laugh and elbowed her, just as she caught sight of Priya’s mother, grandmother, and aunts approaching to spirit her off for the impending ceremony. Their moment alone in the bathroom had been brief, and now the wedding whirlwind would begin.
“Ready?” Callie whispered.
“Let’s do this,” Priya said.
Chapter Two
The event was a sm
ashing success. In the aftermath of the ceremony, Priya was lost to Callie in the crowd of well-wishers.
Despite the fact that her senses were nearly overwhelmed by the swirl of colorful outfits, the delicious smells of curried dishes, and the sounds of hundreds of chattering wedding guests, Callie couldn’t help feeling alone in the midst of it all.
She was happy for her friend, but she couldn’t shake the veil of sadness that had descended over when she had watched Amal stare so lovingly into Priya’s eyes as they performed the Anna Prashaan—feeding each other morsels of food to express their mutual affection.
David never looked at me like that, she thought. Ever.
Callie didn’t usually drink, but she wished that Priya’s parents had allowed alcohol to be served at the wedding; they had objected on religious grounds. Of course, that hadn’t stopped several people from smuggling in their own provisions. She would have to corner Amal and ask him where the whiskey was hidden if she wanted to get through the evening.
She worked her way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. A couple hundred guests milled about, but most of them were older people who were friends with Priya and Amal’s parents or distant relations. Younger people had also come, mostly cousins and co-workers and friends, but no one that Callie knew very well.
Just as she was starting to really feel sorry for herself, she heard someone call out her name.
“Callie, come over here. Meet my friends!” a heavily accented voice called from nearby.
She turned and saw Priya’s grandmother beckoning dramatically to her. The woman was small and thin, with a pot belly that she proudly displayed in a sari that was cut in a style similar to Callie’s. Her long silver hair was drawn up in a bun at the back of her head, and her dark eyes glittered with happiness as Callie approached.
“Hey, Nani,” Callie said, leaning down to be drawn into the woman’s thin, tan arms. Although she looked frail, the older woman clasped Callie to her chest with an iron grip.
“I was just telling my friends all about the hijinks you and Priya used to get up to,” she chattered. “Oh, I’m so happy that girl is finally married. I thought she’d wait until after I died, just to be stubborn.”
Callie laughed. If Priya was stubborn, than Nani must have been a donkey in a past life. She kept that thought to herself, and simply nodded in agreement.
“That wouldn’t have surprised me one bit—”
Callie was cut off by the distinctive strum of a sitar, followed by a voice that sent a shiver of delight down her spine. The masculine voice emanated from behind her, strong, sure, and sweet. Callie whirled, surprised to find that the singer wasn’t standing right next to her.
“Do you recognize this music?” Nani asked, noticing Callie’s interest. “This is like the old Hindustani music that I used to play when you visited. They hired a gandharva to keep us old folks from complaining too much.”
“Gandharva?” Callie repeated absently. She didn’t recall Nani’s music having quite this effect on her. All of her attention was focused on the music; the man’s voice quavered as he held a long, ululating note, and Callie felt it spiral through her physically, the hairs on her neck rising in awareness as the note trailed off. She was vaguely aware of the steady percussion of the tabla and the high, playful notes of what sounded like a flute, but the voice drowned everything out. She scarcely heard Nani talking as Callie searched for the source of her confused pleasure.
“A gandharva is what we call a man who sings classical Indian music. Oh! But look at this fellow! He might be a true gandharva.”
Callie turned to follow Nani’s gaze and saw the singer standing near the gazebo where Priya and Amal were seated, chatting with guests. He stood at an angle to her, but she could see quite clearly that he was an Adonis burnished in bronze, his flawless skin accentuated by the white linen suit he wore. He was tall and broad, and the cut of his simple suit accentuated the angles of his body. Shaggy black curls framed his face, revealing a large, aquiline nose and full lips that pulled back into a soft smile as he sang. The slim sitar looked like a toy in his large hands, but his fingers flowed masterfully over the strings. He threw his head back to release a long note, exposing white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue.
As the sound of his deep, rich voice filled her ears, Callie couldn’t help wondering how his tongue would taste against hers, or how his teeth would feel as they nipped against her skin. She flushed at the exhilarating and entirely uncharacteristic thoughts.
“Oh, she doesn’t want to hear about our fairy tales,” one of Nani’s friends interrupted.
“Of course she does,” Nani said peevishly, and then gave Callie a sly look. “Gandharva’s are…not gods, like Krishna. They serve him, but are still magical, kind of like a fairy or elf or what have you. They are very, very handsome. They brew the nectar of the gods, and they are the most skilled musicians. They are also skilled in…other ways.”
The group of old women tittered like schoolgirls, and Callie could see the color rise in Nani’s cheeks as the old woman beckoned her closer. Callie leaned down to hear what had the grannies so worked up.
“They like pleasing the ladies, very much,” Nani whispered conspiratorially.
Now it was Callie’s turn to blush, her eyes swinging in the direction of the gandharva. He was singing a slow but rollicking ballad and his hips swung in time with the music. She wondered if Nani had seen her reaction to the singer and was teasing her.
“Does Priya know anything about these scandalous fairy tales you tell?” Callie grinned, forcing herself to turn her eyes away from the singer. “She certainly never told me about these gandavars.”
“Gandharvas, Callie,” Nani corrected. “Priya doesn’t believe in such things. But, if you believe in Krishna and Vishnu, why not in their servants, hmm?”
Callie turned to catch the beginning of another song, entranced once again by the sensuous melodies. The singer’s body swayed slightly as he played and sang, and Callie’s unconsciously followed. She closed her eyes and let the music flow through her. His breath seemed to brush against her ear when he exhaled after a long note, and her pulse kept pace with the strumming of the sitar. Her entire body vibrated with the sensation of the music and, as the song reached its climax, she felt a pleasant thrumming at her core, the muscles of her sex trying to keep time with the singer’s voice.
She should have been embarrassed by her reaction, by the wetness gathering at the apex of her thighs, but she was wrapped in a cocoon of sensual sound and she wasn’t ready to emerge. Each pluck of the sitar’s strings increased her desire, seemed to vibrate over her sensitive nipples or caress her heated skin. Callie forced her eyes open when the pleasure became so great that she had to bite back a moan. Priya would not appreciate reports that her friend had spontaneously orgasmed in the middle of a group of grannies.
When her eyes fluttered open, the gandharva’s gaze was locked on her, pinning her in place. There was a knowing in the way he regarded her, as if she were an old familiar tune he had stumbled upon in a record shop. He wound the song down amidst loud applause, but his eyes didn’t stray from hers until the last note whispered to an end, reverberating softly in the air between them.
Callie clapped so hard that her hands hurt. The crowd around her turned back to their conversations, but Callie found that she was a little shaky on her feet. She’d had no alcohol and had hardly danced, but she needed to sit down before she embarrassed herself. The buzz of the crowd had become annoying, and she found that, despite her earlier melancholy, she needed to be alone.
“Nani, I’m going to go take a walk around the grounds and get some air.”
“Okay, dear. I’ll be here watching the spectacle and seeing which ‘sober’ uncle falls over drunk first.” The group of older ladies cackled in delight at the prospect.
Callie worked her way through the crowds, which thinned as she drew closer to the edge of the manicured lawn and toward a structure behind the main house on the estate.
Callie could see splashes of green through the fogged over glass panels that comprised the walls of what had to be a greenhouse.
She quickly slipped inside the open door and locked it behind her. The smell of fresh plants and flowers filled the structure, scenting the humid air. Callie breathed it in and then wandered through the place, admiring the various plants and flowers, clearing her mind, and recentering herself after her strange reaction to the singer.
She felt as if she had walked through a portal to an oasis of quiet and beauty. She walked along a slim paved pathway that led through exquisitely manicured foliage. The greenhouse seemed much larger on the inside than it had appeared from outside, and the pathway stretched on for longer than she had imagined possible. The path wended in increasingly smaller circles, and she soon found herself at what appeared to be the center of the greenhouse.
Here, she found a clearing that seemed much too elaborate for indoor landscaping, complete with real grass and a large sturdy tree that reached to the top of the structure and spread its branches wide over the clearing. Sunlight filtered down through the dark green leaves, casting ornate shadows into the grass. She knew that Priya’s parents had paid two arms and a leg for the wedding, so amazingly realistic arboretums must be part of the package.
The grass looked soft and inviting, so she slipped off her shoes and stepped off the path. The turf was cool and refreshing under her feet, giving her the same feeling she got when she dug her toes into the sand at the beach; a sense of connection to the world around her.
Callie leaned down to examine a cluster of small yellow flowers, stopping to look more closely at the fleshy pink stamens that protruded from their centers. They seemed oddly obscene and made her think of the gandharva for some reason, of how his voice had aligned with something inside her like a tuning fork finding the right frequency.
