Temptation

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  The elevator stops and the doors slide open.

  He walks down the hallway, my suitcase trailing behind him. He never looks to see if I’m following, he knows I’ll follow along like a good little sheep.

  Siva opens the door to an apartment at the end of the hall and waits for me to go in first, though there’s nothing gentlemanly about the gesture. Instead, I think he wants to be rid of me. Maybe he’s already regretting allowing me to live here. If he is and kicks me out, I’m back to square one.

  Inside I have to keep my jaw from dropping. I expected a sleek, barren, bachelor pad. The typical guy pad. But this place is … amazing. Beautiful. Downright stunning. The colors rich and sumptuous.

  The floors are marble and the walls are painted gold. A dark round table sits in the center with a vase full of purple flowers on top. A large chandelier dangles above the flowers making the room look like you’re inside a jewelry box. A jewelry box the Queen owned, maybe.

  Even though it’s elegant and nice, there’s something homey about it. It’s the kind of place I could see myself being comfortable in long term, but this place is the complete opposite of long term for me. I’m only here until I can get my own place.

  I look sadly over at Siva. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. I’ll stay in my room too so you won’t have to see me,” I say softly. I say it more for myself than him. I can’t get too comfortable here. He’s my dead boyfriend’s brother—one he wasn’t even close with—and staying here is … odd. The sooner I’m out of here, the better for both of us.

  Siva looks at me with a hurt expression. I don’t understand why he’d want me to stay. He doesn’t know me, and he has to see how weird this is too. “That’s not necessary but if that’s how you feel.” He shrugs his shoulders.

  I swallow thickly. “It is.”

  “I have work to do. Feel free to look around. Your room is upstairs and to the right.”

  “No tour?” I joke.

  “I have more important things to do.” He’s suddenly cold, closed off, and clearly done with me. Before I can say anything more he heads through an archway and disappears down the hall.

  That went well, I think to myself sarcastically.

  I take my suitcase he left by the table and wheel it over to the stairs, deciding to explore this level before I head up. The stairs overlook a lavishly decorated living room I assume is for nothing but show. It seems too fancy to be used regularly, the kind of room you’d never be caught not using a coaster in. Even the couches look like they cost more than your average car. Jesus, what I could do with that kind of money. They’re solid white in an L-shape angled in front of a fireplace where, despite it being spring, a small fire crackles. Something about the fire calms me. It’s cozy and somehow makes the fancy room seem more inviting.

  In the corner behind the couches is a large white grand piano. I’ve always been fascinated by them and I wonder if it’s actually used or only a decoration. It seems so sad for something so beautiful to never be played, but I couldn’t imagine Siva actually playing it, even if he does have long elegant fingers.

  Looking up I spot another chandelier and the ceiling has intricate molding I can’t help but think has been hand done. There’s no way a single straight man picked all this out himself. He had to have a designer.

  Unless …

  Unless he’s gay.

  Oh, my God, what if he is and I’m already completely misreading his behavior?

  God, Sloane, you are such an idiot.

  Forcing those thoughts from my mind I head into the dining room adjacent to the living room. It’s as fancy as the other room, shocker, and the table is large enough to seat twelve if necessary. Somehow I doubt Siva has ever dined one person here, let alone twelve—he doesn’t exactly have the personality for small talk.

  I can’t help but notice original works of art hang on almost every wall in the flat. It surprises me, but in a good way, that he’d like art. It shows to me, at least, he has a creative mind.

  I head for the kitchen next, one of my favorite parts of any place.

  It’s fairly large with beige floor tiles, cherry cabinets, and dark granite countertops. It screams sophisticated businessman to me.

  I run my fingers over the stainless-steel refrigerator. Somehow I doubt much cooking is done here. Siva doesn’t strike me as the type to cook—but hey, stranger things have happened, like him giving me a place to stay, so he might surprise me.

  I leave the kitchen and explore some of the rooms off the hallways. I find a powder room, a closet, a family room which is much cozier than the living room, and even a game room. I stand puzzled for a few minutes, staring at the video games and arcade machines. It’s not something I’d expect Siva to have at all, and somehow, I can’t picture him actually using any of them, but he must or else he wouldn’t have them here. I realize I’ve already judged who he is and I don’t even know him.

  At the end of the hall, I stop and back away.

  “I’m not going in there,” I mutter to myself, hearing Siva yelling at someone on the phone. I don’t want to be on the other end of his wrath.

  He clearly gets his temper from his father.

  Having explored the entirety of the downstairs, I head for the stairs, dragging my suitcase up behind me. A window on the landing looks out onto a couple of stores and beyond those a park. Men in business suits and briefcases in hand yell into cellphones as they stride down the street. I shake my head and continue up.

  To my left I see a door and assume it must belong to Siva’s room, but I don’t want to be any nosier than I already have been so I ignore it and continue down the right hall where he said I would find my room. I open the only door gingerly and my jaw drops.

  Whatever I expected, it wasn’t this.

  I feel my jaw literally drop, but close it quickly in case he has cameras hidden and can see my awe.

  The walls are painted a lavender color that while lighter reminds me of the shade of his eyes. A white antique headboard takes up most of one wall. It’s curved and reminds me of something you might see in a Parisian home. A round ottoman done in a different shade of purple sits in front of the bed. I turn from side to side, taking in everything, wondering who this room was decorated for. It’s obviously meant for a woman, but I don’t believe for a second this was done for me. I step up to the window and look down on the street below. Rain drizzles against the window. I’m so used to it now I don’t even mind it.

  I back away and sit down on the bed, nearly sinking into it. It might be the most comfortable bed I’ve ever sat on, let alone laid on.

  I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into.

  Somehow, I manage to pull myself up off the bed and unpack my meager belongings, storing them in the dresser and armoire.

  I explore the room further, finding a walk-in closet and a bathroom the size of my previous bedroom. Everything in it is white. The floors, counters, even the decorations and towels. The tub is huge and I squeal a little bit thinking about getting to take a bath in it. This kind of luxury was the stuff dreams were made of. I’m afraid I could get a bit spoiled to this—I have to remind myself this is only temporary. I need to find my own place as soon as I can.

  It’s still early afternoon, but I feel awkward being downstairs, this is his place after all. I’m practically an intruder. I packed some books and magazines so I pick one at random and lie on the bed to read.

  Sometime later a knock on the door pulls me from the book.

  “Yeah?” I reply hesitantly to the knock.

  Siva sticks his head in the doorway. His hair is mussed like he’s been tugging at it and I can tell from his eyes he’s tired. I take it his phone call didn’t go well.

  He clears his throat and doesn’t quite meet my eyes. I smile to myself, finding his awkwardness endearing. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

  “Um … yeah.” Glancing down at my jeans and sweater I decide they’re hardly appropriate for dinner with Siva.
He’s so … formal and there’s nothing formal about my jeans. Plus, with his prickly personality I doubt he’d appreciate me showing up to dinner looking like a bum. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Don’t be long,” he says, tongue sharp. “It’ll get cold.”

  He eases the door closed and is gone. The carpet in the hall is so plush I can’t even hear his footsteps.

  I hop out of bed and rifle through the clothes I hung in the armoire. I pull out a dark blue dress I normally only wear to work, but frankly is probably the only suitable thing I have to wear at the moment. I didn’t realize, until right now, how lacking my wardrobe is. But it’s not like I can go out and drop a bunch of money on clothes when I’m technically homeless so what I have will have to do.

  I shuck my jeans and sweater, draping them over the back of the desk chair. This room is way too nice for me to leave them piled on the floor even if my inner slob is screaming at me.

  I step into the dress and manage to get it zipped on my own, even though it’s a struggle. Normally Dev zipped it up anytime I wore it. My heart pangs with thoughts of him.

  I walk over to the floor-length mirror leaning against the wall and fluff my disaster of hair. The sandy blonde strands are all over the place. My mascara is smudged under my eyes so I quickly run it away. My lips look dry and scaly as I grab my moisturizing gloss from my makeup bag and swipe some on. My eyes look tired and sad, and there’s nothing I can do about the dark circles under them, though I poke and prod at them anyway like it’ll do any good.

  And you’re stalling. Get a move on.

  I am stalling. Today has been weird, to say the least. I don’t know this man, beyond the fact he was Dev’s brother, and now somehow I’m living with him and eating dinner apparently.

  What will we even talk about?

  Deciding I can’t dawdle anymore, I make my way downstairs. When I reach the bottom I take a deep breath, bracing myself.

  “You’re late,” says a rough voice from beside me, startling me. I grab my chest and try to slow my breathing. Beneath my hand I feel the erratic beat of my heart as it tries to regain its regular rhythm.

  “You startled me,” I gasp, my words breathy like I’ve lost my voice.

  Siva grins wickedly in amusement. “I’m a scary guy,” he says, but it seems more like something he thinks everybody else thinks he is, rather than what he truly is.

  “You wish,” I say, rolling my eyes, refusing to let him know he gets under my skin.

  He narrows his strange violet eyes on me. The tension is so thick between us I’m sure if I held out my hand I’d feel it like a physical thing.

  “I am,” he whispers, his tone firm but almost sad. “Don’t forget that.”

  Waving his arm toward the dining room, he motions me ahead of him. I barely take one step when I feel his large, warm hand on my waist.

  I startle as electricity zings up my body. My eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins rakishly.

  Inside the dining room he pulls out one of the elegant white chairs for me to sit in. It looks like it’s better suited for the King of France than a normal person’s apartment in the middle of bustling London.

  “Thank you,” I murmur with a small smile.

  He pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. The table is large enough he feels a mile away. The pale blue shirt he wears hugs his muscular chest and looks amazing against his caramel skin. The first few buttons are undone, exposing a portion of his chest and a light smattering of dark chest hair. I tear my eyes away as color floods my cheeks. I hate how affected I am by him. He doesn’t even have to do or say anything and I’m captivated.

  I stare at the plate in front of me. It consists of a steak, baked potato, spinach, asparagus, and a roll with butter to top it off.

  “Wine?” he asks, holding up a bottle.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t drink,” I add.

  “Really?” He raises a brow, a genuine smile touching his lips.

  Moody much?

  “Maybe you’ve been drinking the wrong kind?” he suggests, but pours me a glass of water instead, sliding it across the table to me.

  “Maybe,” I stammer. I always seem to be at a loss of words around him. It’s like he steals them from me or something.

  “Eat,” he commands, and I pick up my fork and knife. “I promise it’s not poisoned,” he jokes.

  “Did you make this?” I ask, my utensils hovering in surprise over my plate.

  He nods and takes a sip out of his wine glass. “I actually enjoy cooking. Though I find it’s much more enjoyable when I have someone to cook for.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders straighten in surprise. “Well … I’m glad I’m here to enjoy it then.” He waits eagerly for me to take a bite so I finally do. Flavor bursts on my tongue and my eyes widen in surprise. “This is delicious. How did you season the steak? It’s … I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  His eyes sparkle. “It’s a recipe of my own making. A secret,” he adds. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “It’s amazing.” I take another bite, still in complete surprise Siva made this. Dev never cooked.

  He finally stops staring at me and takes a few bites of his own meal. Taking a sip of his red wine, he says, “I never had a chance to apologize for what my father did to you.”

  I shrug my shoulders and look anywhere but at him. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re not the one who kicked me out.”

  He leans toward me and my eyes drift to my plate.

  “You’re intimidated by me,” he states.

  I look up to meet his violet-eyed stare. I notice for the first time a small scar above his lip.

  I take a sip of water and nod. I don’t like admitting it but it’s true. He’s an intimidating man in general but his hot or cold attitude confuses me further. I don’t know how to act around him.

  “Don’t be,” he says. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

  “That won’t be easy,” I say, suppressing a snort of amusement. I take a bite of steak to keep from saying anything else.

  “Why the bloody hell not?” he asks, and the venom in his voice shocks me so I sit back and a gasp escapes my lips. I can’t with this guy. One minute he’s telling me he wants me to be comfortable, the next he’s looking at me like he wants to hit me in the head with a frying pan. What is with him? Is he bipolar? I’m seriously beginning to wonder.

  I put my fork down and finger the soft, white linen napkin in my hands. I wave my hand around. “Siva, I didn’t grow up knowing luxury. This … this is a lot to take in. And then you and my—” I stop myself before I can express the feelings I possess for him. Not like I’m in love with him, that’s flat out crazy, but there’s something. I feel different around him, in a way I’ve never felt around anyone else and, frankly, I can’t figure out what the feeling is. “And,” I continue, “Dev’s … Dev’s barely been… gone,” I say, not wanting to use the word dead. “I … I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

  Siva’s hands knot into fists and his jaw clenches.

  In a flash he’s standing, his gaze not meeting mine as he looks away, but I can’t miss the pinched look in his expression. “I need a cigarette and a scotch,” he says suddenly and disappears, leaving me alone at the gigantic table.

  I look at the empty seat in front of me and know in the pit of my stomach he isn’t coming back to finish his dinner.

  My appetite disappears as quickly as Siva has from the table.

  Men, I think venomously.

  I pick up my plate, leaving his behind in case he returns, and proceed to the kitchen to clean my plate.

  I lean over the industrial size, stainless-steel sink and scrub furiously at the plate in my hands. The water is scalding and the soap smells like lemons, acidic and clinical in my opinion. I flick my head to the side to get a stray piece of hair out of my way. Satisfied I’ve scrubbed the plate until it shimmers like a diamond, I put it in the drying rack, wipe
my hands on the towel, and head upstairs. Siva is still nowhere to be seen. I took out some of my aggression on the poor plate, but I’m still angry and restless. I’ve never had someone get under my skin like this man does and I haven’t even been around him a full twenty-four hours.

  Once I reach the guest room I collapse on the bed. I cover my face with my hands as the tears finally pour out of my eyes.

  But the tears aren’t for Dev and that only makes me cry harder. Doesn’t the man I’ve loved for the last three years deserve my tears and not the one I just met?

  The sobs rake through my chest shaking the bed in the process. It’s the kind of cry which permeates your whole body, seeping into your very pores.

  Dev was my life. My sun in a dark sky. He filled an aching void in my life. Dev had consumed my every thought. I wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. I pictured myself walking down the aisle to him, having his children, and growing old and gray with him by my side as we watched our grandchildren play. Dev was everything I had always wanted and thought I would need. He was smart and kind. He loved kids and spending time with his family even if I did despise his father. Dev always put everyone before himself. That was him. Always worrying about everyone else. I admired that about him. It’s what attracted me to him in the first place. I always wondered what he saw in me. I certainly don’t see much in myself. I’m not the best daughter, or friend, or person. Not like him. I’m too selfish and can be too argumentative, always refusing to be the first to back down. But I did love him. I still do. That doesn’t stop because he’s gone.

  My thoughts circle back around to the fact that I apparently can’t shed a tear for the man I love

  All I want is to cry for Devak, and instead I’m crying because of his idiotic older brother gets under my skin, confuses, and flat-out irritates the shit out of me. How is that fair? How does that do our love any kind justice?