Twelve Hours of Temptation Page 8

  ‘Neither do I,’ Melissa said honestly. ‘But I’d feel much better getting a raise by changing jobs than...’

  ‘Than sleeping with the boss,’ Samir said in resigned tones. ‘I know. You’ve mentioned it a few dozen times already. Go ahead, then.’

  Melissa hesitated a little. In the office they tried to keep their conversations as formal as possible, and she wasn’t sure if her next question was strictly professional. ‘Are you upset with me?’ she ventured finally.

  Samir looked genuinely surprised. ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘You’re excellent at your work, and you’ve got a better offer at a better firm—it’s natural you’d want to move.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have a meeting in Bandra—need to rush. Should I leave the car for you?’

  ‘No, I’ll take the bus,’ Melissa said absently. ‘Or, actually, if you’re going to be home late I’ll go visit Brian and Liz.’

  ‘Keep the car and driver with you, then,’ Samir said as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll ask Kash to book me a cab.’

  Melissa knew better than to argue—Samir genuinely didn’t get that she preferred walking or public transport to being driven around in his car. It was one of the many things they didn’t agree on, and she hadn’t got around to talking to him about it. Which would be because she’d spent every spare moment these past two weeks in bed, having wild, delicious sex with Samir—talking hadn’t really figured very high on the agenda.

  Her mouth automatically curved up at the corners at the thought, and Samir gave her an inquiring look.

  ‘Planning something devilish?’ he asked. ‘I don’t trust you an inch when you get that look in your eyes.’

  ‘I’ll tell you when you get home,’ she said saucily. ‘Off you go to your meeting now.’

  She was terribly tempted to lean across and kiss him—he was near enough for her to smell the woody scent of his aftershave, and it could make her go dizzy with longing if she let it.

  That was one of her reasons for quitting, she told herself. It was difficult staying focussed on work when he was around. Only once he was out of the room and she’d gone back to her desk she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t the only reason. Nor even the main one. Maya Kumar was very different from Brian, but she had one big thing in common with him—she valued Melissa’s work.

  Melissa tried to imagine Brian’s reaction if she’d quit when he was in charge. He’d have used every trick in the book to hold her back, and he’d have succeeded because she’d have known he wanted her to stay. But Brian had retired, and Samir didn’t really care about the agency.

  Sighing, Melissa opened up her laptop and began typing out her resignation.

  * * *

  Liz had insisted that she stay for dinner, and it was almost ten when Melissa got back to Samir’s apartment complex. It was a tall building in central Mumbai, and he had a massive three-bedroom flat that took up all of one floor—even the bathrooms were larger than the hostel room that Melissa had been living in for the past year. In spite of the scale, the flat had an impersonal look about it, as if it had been designed by an interior decorator as a showcase bachelor pad rather than an actual home.

  Samir was still in his office clothes, and he was poring over a sheaf of papers heaped up on the dining table.

  ‘Still working?’ Melissa asked, and he leaned back in his chair, running a tanned hand through his already rumpled hair. His jaw was covered with stubble, and he managed to look unkempt and incredibly hot at the same time.

  ‘There’s a new deal coming up,’ he said. ‘A small media company that we might pick up a stake in.’

  She crossed the room to him and put her hands on his shoulders. His body was warm and strong under her hands, the muscles flexing as he stretched. Unbidden, her hands started straying over his body—until he pulled away and said, ‘I’ll finish this in half an hour and be with you, okay?’

  Somehow even the dismissal sounded like an invitation, because his dark eyes were dancing wickedly up at her.

  ‘Did you have dinner?’ she asked primly, and he shook his head.

  ‘Kamala’s son isn’t well, apparently—she left a message with the security guard. I’ll grab some fruit and cereal in a bit.’

  ‘When?’ Melissa asked in disbelief. ‘It’s ten o’clock. And no one eats fruit and cereal for dinner. Unless they’re ill or on a totally weird diet.’

  Kamala was the cook, and usually as punctual as clockwork—Samir was clearly incapable of managing without her.

  He was still absorbed in work, and all he said was, ‘I’m used to eating late. Don’t worry about it.’

  Melissa wrinkled her nose as she left the room. It was unlikely Samir would eat at all—and going by the last two times he’d brought work home it would be midnight before he came to bed. She gave her reflection in the mirror a rueful look. She’d spent a frantic few minutes in the car fluffing up her hair and redoing her make-up. Pretty much a wasted effort, as Samir hadn’t even looked at her properly.

  For a mad moment she considered changing into something skimpy and trying to vamp him into bed. Mentally, she reviewed her night wardrobe—teddy bear pyjamas, two striped nighties and a pair of exercise shorts that she normally paired with a tattered T-shirt. Hmm...not much scope for seduction there. Besides, she wasn’t sure she had the required oomph for a grand seduction scene, even if she’d possessed a suitably titillating wardrobe. She’d lucked out with Samir that first time in Goa, but after that he’d handled all the seducing that needed to be done.

  Regretfully giving up the plan, Melissa wandered into the kitchen. Perhaps cooking the poor man dinner was a better idea, she thought, opening the fridge and peering inside. There was very little food in it—from what Melissa could figure Samir’s cook bought just enough for two or three meals at a time. Whipping up a cordon bleu meal with two tomatoes, a handful of droopy beans and a capsicum would be next to impossible. Oh, well, Samir would have to manage with a simple pasta dish instead.

  Luckily the freezer yielded a pack of frozen chicken, and there was a jar of olives at the back of the store cupboard. Suspiciously turning it around to check the expiry date, Melissa was relieved to find that it was a year away.

  She found herself humming under her breath as she put a pot of water on to boil and started chopping the vegetables. One of the things she’d missed most in the hostel was access to a proper kitchen—after so many years of working in her father’s restaurant she was a more than competent cook. Samir’s kitchen might be poorly stocked, but the equipment was state-of-the-art. The interior designer had evidently pictured Samir in celebrity chef mode—actually, the more Melissa thought about it, Samir in a chef’s hat and an apron would look pretty hot.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Samir asked, appearing quite suddenly at the door.

  Melissa gave a little yelp of alarm, almost dropping the pot of boiling pasta on the ground. ‘You startled me!’ she said once she’d safely drained the pasta and put the pot in the sink. ‘Didn’t anyone teach you not to creep up on people like that?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be here,’ Samir said, frowning. ‘What’s that stuff?’

  ‘Boiled worms and slug juice,’ Melissa said crossly. She’d gone out of her way to cook him a decent meal, and he was acting as if he’d found her going through his wallet.

  ‘I don’t expect you to cook for me,’ he said. ‘I told you I’d have managed just fine with cereal.’

  ‘It’s not a big deal,’ she muttered. Evidently the genius who’d said that the route to man’s heart was through his stomach hadn’t met Samir Razdan. He sounded positively put out—as if she’d transgressed some unwritten rule by cooking him a meal.

  ‘Thanks anyway,’ he said.

  She poured the pasta sauce she’d made earlier over the spaghetti and he took the plate from her. Melissa wat
ched as he took a bite.

  ‘Hey, this is good,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘Much better than the stuff Kamala turns out.’

  ‘My dad runs a restaurant, remember?’

  ‘Yes of course—I’d forgotten. So you’re quite the little Tarla Dalal, aren’t you?’

  It was said in an indulgent way, but Melissa decided he was being unnecessarily patronising.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, turning away to clear up the kitchen counter. ‘If I was Tarla the spaghetti would have been pure vegetarian, and you’d not have eaten more than two bites. Tell me if you want some more, otherwise I’ll put this lot in the fridge and go to bed.’

  He could move as silently as a panther when he wanted to—Melissa gasped as she felt his hands come up to span her waist.

  ‘Aren’t you coming to bed with me?’ he murmured, nibbling gently at the nape of her neck.

  He knew exactly where the sensitive spot was, and she squirmed helplessly in his arms, finally managing to gasp out, ‘Go and finish your dinner.’

  ‘I will...I will.’ He turned her around to face him, dipping his head to drop a light kiss on her lips. ‘Why so stroppy today?’

  Melissa raised her eyebrows. ‘You clearly have different standards for yourself and for other people,’ she said. ‘If I’m stroppy, you’re the Grinch. Samir, stop it!’

  His mouth came down on hers, warm and sexy and tasting of tangy spaghetti sauce. Melissa resisted half-heartedly for a few seconds, then gave in and let him have his way. Grinch or not, he kissed like a dream—no point wasting a kiss just because she was a little upset with him.

  ‘Still stroppy?’ he asked when he finally raised his head.

  Melissa shook her head. ‘No, just very thankful I didn’t put garlic in the pasta.’

  He laughed at that, his amazing mouth curving up at the corners. ‘You’re really something,’ he said, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of anything patronising in his voice.

  ‘I am,’ she agreed solemnly. She was over her temporary fit of annoyance. ‘Actually, I’m almost perfect. I write well, I’m very intelligent, I can cook, I’m quite pretty...’

  ‘And incredibly modest as well,’ Samir agreed as he moved away to pick up his plate.

  ‘Yes, that too,’ she said. ‘Hurry up and finish eating now. I want to go to bed.’

  He gave her a slow, heart-stopping smile, and she blushed furiously but stood her ground.

  ‘Hmm...’ he said. ‘I’ll be done in a minute—just taking another helping. I’m hungrier than I thought I was.’

  She waited while he emptied the rest of the pasta onto his plate, then took the pan from him and rinsed it under the tap. Something had just struck her, and it made a lot of small, rather puzzling incidents fall into place.

  ‘You don’t like the thought of me settling in here too thoroughly, do you?’ she asked, and his eyes flew up to meet hers immediately, a wary look in them.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

  Melissa gave him a long, assessing look. ‘Oh, I think you do,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You asked me to move in with you on impulse, because we were both pretty much dying of frustration, and now you’re not sure you did the right thing. And every time I do something, like rearrange your CDs or cook you dinner, you start getting worried.’

  Samir looked incredulous. ‘What would I be worried about?’

  ‘Now that I’m not too sure of,’ Melissa admitted, giving him a sunny smile. ‘Like I said, I’m very intelligent, but in this case I don’t have enough data to go on. Maybe you’re worried that I’ll become a fixture here and when you’re sick of me you won’t be able to turf me out. Or that you’ll get so used to having me around that you’ll be heartbroken when I decide to leave. Or that Kamala will stop working for you because I’ve taken over the kitchen.’

  ‘Or that little green aliens will come down and take over the planet,’ Samir said, laughing. ‘You have a really active imagination, Melissa.’

  ‘And now you’re acting all superior and patronising because you know I’m right,’ Melissa said firmly.

  ‘Melissa...’

  ‘You might as well admit that I’m right.’

  ‘You’re not,’ Samir said, exasperated. ‘Stop being childish. I might be a little stand-offish at times, but there’s a lot going on in my life. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.’

  ‘Does too.’

  Goaded beyond endurance, Samir reached out and grabbed Melissa by her shoulders. She went utterly still as soon as he touched her, her eyes seeming to grow larger as she looked up at him. Torn between wanting to shake her and kiss her senseless, he ended up attempting the latter. She made a strangled little sound as his mouth fastened on hers but she was anything but reluctant, going by the way her arms went around him and her body moulded itself to his.

  ‘You’re a big bully,’ she said breathlessly when he finally let her go. ‘And you know I’m right.’

  ‘A bully, am I?’ he asked, looking pointedly at her arms, which were still twined lovingly around him.

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, leaning up to press a little kiss onto his mouth. ‘A gorgeous one, but a bully all the same. No, don’t do that again.’ Determinedly, she wriggled out of his grip. ‘I’m not going to be kissed into agreeing with you. Come on, Samir, be serious for a minute.’

  He laughed, charmed back into good humour by the kiss and by her uniquely pragmatic way of looking at things.

  ‘Think about it,’ she urged. ‘Aren’t you a little uncomfortable with having let me into your life so easily?’

  Samir leaned back a little, exhaling slowly. Melissa was right. He’d wanted her to move in, and he wanted her to stay, but there was still a part of him that was deeply uneasy about sharing his life with another human being.

  ‘Only because I’ve had a bad experience in the past,’ he said finally. ‘It’s not about you. I wouldn’t have asked you to come and live with me if I didn’t want you to be part of my life. What’s funny?’

  It had gone as quickly as it had come, but he knew he hadn’t been mistaken about the flash of amusement he’d seen in her eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I told you in Goa—you look like the hero of a romance novel. And now you tell me you have a tortured past. And then you say things like “It’s not about you”. You’re just too in character to be true.’

  ‘Glad to be so entertaining,’ he said, trying to keep the wryness out of his tone. ‘I’m sure the way you regularly cut me down to size is good for my soul.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, suddenly contrite. ‘I don’t know what happened to you, and I’ve no right to make fun of it. God knows I’ve got a messed up past myself.’

  He pushed a hand through his hair, the gesture so unconsciously sexy that Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. It would be very easy to fall in love with Samir—she’d spent the past few weeks consciously guarding against it. Telling herself repeatedly that this was a short-lived thing had helped. So had determinedly seeing the funny side of things that could otherwise be upsetting or hurtful.

  ‘It wasn’t anywhere as exciting as what happened to you,’ Samir said. ‘In retrospect, I’m rather embarrassed about it—but I was very young then. I fell madly in love with a woman everyone except me knew was interested in me only because of my money.’

  Some of her puzzlement must have shown in her face because he said, ‘I inherited a fair bit from my grandparents. And I had a bright career ahead of me.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  He smiled briefly. ‘I was going through a self-discovery phase pretty soon after we got engaged. I thought I’d switch careers, do something I enjoyed. Trouble was, the stuff I enjoyed wasn’t high-paying. And I wanted to use most of the money I’d inherited to go and live in Europe for
a few years—she was out of the door the minute she realised I was actually serious.’

  ‘What was it that you wanted to do?’ Melissa asked curiously. So far he hadn’t given the impression of being particularly passionate about anything— definitely not to the extent of giving up his expensive lifestyle. He worked very hard, but it didn’t look as if he enjoyed that much either—it was difficult to think of him wanting to go off and follow a dream at any age.

  ‘Ah, that’s another story,’ he said, taking her hand and switching off the kitchen light as he led her out of the door. ‘Anyway, as it turned out I changed my mind and took up a corporate career instead.’

  ‘So if your girlfriend had stuck with you she’d have got all your lovely money after all,’ Melissa said. ‘Sounds like there’s a moral in there somewhere.’

  ‘She married a richer guy,’ he said. ‘So all in all I think it worked out well for her. And, Melissa...?’

  They were inside the bedroom now, and she turned towards him at the suddenly serious note in his voice.

  He touched her face gently—a fleeting caress that somehow had more feeling in it than all that they had shared earlier. ‘If I’ve been shutting you out at times, it’s because I’ve got used to being alone. Not because I don’t trust you, or because I think you’re like Shalini in any way.’

  Melissa nodded. ‘And, for the record, I’m not trying to push you into anything either. I know you’re not in the market for a serious relationship right now and neither am I. Whenever we decide to call it quits we’ll be able to do it without a fuss.’

  The conversation had become a lot more serious than she’d intended it to. Served her right for nagging at him just because he hadn’t been enthusiastic about his home-cooked spaghetti dinner. The next time he worked late she’d just hand him a takeaway menu.

  Trying to lighten things up a bit, she added, ‘But while I’m living here you’ll have to get used to me invading every part of the house. Kitchen and CD rack included.’

  Samir turned and caught her into his arms. ‘You can invade what you damn well please,’ he said, the words warm against her mouth. ‘Just as long as you come back to my bed every night.’