188. OS 9: The Diabetic and the Halwai (Part 8)

Darlings,

I finally published my romantic novel, A HOME FOR MEENAKSHI on a self-publishing site. It is an e-book. You can purchase it and read it at your leisure. Here's the link. Enjoy!

Link to e-book

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

Part 8

“Devi Maiyya won’t come to save you,” Arnav whispered, his hot breath against her lips.

Khushi gulped. Why were the pijja man’s eyes burning?

Light from the street lamp fell on his face through the open window. The brown gulab jamun-coloured eyes looked as though someone had lit a lamp in them.

“She won’t?” Khushi asked uncertainly.

“No one can save you from me,” he growled playfully.

Khushi tried to squirm but her lower body was fully weighed down by his long limbs.

“Chodiye hamein,” she demanded as she tried to push him away, her hands on his shoulders.

“No way,” he said, his tone reeking of satisfaction. He tightened his hold on her.

The muscles of his arms and chest rippled and Khushi felt the movement through his white shirt. His shoulders under her fingers were warm, hard, solid...male. Her hands automatically tightened their hold on his shoulders as though she were kneading dough for roti.

“You have no right...” she began.

“I do,” he replied.

“You do?” Khushi breathed, her eyes on his face and lips that were very close to hers. “You are besharam, behaya.”

“Why did you sneak into my bedroom at midnight?” he asked softly, his wicked suji ki katli eyes roaming all over her face, especially her lips.

Her lips fell open in shock. She began to defend herself before she realised that she couldn’t. She had sneaked into his room at midnight.

“Did you want to meet me so bad?” he teased with a straight face.

Indignation loosened her tongue. “Meet you? Who wanted to meet you? I just wanted to scare you. Who do you think you are? Salman Khanji?”

He chuckled quietly, his chest moving against hers, crushing her softness.

Uncomfortable, Khushi tried to free herself from his hold in vain.

“You wanted to scare me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her head bobbing in emphasis.

“Why?” he asked. “Do you scare off all the guests to your house?”

“No, only you,” Khushi replied heatedly. Her fingers bit into his shoulder as she said, “You and your veg pijja! You hate pijja, don’t you?”

“I do,” he admitted freely, no look of embarrassment on his face.

Khushi was stumped at his open admission.

“Then why did you ask me to make it?” she asked.

“To tease you,” he admitted.

“Awww,” her mouth fell open. “Who am I to you that you can tease me? Am I your sister or your cousin?” she asked, forgetting that he was lying in his arms on his recliner in his room, that too at midnight.

“You will know soon who you are to me,” he said softly.

“Hein?” Khushi frowned. What was wrong with this man with chocolate burfi eyes? Lost in her musings, she did not see his face descending further. The first she knew of it was when his nose touched hers.

Khushi jumped. “What are you doing?” she asked in surprise.

“Trying to kiss you.” He was brazen in his admission.

“What?” she squealed.

“Sshhh,” he hushed her. “You will wake up the house. If your family and my family come to this room to find out why you are shouting, how can we kiss?” he asked reasonably.

Khushi stared at him, her brain in deep freeze.

“Kkkkkiiissssss?” she gasped.

“Hhmmm,” he said.

She stared at him open-mouthed.

His wicked sooji halwa eyes twinkled at her.

She watched his face come closer, saw him angle his head, witnessed his lips coming closer...all in still silence.

She felt his warm, hard lips touch hers like the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

She jerked.

“Kya hua, Khushi?” he murmured against her lips.

Bahut kuch hua, she thought. How could she tell him kuch kuch hua? Her wide, mesmerised eyes looked into his evil eyes. His roguish smile turned her into mush, sent her limbs trembling, set her heart thudding, made her pant for breath.

He too was breathing hard. Khushi looked at him in wonder.

His lips settled on hers more surely, his lips capturing her top lip and tasting it with relish.

Someone moaned. Maybe it was her; maybe it was him. They were lost to everything except each other.

The glass fell from a sleepy Buaji’s hand as she tried to get a drink of water in the kitchen.

The sound alerted Arnav to the possibility of discovery. He lifted his head, his mouth leaving Khushi’s reluctantly. They stared at each other.

His eyes looked like honey.

Khushi swallowed, her mouth dry, her pulse throbbing. She could taste his sweetness on her tongue.

How could a diabetic be so sweet? Khushi wondered.