37. OS 18. Too Tempting to Resist (Part 37)

Part 37

Khushi could only gasp at his audacity. How could she be fine when he was making it impossible for her to breathe and was causing dhak dhak and acidity with a vengeance by looking at her with hot eyes and breathing against her skin?

“Chodiye hamein,” she whispered so softly that it could be easily missed.

But his sharp ears missed nothing.

“I am not holding you,” he whispered right back, holding his hands up in the air.

Khushi gulped, excitement and fear blending into a potent mix in her heart.

He stretched his hand and picked a red rose from a vase on the table nearby.

As she watched, too fascinated to move away, he brought the rose to her face and starting at her temple, ran it down her nose and stopped at the curve of her lips.

The sweet fragrance of the blooming bud filled her nostrils and took the whole sensation to another level.

She stood, holding her breath, fearful of the unknown yet excited about it, waiting for the next attack on her senses.

The rose caressed her plump lips. She shivered, her lips parting at that tender touch.

His hand shook.

The rose made its unsteady way across her rosy cheek to touch the rim of one ear.

Khushi shut her eyes tight, her fingers clutching the bedspread.

The rose travelled down her neck to touch the black beads of her mangalsutra gently, reverently.

She held her breath. Wide eyes looked into burning ones as the rose slowly made its torturous way down, down to the neckline of her blouse.

“A..Arnavji...” she breathed, her nostrils flaring, her chest heaving.

“Hhmm?” he asked, his gaze lowering to the spot the rose rested.

His phone rang.

They stood frozen in place, too caught up in the moment to heed the call.

Finally, Arnav moved to his laptop table and picked up the phone, the rose still held in his hand.

It was Aman.

He had to take the call. Through the corner of one eye, he saw Khushi make a run for it.

He smiled and slowly brought the red rose to his lips.

                                                           ***

Khushi looked anxiously at the clock. It was nine at night.

The whole family was at the dinner table, eating and laughing at mami’s jokes.

Her wary eyes went to the head of the table. Arnav Singh Raizada. Her jiji’s jetji. Her husband. He was sitting there, silent, eyes focused on his plate even as the conversation flowed all around him.

Khushi gulped. He must be thinking of the next flower to torture her with! Hey Devi Maiyya, raksha karna, she begged silently.

Suddenly his head lifted and he looked straight at her.

The spoon fell from her hand to the floor with a clatter.

All jumped.

Khushi sat there, paralysed by his knowing glance.

Anjali bent down and took the spoon and gave it to HP. 

Jokes were cracked and laughter filled the room, but Arnav and Khushi remained oblivious to the hilarity. They were caught up in their own wordless battle fought by their eyes.

Her eyes fell first.

Victory shone in his eyes for a second before he lowered his eyes to his plate.

                                                         ***

Khushi leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling weak.

It was bedtime.

How could she go to his bedroom? He would devour her. He and his flower games would kill her with dhak dhak and acidity.

“Payaliya, are you heating milk for Akash bitwaa?” nani asked with a smile.

“Ji, dadiji,” Payal said with a smile as she poured warm milk into a mug.

“Khussi bitiya, aren’t you going to bed? Chotey will be waiting,” nani teased.

Khushi blushed.

Nani and Payal left.

Khushi sagged against the counter. How could she go to his room? What could she do? Maybe she could spend the night in the kitchen?

Khushi quickly looked around for a place to hide. Maybe the storeroom?