Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
Читать онлайн книгу.
needy children. But the older he’d gotten—the further she’d sunk into her addiction and depression—she’d given up even trying.
Veronica’s sky-blue eyes grew cloudy. She reached out, squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m not a kid anymore. It doesn’t matter.”
“But you must have been sad when you were little. I’m sorry for that.”
He slipped a hand into the small of her back, pulled her in tight. His body wasted little time in reacting to the soft, warm feel of her pressed against him.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. He traced a finger along the beautiful line of her mouth. “It was a long time ago. And I can think of a few things you can give me if you really want to give me presents.”
She ran her free hand up his arm, threaded her fingers into the hair at his nape. She looked troubled still—but then she smiled a wicked smile and he forgot everything but her.
“Oh, I imagine I could think of a few of my own.”
Veronica couldn’t remember ever being as happy as she was with Raj. It was her second day in Goa, and he’d taken her into one of the small villages along the coast. They were currently strolling through a market, hand in hand. She knew they had security.
Except the men Raj employed weren’t dressed in suits and sporting headsets. They blended in, unlike her own staff had done in London.
She enjoyed it because it made her feel carefree. It was an illusion, but she was determined to take pleasure in it anyway.
“We can’t stay long,” Raj said as they meandered between stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables—tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, squashes, coconut, mangoes, nubby jackfruit—and dried spices and chilies that were so colorful she wanted to stop and stare at them so she could remember just how vibrant colors like orange and red and brown could truly be.
The women wore colorful saris, the men kurtas and sandals. There were goats, cows, the occasional painted elephant and a few Western tourists in their T-shirts and backpacks. The market was jammed with sound and movement, and she loved it.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she said. “It’s marvelous.”
He smiled down at her, tweaked the sunglasses on her nose. “It’s a risk, but I think no one will recognize you. You look very mysterious.”
“And you stand out like a peacock,” she grumbled as a woman turned her head to look back at Raj as she walked past them. The woman smiled. Veronica felt a stab of jealousy when Raj smiled back.
“The better to draw attention away from you,” he said, leading her down another alleyway in the market.
Eventually, he stopped in a shadowed alcove and pulled her into his arms. She’d chosen to wear linen trousers and a big cotton shirt today. She’d belted the white shirt at her waist with a broad belt, and put on a straw hat that she’d found on a shelf in her bedroom. She’d been wearing ballet flats, but Raj had bought her a pair of beaded sandals as soon as they’d arrived in town.
Now, she braced her hands on his chest and gazed up at him through dark sunglasses. He was looking at her like as if was his favorite snack.
The thought made her shiver.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself today,” he said. And then he bent and kissed her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She felt the same, her arms going around his neck, her body arching into his. The alcove he’d pulled her into was private, but not that private.
He broke the kiss, though not before she felt the effect of it on his body.
“I can think of something else I’d enjoy even more,” she purred.
“Me, too,” he said. “But man cannot live on sex alone. We have to eat.”
Veronica smiled. “I love to eat.”
“Good, because I’m taking you somewhere special.”
He led her from the market and down a wide street lined with wooden buildings painted in bright colors. People turned their heads as Raj and Veronica walked past, though she knew it was because they were looking at him and not her. Then Raj led her into a nondescript red building whose wooden facade had seen better days.
It was sun-bleached and dusty, with palms overhanging the entry. Inside, the building was clean, but Raj led her through the room and out the back to a plank deck overlooking the bright blue sea. Several tables were scattered on the deck, topped with grass umbrellas, and Raj took her to the farthest one and pulled out a rickety wooden chair for her.
The proprietor came bustling over, his chatter a mixture of English and Konkani. He seemed to know Raj, and they spent a few minutes conversing in both languages before the man clapped Raj on the shoulder and said the food would be out soon. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and started shouting orders.
“You’re wondering why this place is special,” Raj said.
Veronica shrugged a shoulder. The clank of metal and cacophony of voices in the kitchen had somehow blended together until it became white noise. “It seems like the kind of place that wouldn’t get a second look from most tourists,” she admitted.
“Exactly. That’s part of it, since it’s not overrun by tourists. The other part is that I was eating at this very table one afternoon when I decided to buy a house here.”
She reached for his hand, knowing that he was sharing something important with her. Raj, who wasn’t vulnerable or weak in the least, had experienced something profound and been moved into action by it. Her heart throbbed with love for him.
He squeezed her fingers. “It may not seem like a momentous step, but it was for me. This house here was the first I ever bought for myself. Until then, I’d lived in rented condos or hotel rooms.” He turned to gaze out at the turquoise water. “Actually, it was the first real home I ever had.”
Something in his voice carved out a hollow space inside her that ached for him. He was a little boy who’d never had Christmas, a man who’d waited—though he’d had money—to buy a home for himself.
“You never lived very long in one place, did you?” When he’d told her they’d moved a lot, she’d assumed he meant every few months or so. When you were a kid, any upheaval was traumatic. Now, she was beginning to think it had been something more.
He turned back to her, his golden gaze both hard and sad at once. “The one thing I wanted more than anything as a child was to be able to have a room of my own. My own bed, my own walls, my own toys. If I unpacked my suitcase—when I still had a suitcase—we moved again. So I stopped unpacking. Then one day it was gone and everything we owned could fill the backseat of the rusty car my mom somehow managed to keep.”
“Raj,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to hold him, wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to take his pain away.
He leaned forward and kissed her, swiftly and surely. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Veronica. I didn’t tell you so you would feel sorry for me.”
She spread her palm over his jaw, caressed him. “I don’t. I’m just grateful you felt you could tell me.”
He turned and kissed her palm. “There’s no one else I’d rather share it with.”
The words were simple, but they choked her up. She dropped her gaze, stared at the bright tablecloth. If he knew the truth about her, he wouldn’t think so highly of her, would he?
She had to tell him. “Raj …”
“Yes?”
But a waiter walked out with fresh papadum and sauces and she lost her nerve.
“Nothing,” she said.
The rest of the meal came soon after. They talked and ate