Instead, he would tumble her into a passionate kiss, rolling around the bed with her until the satin was well-rumpled before holding her down and gliding into her… But no. There should be foreplay. Long and sweet and slow. Perhaps he would finger her, discovering each fold of her intimate hideaway, bringing her almost to her peak then letting it die away before teasing her again. Or he would lick her, washing her thoroughly with his tongue, or maybe she would get close to the hefty bulge she had seen in his films and actually be able to touch it, or kiss it or take it into her mouth… What would he be like in bed? Suavely alpha-dominant, she was sure, but brought by her to his knees, to a place of worship and adoration. The steam would rise from their bodies and they would spend the night in every contortion imaginable until their skins were wet and their limbs leaden with exhaustion…
“I said, where’s the studio?”
“Oh…Lenton. Hang on.” She scrabbled in her bag for the printout with the audition details on it. “Yeah. Next junction.”
Inside the studio building, it was as if a million rainbows had merged together to create an infinity of rich colour. Vast hordes of girls in saris and shalwar kameez of every hue, as well as more Westernised glamourwear, ran around the foyer and into the waiting rooms, while a much smaller contingent of high-cheekboned boys in bandanas grouped together, watching the females flutter and jingle past.
“You’ve got competition,” said Krishnan dryly, struggling with Jas up to the reception desk to check in.
“What’s your name?” The receptionist had to shout over the din of improvised song and dance routines in the vicinity.
“Jasmeena Khan.”
She watched as pages of names were checked before hers was finally crossed.
“Okay, do you have your tape for us?”
She handed over a cassette.
“And what’s the number?”
“It’s Bebo from Kambakkht Ishq.”
“Lovely. Find yourself a seat and take this number. You’ll be called when they’re ready for you.”
Jas looked around intently, as if expecting Ajay Amir to pass through. Of course, he would be in the studio now. But he is in the building. The same building as me. The knowledge tipped her into the same giddy frame of mind that seemed to be infecting everybody else in the room. She took a seat.
“Hi,” said the beautiful girl in the turquoise and silver sari next to her. “I’m Anjali. Are you from here, too?”
“No, Leicester. I’m Jasmeena, this is my brother, Krishnan.”
“Krishnan, enchantée,” said Anjali.
The girl’s flirtatious bat of the eyelashes instantly put Jas on the defensive. Pretentious idiot! As if Krish would be taken in by that!
“Pleased to meet you,” said Krishnan, extending a hand urbanely.
“Are you both auditioning?”Anjali wondered.
“No, just me,” said Jas, chin thrust forward in defiance. “Krish is just here because he has nothing better to do.”
The little barb struck him where she had hoped it would.
“I’m here as your chaperone, Jas. To take care of you.”
“What a lovely brother,” breathed Anjali. She leant down to whisper in her ear, “Is he married?”
“Yes,” Jas whispered back, irritated still further. To his shops.
A girl with a clipboard appeared at the top of the stairs, and a great hush descended over the foyer as she opened her mouth ready to shout.
“Everyone numbered one hundred to one hundred and twenty, upstairs now, please.”
Jas checked her ticket—one hundred and fifteen. Anjali’s was one hundred and eleven, to Jasmine’s annoyance, so the pair of them made for the staircase together.
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” Jas asked Krishnan, her tone petulant.
“Good luck,” he said neutrally. “To both of you.”