“I’ve thought about it.”
“I’m sorry…if she were my sister…”
“Oh. They haven’t told you? Jas isn’t my sister.”
Jasmine, her eyes still shut, had to imagine the shock on Ajay’s face.
“Not your sister?”
“She’s white British. But she thought she might not get very far in the contest if she admitted it. So she pretended to be my sister.”
“Seriously? You posed as her brother? So…what is she to you, then? Your employee?”
“Well, she’s a bit more than that.”
* * * *
“I’m a bit more than that?” said Jas questioningly once Krishnan had shown her to the door of her flat. When he didn’t reply, she persisted, “What you said to Ajay. I’m a bit more than an employee. In what way? Like a sister? A cousin? A good friend?”
Krishnan put the flat of his palm against her cheek and stepped closer, pressing her against her own front door.
“Like this,” he said.
She knew what he was going to do, yet she didn’t dare hope he was actually going to do it. Was it going to be a cruel joke, a payback for going off with Ajay Amir and putting Krish’s nose out of joint? Would he get as far as her lips, then straighten up and laugh it off? She couldn’t quite believe Krishnan really had any feelings for her after everything that had happened.
So when his breath fanned her face and the warmth of his body was close enough for her to feel it, she stood, staring, transfixed, waiting for the disappointment. When his hair brushed her brow, when his nose rubbed against hers, she fought the natural impulse to meet him halfway and kept herself pressed back into the battered wood, preparing her scornful laugh or her hostile shrug or whatever would look as if she didn’t care in the least.
And when his lips pressed hers, questioningly at first, then, on finding no rebuff, more confidently, she held her breath for a few seconds until it became clear this was a kiss. A genuine, bona fide, full-on kiss.
Only then could she trust herself to put her hands on his shoulders and lean into it, bringing the fullness of her mouth to his, letting the sweet sensations tingle and seep into her pores. She let herself be held, let herself be opened up and made vulnerable to the man she had wanted for years, oh, years, ever since she was fourteen and he twenty-three, ever since she had come into the shop and tried to buy a bottle of pink alcopop and had got a demand for ID and a good scolding for her trouble.
The memory made her giggle into Krishnan’s mouth, so that he grabbed the back of her hair and tugged, a warning to her not to spoil the moment with levity. He pushed at the door, letting it open so they tumbled in, a mishmash of legs and arms falling over the threshold. Somehow they made it to the sofa without crashing into a horizontal tangle, and Jas tipped backwards with Krish still joined at the lip.
He broke the kiss briefly to position himself above her, straddling her hips with his knees, sliding his hand around the side of her neck, preparing her for more.
“I was just thinking about how we met,” she whispered, loosening his collar.
He grinned, nuzzling her forehead with his.
“You were a bad girl,” he said sternly. “I threatened to call your father, do you remember? If I ever caught you trying to buy booze again.”
“And I told you it was for him in the first place.”
“Yeah. You little liar. Dads don’t drink pink alcopops. Couldn’t believe your nerve when you asked me for a job two years later.”
“I had a massive crush on you. Even though you told me off. Maybe because you told me off. You’re the reason I started learning Bollywood dancing.”
“No way! Really?”
“I wanted to be Indian enough for you.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You are Indian enough for me. Am I Western enough for you, though?”
“I think so. I think we’re geographically perfectly located for each other.”
“I was just thinking this was the perfect geographical location. Right on top of you on the sofa.”
“Krish!”