Page 1 of One Hellish Desire

PROLOGUE

VIKRAM

I pour some wine into my glass, my gaze fixed on the glowing lights adorning ‘Ratna Mahal’ from the lush green lawn outside. This palace, a witness to my ancestors' legacy, fills me with pride. I've been away for nine long years, yet every time I return, I feel their approving presence. I’m confident my successes, built on bold decisions, have surpassed their wildest dreams.

A little away from me, women in colorful traditional attire wander in and out of the palace, laughing and chatting. None dare enter this secluded part of the lawn where I’ve chosen to spend the next few hours, drinking and reflecting. I have an announcement to make to Daadi, an imperative one, and I’m gearing up to share it once this function she's organized for all the unmarried women in her social circle is over.

I was baffled when she told me the significance of this auspicious night which comes once in a few decades when the stars align in a unique fashion, setting the perfect occasion for the single women to meet their Prince Charming. She supposedly met my grandfather during one such auspicious night and believes the other women to share the same fate, the same joy and the same bonding which she did with my grandfather. It’s unbloody believable but if it makes her happy, I’m content.

I sip my wine to alleviate the headache brought on by jet lag. I landed in Delhi this afternoon, and it took an hour's drive to reach this palace. Since then, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to speak to Daadi, secure her approval, and return to New York, my home. My parents and I live in the USA, far from this palace. They’re not here, thankfully, as my mother would have been exasperated by Daadi's beliefs and efforts for this event. Mom and Daadi have never seen eye to eye, a primary reason my father left India and never returned. I visited her until I was eighteen, but life got busy, and the visits dwindled. However, I stayed connected to Daadi through monthly phone calls. My mother barely speaks to her, and my father talks to her a few times a year. I am the only link between my parents and this palace, and Daadi.

Lost in my thoughts, a sharp voice jolts me.

“Alcohol is prohibited in this palace.”

I sense a woman standing a few feet behind me. I don’t bother turning around. She isn’t important nor do I reply because, frankly, this is my house, and I’ll do as I please.

“I’m talking to you, mister,” she insists.

“Buzz off,” I respond curtly, hoping she’ll leave, but she steps closer, fuming.

“You buzz off,” she retorts. She’s close enough now that I feel compelled to show her place. She might be Daadi's guest tonight, but she's overstayed her welcome.

I turn around, gripping my wine glass, and our eyes meet. I’ve seen her before. My mind races back nine years, trying to recall those dove-shaped, kohl-rimmed eyes.

“Don’t you see there’s a function going on? Who allowed you here? Leave before I call the guards,” she snaps.

Does she think I am an intruder? Her voice should irritate me, and her determination to throw me out should frustrate me, but instead, my gaze lingers lazily over her form. She’s wearing a stunning golden-yellow lehenga that shimmers under the lights. The intricate embroidery on the fabric catches every glint, adding to her ethereal glow. A matching veil covers her head, and with every word she throws at me, her arms sling back and forth, making her metallic bangles tinkle melodiously. She is every man’s desire. Strike that. I wouldn’t like any other man desiring her the way I do now. If stars could be colored, I would color them gold, like her. Till now, I had known red to be the color of desire, but she's changed that for me. Hereon, it’s golden yellow.

I don’t realize when I stride to her and my thumb raises on its own and strokes her lower lip. She freezes for a moment. If she looked stunning when she talked, she looked innately sexy when she didn’t. I’m still lost in her when she grabs my glass and spills wine on my crisp white shirt. F*ck! No one has ever dared this. My patience slips. Slowly, I unbutton my shirt, keeping my gaze locked on hers. Anger, confusion, and astonishment wash over her face, but I don’t stop. She doesn’t know me yet, but she will soon. She stumbles back as I toss my shirt at her, her fingers gripping it.

“Three things,” I scowl stepping closer. “First, you’ll wash my shirt. Second, you’ll apologize. And third…”

My first two conditions shock her, and I can’t wait to reveal the third. She barged into my space, intruding on my privacy. She won’t walk away unscathed. I grab her nape and pull her flush close. She gasps as our bodies meet. Her eyes reflect her attempt to process the situation, but before she can, I tilt her head back and kiss her neck.

I’ve never done this before, never touched or kissed a woman without her consent. There’s something about her that drives me wild, and I don’t want that feeling to fade. Realizing what I've just done, she shoves me with all her strength, sending me stumbling back two feet.

“Vikram? Maahi?”

Daadi's voice interrupts from the other end of the lawn. I hope she hasn't witnessed this. That’s because only she has the right to throw me out of this palace. Wait! Did she call her ‘Maahi’? When I stare back at the woman of my interest, I finally recall who she is.

“Cub?” I ask, staring at her. Maahi’s face is flushed with rage.

Maahi throws the same knowing look at me as if she recalls who I am and I hope she has realized her mistake too of thinking of me as an intruder.

“What happened to your shirt, Vikram?” Daadi approaches us.

She isn’t pleased that I’m shirtless despite the guests inside.

“I dropped wine on it,” I lie, unsure why I’m protecting Maahi, who still grips my shirt.

“Wine? Vikram?” Daadi is upset that I’d been drinking amidst this holy ritual that she’s arranged at the palace, but she lets it go. Returning after so many years has its perks.

“I badly needed it,” I say, my gaze still on Maahi who is glaring at me. The aftershocks of my kiss on her neck are dying to subside. I wonder if Daadi hadn’t intruded us, what would Maahi do? Or rather, what would I want to do to her?

“Did you meet each other?” Daadi asks warmly.

That’s her trait. She is so full of love and warmth that it scares me a bit sometimes.

---