Page 13 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

As we descended the stairs, I saw Mihir in the foyer. With one hand in his pocket, he turned and froze, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. Well, he’d never seen this me for sure.

RULE #2

Let the kindling burn fiercely

before adding firewood.

MIHIR

It happened like in one of the Hindi movies I’d once watched with Mom. The gorgeous woman walks down the stairs while the man stares helplessly, hoping she walks straight into his arms.

My parents had arrived early, and Mom had called to ask when I would deign to make an appearance. If I hadn’t rushed over, I would have missed this. Sona’s heavenly beauty, enrobed in soft gold, descending toward me.

Since that afternoon, I’d been driving myself sick trying to figure out what drew me to her. All through the ride over to Tara’s, I kept wondering what it was that was so alluring about her. Was it the intelligence in her big, attractive eyes? Or was it the delectable pout of her full lips? Or was it the cute cleft in her chin? Not so deep that it would distract from her beauty, but enough to make one want to lean in and kiss it. The playful curls framing her oval face bounced with every step she took. And, of course, the drool-worthy way she filled out her jeans. I had noticed it all.

But there was something more, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was her sass, the cool fierceness, her assertiveness, the way she lowered her shy eyes and delivered a witty response the next instant. It was possibly the cumulative effect of it all that had kept me preoccupied with her all day.

She sashayed down the stairs, her warm eyes trained on me, her bright, inviting lips turned up at one corner. The straightened, glossy hair made her strong jawline more pronounced. Her chest rose proudly through the neckline of the wispy, sparkly evening gown. Like an apsara, a celestial nymph, she glided toward me. She knew she had me bound, gagged, and begging for mercy, and she was relishing every moment of it.

The spell broke when Riya croaked in a faux bass voice, “What’s up, dude?”

Tearing my eyes off Sona , I shot her a glowering look. “You don’t get to call me dude until you’re thirty,” I snarled in a deep voice I reserved to threaten people.

Riya looked at Sona and shrugged. “See?” she said and skipped away.

Sona tittered and walked past me, leaving behind a seductive trail of a spicy, warm gourmand scent.

I caught up with her in one long stride. “Hey.”

“Hey, again.” She was probably 5’7” in her heels. I towered over her at 6’2”, but she had no trouble matching my stride—and my attitude.

“You look good,” I said dispassionately.

She scanned me in a snap—my formal blue blazer, my meticulous hair—and offered, “You look alright.”

We crossed the large living room that led into the backyard, where the festivities were in full spring.

I held the door open for her. “After you.”

“Ah, chivalry!” she teased. “Where would we be without you opening doors for us?”

I stepped in front of her, leaving an inch between our bodies. “This isn’t chivalry,” I said into her eyes, mustering my restraint against those deep, dark browns. “I just wanted to be close enough to smell that sexy scent on you.”

That seemed to shake her off-balance. Her breath hitched for a small second, but she regained her wit. “Too bad it’s the last time you’ll be doing that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She gathered her gown and elegantly crossed the threshold into the backyard.

Damn!

I ran my finger under the knot of my tie before I walked out behind her.

The backyard was a misnomer. It was actually a sprawling garden. A pergola accommodated a stately seating arrangement, complete with a fireplace. Festive lights around the yard created an air of celebration. At the end of the concrete yard, round tables were scattered across the lawn with chairs around them. On the other end was a bar and a buffet, where the caterers had set up trays of appetizers and small plates.

Tara snagged Sona and introduced her to the women sitting under the pergola. My mother was among them, and I gave her a nod when I saw her watch Sona with fascination.

Mom was always attempting to push me toward eligible women, especially women of Indian origin. She often commented on my trotting around without commitment. A thorough romantic, she held out hope that, someday, I’d marry, settle down, and give her the grandkids she so sorely desired.

A hope that seemed to dwindle with every passing year.

Sure, I was thirty-five and financially stable, but the nature of my work didn’t leave me time for serious relationships. Rather, I didn’t want to be weighed down by the effort involved in making them work. My last serious relationship had been in grad school. Right now, I had neither the time nor the emotional bandwidth for it. I had enough money to spoil my dates with expensive dinners and extravagant gifts, but I was always candid that there would be no relationship component to it. I was in it for the sex. Some couples, like Sameer and Tara, made it look easy, and if I found a similar connection with someone, I would rethink. For now, I was having fun.

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