Page 50 of The Ex Factor

“I disagree,” she said and passed me another sly smile.

AARTI

Ididn’t want to wake up the next morning. After spending two wonderful days with Sujit, I dreaded the loneliness that would greet me at the new condo. Even so, I had no option but to get off the warm bed and struggle into my robe.

“Morning,” I said to Sujit as I came out of the guest room. He was pouring coffee in two huge mugs.

“Morning. Hope you slept well,” he said and handed me a mug of the fragrant coffee with the precise amount of cream I preferred and no sugar, as he’d learned in the past two days.

“I wish we could go to Ms. Dina’s again this morning,” I said with a sigh. “I’m really craving those petulla.”

“We can,” he offered.

“I can’t. I’m moving into my new place today,” I explained.

His body, which had leaned against the counter, propelled upright. “Moving in? Is it ready?”

“Yes, there are a few minor things left, but I can get them done later. All the renovations are done. My contractors have fixed all appliances, and I received the furniture sooner as a special favor.”

“You don’t sound excited,” he observed.

“I’m relieved that I can move out of the hotel. It’s an excellent hotel, but I need a home now.”

“Can I help you move?”

I smiled. “There isn’t much to move. I have just the two bags.”

He cocked his head. “Can I help you make it a home, then?”

My insides trembled as I gazed into the dark eyes behind those glasses. Would it be completely imprudent to flirt with the idea of making a home with him? I wondered what it would feel like to come home to his warm body, his witty self, and generous spirit every evening. How would his whispers feel near my ear? How would his touch feel on my naked skin?

My eyes darted to his hands around the mug as I imagined his slender fingers gliding along my body. I had a feeling he’d start at my feet, teasing me, trailing his fingers up my shin and along the insides of my thigh. A gasp would escape my lips at the whisper of his touch on my hip, on my pelvis, but he wouldn’t pause there, not yet.

Traversing my waist, he’d torture me, avoiding my breasts and strumming his fingers along my arms, neck, and clavicle. Then, when I’d writhe, begging for his touch on my breasts, he’d bring his mouth on them, and I’d lose all purpose. I’d want him to keep his glasses on, peer at me over the rim as he gazed into my eyes with my breast in his mouth, my nipple clutched tight between his teeth, releasing his warm breath on my starving skin.

A plush warmth gathered below my belly and traveled swiftly to my chest. My eyes darted from his fingers to his mouth, just to catch his lips firm around the rim of the cup, his eyes peering at me over his glasses. My rock-hard nipples strained painfully at the sight, my pelvic muscles clenched, and I quickly moved my eyes to the cup in my hand, silently thanking the thick robe for concealing my embarrassment.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, and I brought my eyes back to his face. Greeted with a sly smile, I prayed he didn’t see the flush under my dusky skin. “Do I get the honor of accompanying you to your new home?”

I gulped the last of my coffee and walked over to the sink to deposit my cup. “You really are persistent, aren’t you? If you’re so keen on wasting your Sunday, sure, I’d love the company. I do not, however, promise any housewarming treats. The kitchen is barren and cold.”

“That’s because it isn’t a home yet.” He smiled and put the cup in the sink beside mine. “But it will be by this evening, I promise.”

“Give me a half hour to get ready.”

“That’s enough time for me,” he said and moved toward his bedroom without another word.

When I emerged from the guest room carrying my weekender, he was ready in jeans and a relaxed short cotton shirt, reading on his tablet, which he promptly set on the side table when he saw me. Giving no credence to my protests, he carried my bag down to the parking garage, where the car service awaited us.

Back at the hotel, he helped me pack my bags and got them bussed to the car. Before leaving, he went around the suite, making sure I’d not left anything behind.

“It’s the little things,” my mother had once said. “Grand gestures will take your breath away for a moment, but the little things will show you how loved you are.”

“Like what, Ma?” a young, inexperienced Aarti had asked.

“Like making sure your slippers are right by your bed every night because your feet will hurt all day if you step on the floor first thing in the morning. Like checking that you have water at your bedside every night.”

“Papa does that for you?” I had cried with wide eyes.

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