Page 34 of The Secret She Kept in Bollywood

He tapped a finger on her scrunched nose, wanting to touch her again. In many more places. In a spot where they weren’t surrounded by gorgeous young men and their brawny bodies.

“How many times are you going to have to fix that joker’s armbands and thigh bands and calf bands? Have you wondered if maybe he’s breaking them on purpose so that you will admire his bulging biceps and fix them for him again?”

For a second, Anya blinked, confusion apparent in her eyes. And then she laughed. Loud and bold and drifting up from her belly. Her already-wide mouth widened and her too-big nose flared and she was so beautiful that it stole his breath.

At some point during her laughter she’d tucked her arm through his and leaned against him. Simon tried to remind himself that she was probably only doing it for the avidly watching crowd. But he knew that was a lie. Just as it was a lie that he had wrapped his other arm around her because it was the gentlemanly thing to do when she was clinging to him.

Simon knew most of the heads had turned toward them under the marquee now. Not surprising because they’d gathered to celebrate Anya. Also not surprising because, while they were meant to be a couple, neither of them had embraced in public. Her brothers and sisters-in-law and even her parents—all of them were staring with such shock in their eyes.

Reaching out with her hand, she pushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Are you jealous of that muscly actor, Simon?”

“A little,” he admitted. “No. A lot, actually.”

Something stirred in her liquid gaze. And this time, it went straight to his shaft.

She patted a hand over his chest, as if she was dusting something off his sweater. But he knew she wanted to feel the thud of his heart. As if she knew its beat was already rushing in his ears anytime she was near. “Don’t be. He can’t handle me.”

Simon knew she was half joking but he wanted the answer anyway. He wanted to hear it in her words. “How do you mean?”

Her smile didn’t quite disappear but she sobered. She knew exactly what he was asking. “Do you think he’d have asked me what I needed when I fell apart after seeing Meera? Do you think he’d have held me, kissed me, made me feel alive at the worst point of my life? Do you think he’d have shown such care when I told him I’d got pregnant and given up a baby when I was a teenager? Do you think he’d have given me a second glance if I weren’t the Raawal brothers’ sister?” She pressed against him, her arms going around his neck just as soft music burst through the speakers. Stepping onto her tiptoes, she whispered at his ear. “Do you think he’d see beneath the pretty shell and the wealthy accessories to the real woman with her anxiety and her flaws and her tainted past, Simon?”

His hands went around her waist as if they belonged there and Simon pressed his mouth to her temple. Her confidence and her words resonated through him.

They swayed slowly to the music. The minx knew that he was putty in her hands.

Simon pressed another kiss to her temple. “Happy birthday, Angel.” Most of the attending crew had turned away from them.

“I know what I want from you.”

“Anya...” he said, injecting a warning into his tone. Her “marriage proposal” had become a running joke between them. Every time he tried to corral this thing between them into some semblance of a temporary affair, Anya teased his retreat by asking him to marry her.

The joke was on him though. Because marriage in itself was not what bothered Simon. He had no idea when it had happened but tying himself to Anya for the rest of their lifetimes didn’t bother him at all. He would give her that if it guaranteed her happiness. If it meant he’d never let her down as he’d done with Rani.

But no such guarantee existed in the world.

She lifted her gaze to him and bit her lower lip. “You won’t accept even on my birthday?”

He softly pinched the curve of one hip in his hand. Loving the tight dip of her waist and the flare of her hip. Neither had he missed the fact that she’d filled out a bit in the last few weeks. Since he’d first seen her. She’d lost the gaunt look and he liked her even better like this—healthy and thriving and happy.

She gasped softly. “Fine. I was going to settle for a few kisses and one orgasm.”

Simon swallowed. Desire and laughter were twin ropes, tightening in his lower belly, curling his muscles tight. He wanted to tell himself he was too old to separate lust and liking, but it would be another lie to add to the pile he was telling himself. “Hell, woman, you’re killing me.”

More people left the tent, leaving only her family around. Simon held her through two more songs, more than content to just touch her. And hold her. It was enough for his heart to know that she was his.

“My brothers... I trust wholeheartedly. But Papa and Mama... I’m not ready for them to meet you and muddy this up, Simon. Why aren’t you rushing me away like a frantic lover?”

Simon raised a brow and she giggled. “This was your celebration. I don’t want to hurry you away from it. Especially after Virat reminded me you don’t often do this.”

Surprise flitted across her face.

For once, Simon wasn’t sure what she was thinking. “I appreciate that you didn’t invite me because I’m not a huge fan of the industry.” Her eyes big in her face, she nodded. He rubbed his thumb over his cheek. “But you and Meera are a part of this world. I’m more than happy to support you both when you need me to be here.”

Simon didn’t realize how it sounded until he said the words. But neither did he want to take them back.

She tugged at the collar of his shirt, her mouth trembling. “You’re... I...”

“Anya, are you okay?”

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