Page 41 of The Secret She Kept in Bollywood

Anya wondered if he could feel the small fissure that had cracked across her heart. Would it always be “Meera and I”? Was she always going to feel like an outsider when it came to them both?

Never “Meera and us” or “you and me and Meera.” It was irrational how much it hurt.

“When were you going to tell me?” she demanded, before she could curb the words.

“I did just now.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have a meeting in Seychelles. I thought it would be good to get Meera out of here for a while so I’m taking her with me. So that the two of us can spend some quality time together.” He drew a line from her neck to her belly button and then back up again. “I talked to Virat and Vikram. They looked at her call sheets and were able to move some dates. Her calendar’s free for two weeks. Vikram also told me that he thought I’d known Rani had signed with Raawal but seeing as she died shortly afterward, he hadn’t discussed it with me out of respect for my loss. He felt it would have been like rubbing salt into a wound. The information was confidential and he has no idea how it leaked, but he’ll be investigating the interviewer’s sources.”

“Oh, that’s good you sorted things out with him. Really good,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. Two weeks of not seeing Meera or him...it felt like a lifetime.

This isn’t goodbye, she reminded herself and yet it felt like that.

“Vikram was feeling guilty enough about the interview, so I pushed my advantage and also got the dates extended for the second project Meera’s signed with Raawal House,” he continued, unaware of the tumult of her emotions. “This way, she can take more than a year off after this. Decide if she really wants to do the second one. I should never have agreed to the two-project contract in the first place. She was so damned excited, for the first time in months after Rani’s death, that I just gave in.”

It was clear he was examining all the choices he’d made after the leak about his private life. Making all the necessary routes clear for Meera’s exit from the industry, if that’s what she wanted. For him and Meera to leave as easily as possible. To move on from this life that he had never really wanted for either his wife back then or his daughter now, even though he’d supported both.

The sensible part of Anya’s brain pointed out that this was good for the teenager. So much exposure to what could sometimes be a toxic culture at such a young age, so much pressure to always be at her best in front of the hungry media, her every mistake examined under an unforgiving microscope...it wasn’t healthy, despite all the measures Simon could choose to take.

And yet, all she could think of was that it meant distance for her—from Meera and from Simon. All she could worry about was that he was retreating from this world in which she lived because of the news about his marriage. Because a wound that had never fully healed had been cracked open again.

But what else might drive him away from her then?

What could come up that would tell him she was getting too close to him?

And God, was she forever going to wait for that moment to come? Wonder if that heavy burden of guilt he carried without fully sharing might fracture the fragile wings of their own relationship? For all that she teased him, Anya didn’t need marriage or promises of forever. She just didn’t want to constantly live in fear for their relationship. Didn’t want to feed the monster that was her anxiety any more fuel.

A warm kiss at the corner of her mouth brought her attention back to him. “Anya?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” she said, mustering false enthusiasm. Questions hovered over her lips, demanding, probing, and yet she couldn’t give them voice. Not when his wandering hands created pockets of pleasure all over her skin, stole her breath and her mind.

His upper body hovered over her while his fingers fiddled with the seam of her panties. “Virat said you’re incredibly busy all of next week.”

Anya gave another nod, a small part of her taking that as some kind of explanation for why he wasn’t inviting her on their trip. God, she was really clutching at straws.

“Anya, all this has made me—”

Anya pressed her hand to his mouth. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Especially if you’re leaving in a few hours.” Especially if he was going to break up with her.

Maybe she was a coward but right now she didn’t want to face her emotions or his decisions. Her T-shirt and panties disappeared and in the blink of an eye, he flipped them both over until Anya was straddling his hard thighs. She’d gotten used to being naked in front of him but with his dark eyes and roving hands, she felt completely exposed right now.

Not just because of how open she was in this position. There was nowhere to hide, no chance he wouldn’t see her heart in her eyes. And from the hungry look in his, she wondered if it was exactly what he wanted. If he wanted to take the little she hadn’t already offered him yet—the rest of her heart, her love. Her everything.

Any token protest she could have mustered drifted off her lips as Simon cupped her breasts with his hands, and this time, he gave her exactly what she needed. From her neck to her breasts to her belly to her sex, he played her nerve endings like the strings of a guitar. Her spine rose and fell in tune to his demands, her skin so heated that Anya gave herself over to the sensations he strummed through her.

“Bend down, Angel.”

Anya did, her body fluid under his command.

His mouth closed over a hard nipple and she jerked at the sharp, stinging pleasure at her sex. One hand on his rock-hard shoulder, she panted. With his other hand, he separated her folds, his fingers feathery and gentle. He stroked her own dampness over her before he thrust first one finger and then two into her.

Even wet and ready, the intrusion speared Anya.

“Look at me, Angel. Open your eyes.”

Anya flicked her gaze open to find him watching her with a devouring intensity that brought on a fresh wave of sensation. From that first time since she’d told him she didn’t come easily, he’d always given her what she needed. With words—sometimes sweet, sometimes filthy—with caresses—soft and wicked—with his hands and mouth, and fingers and his body.

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