Farmhouse, Ajay thought. Farmhouses in Punjab were often palatial. It made sense that her family, with its drug trafficking roots and poppy fields, had a lot of money.
He remembered what he’d asked Sri to do the previous night. If he was going to get into a relationship with this woman, he needed to trust her. It might be in his best interests to pull the project from Sri for now. He’d have to remember to take care of that when he got home.
“You miss your mom’s cooking,” he said.
“I do. Mom’s chole were made from a generations-old recipe,” she continued. “To make the chickpeas, she’d be cooking them for two days. Washing, rinsing, draining, and then stewing them in her special sauce. To this day, I don’t know what masalas she used. Not that it would do me much good. Who knows if she still cooks, with her health . . .”
Ajay squeezed her hand. “Whether she cooks or not, it doesn’t change the fact that you still didn’t get the skill from her, right?”
Her lips twitched. “I guess so.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to do all the cooking. Except chole. Maybe we’ll leave that to true experts. Honestly, this place might not make chole as memorable as your mother’s, but I bet they’re pretty close.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She’d crossed her arms and leaned on the table. A wistful expression, one of memories reflected in her eyes.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Twelve years last month. I came here when I was eighteen.”
Ajay slid his hand across the scarred vinyl-top table, palm up. She looked down at it and then back up at his face, amused. Once her fingers were locked in his hold, he asked the question that had been plaguing him since the gala.
“Did you ever have feelings for Robert?”
She shook her head. “We had a mutually beneficial arrangement. I hated being a cliché, a stereotype of an Indian woman who married for a green card. But I had my reasons, and I was going to make it with or without Robert. He just ensured that my family wouldn’t interfere.”
“I’m not one to judge,” Ajay said. “People think that getting a green card is as easy as getting a driver’s license. So many of our international employees who transfer end up having to wait fifteen years or more for their green cards.”
“It doesn’t stop people from making crass assumptions,” Raj said. “That’s why Robert and I decided to live together, to pretend we were happily married, while remaining discreet about the nature of our relationship.”
“Any rumors now that you’re getting divorced?”
“I’ve heard a few. Most are off base, and the rest are harmless. As long as they don’t affect my reputation and my company, I couldn’t care less about rumors.”
Two cups of steaming chai were placed in front of them. Ajay watched the unfiltered delight brighten Raj’s expression before she bracketed her hands around the mug. She leaned down to smell it, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. The joy on her face made his heart clench.
“Tell me about RKH. When and how did you come up with the idea?”
Raj shrugged one delicate shoulder. “A mix of listening to my father complain about security breaches and a class project in my senior year. After I married Robert, his grandmother, the only woman who liked me, became a mentor. She worked for decades in the Douglass family company, and she helped me with contacts, connections, and developing a little bit of polish that I needed, before she passed away a few years ago.”
“Why do you think you got along so well?”
Raj shrugged. “She was an immigrant, too. Granted, Greece isn’t exactly the same as India, but similar enough that we both enjoyed each other’s company at all mandatory family get-togethers. She was always laughing and had a horde of pets. She is the reason I started working with the shelters in Manhattan. When she died, most of her money went to those shelters, and her last remaining pet, a sweet old hound, was taken in by one of her nephews.”
“But you wanted her hound?”
“Of course,” she said, a wistful expression on her face. “But Robert has an allergy. Thankfully, that’s no longer a barrier.”
Before he could second-guess himself, he gripped both cups and slid them to the side.
“What are you—”
He stood, scraping his chair back with a loud, defining screech, leaned over the table, and pressed his mouth against hers. He could feel her surprise and her shock, and used her lowered guard ruthlessly to his advantage by slipping his tongue between her parted lips.
She tasted like sin and redemption, both twining through his body, tightening in his gut, and fogging his brain. He took the kiss deeper, pulling a small sound of pleasure from her throat.
Her hands came up and her fingers stroked his cheeks through his beard. He felt her respond now, her lips softening, sipping from his mouth as if she was also hooked on the same drug he’d discovered in her. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, and he groaned in pleasure.
Raj was a treasure, and he’d barely opened the box to discover all of her. Even as his fingers dove into her tidy hair, urging her mouth closer, the sound of someone clearing their throat cut through his lust-fogged brain.
He slowly pulled back, registering the confusion in Raj’s eyes, before he sat in his chair and turned to the older Punjabi uncle. The uncle looked more irritated at them than embarrassed as he held a tray overflowing with food in his hands, tapping one foot impatiently.
“Sorry,” Ajay said, as if he was being scolded like a child.
Smooth, Singh. Your conditioning to apologize is surely going to win over the lady now.
Raj’s mask was fully in place as she adjusted her hair in that calm, classy way that she had, and looked anywhere but at Ajay and the man who placed their food in front of them.
“So,” Ajay said when they were alone again. “That’s becoming a habit that I’m enjoying. I hope you don’t mind.”
Raj adjusted her puffed bature in front of her and leaned down to smell the dark brown chole topped with shredded ginger and parsley.
“You’re a brave soul if you want to kiss me again after this much onion and garlic, Singh.”
The corner of her perfect mouth curved, and he couldn’t help but smile in response. “You’re worth the sacrifice.”
Chapter Twelve
Rajneet
MONDAY
AJAY: We never talked about business.
RAJ: That’s because you were either feeding me or screwing me.
AJAY: You can’t blame me for that. You’re irresistible.
AJAY: Tomorrow night?
RAJ: Late meeting. Wednesday is good.
AJAY: Have a conflict. I’m dealing with our Europe properties. It’ll go on forever. Thursday after eight?
RAJ: I’ll get back to you.
TUESDAY
RAJ: Thursday is a no-go.
AJAY: I can clear my schedule for Friday?
RAJ: No, I have an off-site.
AJAY: This weekend?
RAJ: . . . Maybe.
AJAY: What? What is it?
RAJ: I’m supposed to go look at a puppy on Saturday.
AJAY: At the shelter you volunteer at? Is this the puppy that the woman who you work with called about?