Chapter 3 - "Please be a thief!"

A/N - I know you have all been waiting for Imlie and Aryan to meet. Enjoy reading how it happens!

Love,

AA

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Previously,

Rupi quickly talked to her travel agent and made the bookings. 

Imlie liked the hills but never had the resources to go on a real vacation, so they decided on Kufri.

It was the perfect place to give her some quiet, alone time to relax and forget about all the unhappy memories, even if temporarily. 

Imlie thanked Rupi Didi again in her mind for pushing her to do this. She already felt lighter, and it wasn’t even a full day since she got here.

She pulled clothes out of her suitcase and grabbed a towel before stepping into the bathroom. Gosh, this bathroom is bigger than her bedroom in Delhi. Whoever owns this place must be loaded.

She stepped into the shower stall and turned the water. The hot water felt so good it made her let out a sigh.

She closed her eyes and started humming, letting the combination of the water and the music soothe her body and mind alike.

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The bathroom door was cracked open. Aryan looked in its direction and debated silently over the idea of peeking inside to get a look at his squatter. Still unsure, he sunk his hand in his pocket to retrieve his cellphone, getting ready to call the police.

He looked down at his phone screen and frowned. No network.

Suddenly, Paa’s idea of building a retreat on a remote hill with no cell reception so that the family’s time together is not interrupted by business did not seem so great.

Just then, he heard the shower being turned off and the humming instantly got louder but sounded distracted. Deciding that he didn’t have many options and he needed to assess the competition before engaging, he cautiously walked towards the bathroom, silent steps trying to avoid the clutter.

He paused, hearing the squatter move around, hoping to God it was to cover herself up. And then a loud whirring sound filled the room. The hair dryer. 

He took two more steps forward and spotted the intruder through the crack in the bathroom door.

A small, petite woman was wrapped in one of the silk robes and facing the mirror, running her hands through her long hair, pointing the hair dryer over it. He couldn’t see her face, which was hidden by her arm holding the device.

He lowered his gaze when small feet adorned by a dainty pair of silver anklets caught his attention. Cute, he thought.

Wait what? Cute? That cannot be the first thought I had about her, he thought with a mental shake.

Admonishing himself for the misplaced thought, he cleared his throat to get her attention, but the hair dryer was too loud for her to hear him.

He stepped forward and slid open the bathroom door so she could see him and spoke loudly, “Who the hell are you??”

A few things happened quickly. The trespasser gasped and turned around to see Aryan, her eyes widening in shock. Taking a few steps back, she shrieked and aimed the hair dryer at him as a reflex, like it was a weapon for defense. The hot blast of air in Aryan’s face made his eyes water, and through partially blurred vision, he saw the towel stand hurled at him. He ducked in time to avoid being hit in the head.

As the stand landed somewhere behind him with a loud bang, he took angry steps towards her, closing the distance between them. He snatched the hair dryer from her hand, turned it off and threw it on the counter.

Towering over her, he held her wrists preventing her from lunging at the bottle of shampoo that she seemed to have decided was going to be her next reliable defense, and growled through gritted teeth, “Stop it! What are you doing in my house?”.

Imlie gulped in panic and shut her eyes in fear. Thief or murderer? Please be a thief, please be a thief.

After a few seconds of silence, she slowly opened her eyes, trying to control her contrived breathing.

Her view was blocked by a wide torso in a buttoned-up shirt that hugged the clearly well-built frame in all the right places. She looked down and saw perfectly tailored slacks and shiny black derby shoes that screamed money. She could bet the shirt was silk too.

Since when did criminals choose to pick expensive tailored formal wear when they set out to break into people’s mansions? Maybe it’s a thing these days. What does she know?

Gathering some more courage and surprised at herself for being able to do so while being trapped in the grip of a stranger who likely had every intention of hurting her, she pulled her gaze back up his torso and continued further up to look at the face that could very well be the last one she saw in this life.

As her gaze explored his face, her brain registered his features – dusky complexion, sharp jawline, perfectly trimmed beard, thick eyebrows, one of them with a scar running through it, and tousled hair that seemed to have been in place at some point in the day but couldn’t be bothered anymore.

This guy really could manage a better career with those looks if he tried.

Her reverie was broken as the attacker squeezed her arms firmly and breathed down her face one more time, his voice low and dangerous, “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“Your house? This isn’t your house!” Imlie said indignantly, immediately regretting it as his expression darkened.

She twisted her wrist and escaped his grip, ducking under his arm and running out of the bathroom into the bedroom, frantically looking around to grab another object to defend herself.

Aryan clenched his fist, trying to suppress his anger and ignore the throbbing in his temple that seemed to be increasing by the minute.

He slowly turned around and walked up to the bathroom door. Digging his hands in his pockets, he leaned into the wall and declared, “This is my house, and you need to leave. Right now.”

This was the third time this dude had referred to the house as his, and frankly it was getting on Imlie’s nerves. Deciding to confront him, she squared her shoulders bravely and tilted her chin up. “I rented this vacation house fair and square, so you are the one who needs to leave. Right now.” she finished, mentally patting herself on the back for holding her ground.

“I own this house and I did not rent it to anyone” Aryan growled back.

“I don’t believe you.”

Aryan raised his eyebrow and a smirk appeared on his face. “Do I look like I give two f*cks about what you believe or not?”

“Prove it!”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Who are you?”

“I am Aryan. Singh. Rathore. And you are trespassing on a private property. How did you get in?”

Imlie felt her confidence falter. She had no idea if she was supposed to know that name like he was a celebrity, but she remembered the big plate on the entrance of the villa when she first arrived. It said Rathore’s, a fact she had not paid much heed to....at the time.

Come to think of it, he really doesn’t look like someone who was a thief or a murderer. Could he really be the owner? What kind of a vacation rental owner doesn’t know he rented the place?

Picking on the last thread of conviction she had left, she responded to his question, “With the lock code. I have the rental agreement. I rented this place for the weekend”

“I want to see this rental agreement. And for God’s sake, cover yourself up!” Aryan muttered.

Imlie looked down, gasped, and then squealed. In their tussle, her robe had slipped off her shoulder, exposing what was much more than cleavage at this point, the robe tie loosened and threatening to fall off. She jerked her head up and yelled “Turn around!!”

Aryan put his hands over his hips and looked up at the ceiling, his expression saying that he was completely over this nonsense. Imlie grabbed on the ends of the tie and yanked them shut, holding the lapels of the robe close together with her hands.

Embarrassed, she avoided looking at him, mortified at how she didn’t realize her state of undress. She had never been exposed this way in front of a man. Any man. Not even her husband. Ex-husband, she thought ruefully.

Aryan cleared his throat and reminded her, impatience evident in his voice, “The rental agreement.”

Imlie was shaken out of her trance, wondering for the first time if she really was here illegally.

“The rental agreement is in my bag downstairs. C…can you give me a moment to dress up and I’ll meet you downstairs? We can then decide who needs to stay and who will leave?”

A sneer marred Aryan’s face.

“I love how you think you have any room for negotiation here. You have five minutes to come down and show me this rental agreement or I’m calling the police” he finished and strode past her, leaving the bedroom.

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