CHAPTER EIGHT
Kunal Roy's voice was probably the sexiest thing about him. Pitched much lower than most men, his deep baritone was like gravel---scraping across a woman's skin like coarse silk. Many ex-lovers claimed that he could seduce them with just one drawled word said in that smooth, cool yet powerful tone. He had rarely been heard to raise his voice, since, when he got mad, he got even more cold. Unlike most men, Kunal would not rant and rave, screaming at the top of his lungs. Instead he would become frighteningly calm, and his voice would deepen and go even lower, until it affected the listener's senses like gunpowder sprinkled on fire.
When Anjali was shown into his office at 10 in the morning the next day, Kunal's tone, as he was speaking to an unknown caller on the phone was enough to alert her that her Mr. Roy was stone cold furious. In a silky, low voice that would have given a polar bear chills, Kunal told his caller that he would never back down, and that he was not going to give into threats. The caller screamed something on the phone, Kunal listened, with a half smile on his face. Then, in the middle of the other person's screams, he hung up with a soft click that was somehow worse than if he had loudly slammed the phone down. Turning to look at Anjali, now seated across his desk, Kunal at first seemed unfocussed, his eyes glassy with rage, his face tightened into harsh planes and shadows.
Anjali was hugely fascinated. Also, Anjali was hugely aroused. She had always responded to brooding men as if this quality in them was an love spell for her senses. Shyam had been an aberration, an evil thing, but God dammit, she could not deny, when she objectively looked back at her own life, that Shyam had been sexy as hell, at first-- when that darkness had been just a quality in him, not a vice. Shyam Jha later on had turned out to be worthless and cruel, and she hated him for what he had done. But when she had first met him and fallen in love, Shyam had also been...hot.
Admitting that she probably needed mental help, Anjali now stared at this man, the man with none of Shyam's evil, yet with a lot of his manipulative nature. Kunal too, had a darkness, an edge of untamed, raw danger...but when it came to this man, that darkness was layered with Kunal's own strange brand of honor and courage.
...Now if that wasn't a panty peeler...
As Kunal Roy stared at her, still reacting from his mysterious phone call, Anjali reacted to that element of danger and the smoldering rage in Kunal's eyes just like she would to the finest wine or the strongest aphrodisiac. Fleetingly, she noted that it was a bit embarrassing, to be a prim and proper lady, and to want to do such scandalous things to her boss on her first day at work. So, what would she do? Her mind formed erotic images, as she kept staring at him...
She would take off this sari that Khushi had carefully ironed for her just this morning. Then, in her pink silk underwear, she would turn Kunal Roy away from his desk, spinning his chair so she could straddle his lap. She would lick and nibble at his mouth until those firm lips gave in, and opened to her own. She would take those hard calloused hands, and place them on to her tender breasts and the throbbing wetness between her legs, moaning as he touched and stroked her into an explosion of fire. She would writhe and push against his fingers, needing to do to him what he did to her...
Then she would move, sliding down that rock hard body, letting her nipples touch his honeyed skin and sleek muscles until she got down to her knees before him, and could reach out and strip off his...her face flamed bright red. She shifted in her chair.
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Noting Anjali's discomfort, and completely misunderstanding the reason for it, Kunal Roy did something he normally would not have done----he confided in another person. Anjali had just joined them, and this was not the way he had planned to welcome his rose-pink and silver beauty on her first day at his Office. He had planned to be suave, well-mannered. Show her around, take her to the office set up for her use, and introduce her to his reporters. But the call from Ravi Birla had come, unexpectedly, and Anjali was uneasy, perhaps even scared by his reaction to the threats. Anjali was blushing, looking away from him, uncomfortable in her chair. It was an odd reaction to a phone call.
But she would have to know the extent of his news story, and be aware of certain things. There was no point in keeping her in the dark. To do that would be dangerous, if Anjali wanted to work with him, as his lawyer, she would have to know who and what they were dealing with. So Kunal Roy told her all about the details---the powerful man was he was going after, the threats, the attempts on his life that had already been made. The real, mortal danger he was in.
And as he told her what was happening to him and the story he was covering, as she heard about the incredible risks he was taking to report all this, all her lustful thoughts about what to do with Kunal Roy in his office chair evaporated from Anjali's Raizada's head.
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Arnav Singh Raizada had suffered through an upsetting morning. After a night of intense sex, he usually liked to have Khushi right in his arms at dawn, so he could make soothing and soulful love to his wife after having worked her into a frenzy throughout the night. It was his own way of re-connecting with his world, as Khushi's gentle sighs and soft moans reminded him again how lucky he was, how blessed. Being a man of few words, this was his way showing his precious heart, his soul, how much she meant to him, through his actions.
The way he saw it, their night-time was for their bodies to be slaked and their passions fed. And that was one kind of love----fast paced, aggressive, animalistic in its way. The love-making of the morning---that was for their souls. To look into each other's eyes, to kiss and touch with tenderness and worship. To not just need and demand passion from each other, but to give and get love and pleasure.
This morning, batting away his restraining arms, Khushi had sprinted out of bed. She had raced off to "dress" his Di, as if Di was a doll and not a full grown woman capable of ironing her own damn rose-pink sari.
Grumbling, he had gotten up, barefoot, to go lean against the door to his Di's room. Di's room was a mess of clothes and shoes, she had already showered and was waiting for Khushi. Arnav stood there, drinking his coffee as Khushi and Di argued endlessly about the color of lip gloss, the exact sequence and mixture of pink and silver bangles, and the all-important stone bindi selection for Di's first day at work. Arnav spoke up once or twice---sarcastically--- about how vital all this was to Di's work as a lawyer, only to be yelled at by not one but by both of his women.
Khushi's eyes had glinted with mischief as she told him to "Just. Shut. Up"--- but Di had been completely serious when she asked him if the sleeveless, tiny silver choli and rose-net sari made her look fat. Of course it didn't, and he was going to tell his Di this, but Arnav then made the mistake of hesitating to take a sip of coffee before responding. Arnav winced, recalling what had then happened. That had been bad. BAD. So bad. His Di had burst into tears, his wife had yelled at him to get lost, and his plans for the morning, which had included taking Khushi back to his bed to "punish" her for the shut up comment, were all shot to hell.
After seeing Di off to the office, Khushi had served him breakfast, still a little angry about his unintentional insult to his almost too-slender sister. Arnav had then had done what he did best---romancing his angry wife. Holding her hand under the table, sitting too close to her for comfort, sneaking a kiss in when Nani-ji turned to speak to Aakash about something. Flushed and blushing, Khushi had been quite easily managed. He was just about to suggest a return to their bedroom, to resume their interrupted morning when Khushi started to feel sick. She looked at him, nauseated, and immediately he knew.
Morning-sickness, his old enemy. They left the dining table together, racing for the bathroom.
Arnav hated seeing Khushi exhausted, pale and shivering as the curse of pregnancy showed itself, and his poor wife stayed in the bathroom to throw up and dry heave her breakfast out for what felt like hours. All thoughts of romance left, as Arnav Singh Raizada did something that his hundreds of ex girlfriends would never have believed possible.
He held Khushi's hands, as she threw up all over his shoes, her clothes and the bathroom. He wiped her mouth, yelling to Hari Prakash to bring some tea and broth. He took off Khushi's clothes, dressed her in a fresh night-gown, then carried his limp, still nauseous wife to bed.
There, spoon feeding the pale, red-eyed, sickly little creature, he wiped Khushi down with some hot towels, placing a soothing compress onto her bulging belly. He kissed her forehead, tucking her in, telling her he would take Di her lunch, and she was to rest. Khushi protested, sitting up, and said that she had something to do. "What?" he asked.
Khushi mumbled her answer into his chest, and Arnav sighed as he heard her words. Because Khushi was so embarrassed, and since she needed to rest, Arnav made his tired wife lie down again, smoothing her damp hair and telling her to sleep. Then, he bravely put on gloves, took the cleaning products and bucket from Hari Prakash, and proved his eternal love for his wife.
Arnav Singh Raizada, the formidable Delhi business tycoon then spent the rest of the morning cleaning the bathroom and washing his wife's dirty clothes, so Khushi Raizada would not feel bad about being ill and pregnant, and making extra work for the household.
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The strong smell of Harpic, Tide detergent and cleaning supplies wafted into the conference room before Arnav Singh Raizada entered it. Dressed in stained jeans and an old sweatshirt, Arnav looked disheveled, tired, and very, very cross.
Kunal noted the expression of irritation on Arnav's face, the clear "don't-mess-with-me" signals, and happily began to tease the hell out of the man.
"Lost your fortune, Mr Raizada? Who hired you to be their incompetent janitor cum cleaning-lady? Don't you know that Harpic cleaner goes INTO the toilet bowl, not all over your clothes? You look like hell, Mr Raizada! Or is this a new style? What do you call it? Vomit-Chic? Your company will go down the drain, my fake fashion guru. Even you can't make disgusting and smelly into the latest fashion-trend."
Too tired to do much more than snarl once at that bas***d Kunal Roy, Arnav ignored the comments and handed Anjali her packed lunch. Clearly distracted, she had not even spoken to her Chote, who had been ready to explain why he looked so horrible and was startled to realize that she was barely noticing his presence. Di didn't even nod at him once, as she worked on the littered papers and books on the table. Now, ignoring Arnav who had slumped into one of the conference chairs, she returned to a discussion with Kunal.
They were clearly going over an old argument, as they debated, pointing out legal precedents, and discussing wire-tapping, surveillance, the pros and cons of approaching police for protection. Arnav sat back, watching the two of them, fighting, arguing, topping each other's comments, hitting back and forth with facts and information. The energy in the room peaked and crested, as two powerful intellects locked horns, battling something out. They were wrapped up in each other's words. Anjali was vehemently protesting the danger Kunal was facing, he was dismissing her worries. They went on, discussing what to do, steps to take, their work--he might as well have been invisible.
There had never been a time, in his living memory, when Arnav Singh Raizada had not been the full and total centre of Anjali Singh Raizada's world. Even during the happy days of her marriage to Shyam, she would still divide her attention between the two of them, and he, her Chote would always have the lion's share of it. Of course, being on the receiving end of such love, never having had to fight anyone else for it, Arnav had never stopped to think deeply about the woman who gave him such adoration.
She was always there, always available, never a mystery. She was just...Di.
His Di, his to tease, protect, love, defend. But she was never...Anjali...not a person, really---and this was not surprising. Given their past tragedies, the way they had clung to each other after his parents' death, Anjali had been more than just a person to a young Arnav---she had become his symbol of family, and his sister, both. Still seeing her with the simple eyes of a child, even after having grown up into a man, Arnav had never thought of her as anything more than just a sister ---well loved, worshipped--- but not really anything more. Right now, with a sensation of shock, as he sat silently in this room, he saw Anjali and Roy debate, and finally, he saw that bas***d Roy give in to his new Lawyer's advice.
Anjali took her first deep breath since this morning's revelations about the risk Mr Roy was taking. Mr. Roy would talk to the police, he finally agreed. He would be careful, and take less risks. Anjali had gotten what she wanted---he would still be able to work on his story, but Mr. Roy would put in wire-taps on his phones, and allow other security measures in place. Anjali had found a way to make these precautions legal while still protecting his sources and confidential informants. She had found a way for him to be protected, and to do his job.
Anjali had won, and not through feminine tears or manipulations---she had won over this harsh, intimidating and brilliant man by being...more brilliant. Now, watching the dark, powerful man bow down to the slim, soft creature in the flimsy little sari, Arnav saw his sister get her own way with one of the most feared men in Indian journalism.
She had won. Now that Mr Roy had agreed to be more careful with himself, Anjali was free to look around and relax for the first time in hours. He would try and stay safe, or she would murder him herself, she vowed. But he had agreed. The lump in her heart dissolved a little, and she slowly came back to herself. Chote had arrived, and brought her lunch. (And good God! He looked like hell!!!) She asked him why he smelt so funny, and, Chote, who was staring oddly at her, finally responded, telling her about Khushi's morning sickness.
Kunal Roy, of all people, then made a comment. "Give Khushi nimbu paani, with a pinch of salt, and honey. Don't let her have any sweets for a few days. Morning sickness leaches away minerals from the mother, Khushi is so petite, she can fall ill quickly. You should make sure she does not take much medication in her conditon, a natural remedy works best."
Both the brother and the sister stared at the journalist who was offering them pregnancy advice as if he had grown two heads. Kunal Roy did the closest thing he did to blushing, and flushed darkly as he turned to fetch Arnav a coffee. He looked a little defensive, and said that he had three younger sisters, all married, all alarmingly fertile---he knew what he was talking about, this was his mother's treatment for his sisters and it had always worked.
Arnav thought about several rude comments he could make about Kunal, babies and assholes who gave advice without being asked, but instead, he decided to try the nimbu-paani thing anyway. When it came to Khushi's well-being, he would take any precaution, listen to any advice to keep her safe and healthy. And this bas***d Kunal Roy had sisters and a mother too, so he couldn't be completely evil and spawned from the Devil himself.
Arnav accepted the coffee, as Kunal Roy sat across from them at the table, opening his lunch box and looking away from Arnav's smirking face.
Pleased with the fact her two men were not trying to kill each other for once, Anjali called Khushi, checked in on her, and then turned to her own lunch. As Anjali smiled happily and opened her lunch box, offering her Chote a bite to eat as well, Arnav Singh Raizada realized something shocking.
He realized, suddenly, that his sister, the frail, the soft and doting Di of the prayers and the pujas was---a formidable woman. A woman of intelligence, of strength, and, character. And, judging from the way that bas***d Kunal Roy was now staring at her as if she was something edible, Arnav Singh Raizada also realized, to his shock, that Anjali Raizada was also ( Bas***d! Look away!) a desirable woman, with( Oh GOD!), needs--needs that that bas***d Kunal Roy looked like he wanted to meet.
Arnav glared at Kunal, who stared at Anjali, who looked at her lunch.
Oh, this was bad. BAD. So bad.
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Edited by napstermonster - 12 years ago
Mannat Har Khushi Paane Ki
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