'The Accidental Wife' New thread link-151 - Page 44

14. EASIER SAID THAN DONE

"Sorry I'm late. Thought I'd left the clinic in good time but I forgot to account for the traffic," Maan blurted out in a rush when he came upon Geet sitting alone, looking exhausted and bleak in the near vacant arrivals lounge of La Guardia airport. "I hope you didn't think I had abandoned you."

He grinned when she didn't respond, but continued to stare blankly at him. He had forgotten how beautiful she was; more so now that she wasn't in her element. An aura of compelling vulnerability enveloped her.

She flushed. He'd read her mind. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"What? And let go of my ticket to freedom? Impossible!" he exclaimed, stooping down to gather her luggage. But when he looked up her lovely visage had turned pale. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that at all. I..."

Her cheeks creased into a wan smile. "It's alright. I guess that's one way to look at it."

But it didn't stop him from kicking himself. The thrill of seeing her on his home turf had his brain unhinged. He was never one for social niceties but this faux pas was unpardonable. He almost wished he'd included his mother in the welcome crew. No, that'd be beyond cruel!

He sneaked a glimpse at her. She was looking morose again. Damn!

"Aren't we leaving?" she asked as he pulled her into a bustling airport caf.

"Yes we are, but not before you get some java therapy," he said seating her at a table.

A few minutes later Maan found cause to alleviate some of his guilt.

"There! Just what I wanted to see." As if by magic, the tiredness had faded from her face after she took a couple of sips of the steaming brew. Giving himself a mental pat on the back, he squeezed in beside her onto the already cramped wall-to-wall settee. "I hope you had a decent journey."

***

"Yes, I practically slept through it," she said a little too quickly, squeezing her thighs together to avoid any kind of contact with him. The impact of his overwhelming charisma was disconcerting enough. Actually, she hadn't slept a wink. The entire fifteen some hours had been spent chastising herself. What had come over her to make such a rash decision? What whim had urged her to pack her bags, abandon her steady stable life and move to the United States? Did she feel obligated because she was wedded to him? No. In her book, he still belonged to Deepika.

Belonged to Deepika.' Geet's heart sank, but it was followed by immediate self-reproach. Unwittingly, she'd allowed herself to be drawn toward this attractive man who at this very moment was perusing her while wearing his disarmingly-lopsided smile. That wouldn't do. It certainly didn't belong in the book of Geet Rathod or for that matter Maan Singh Khurana.

"Let's go," she said jumping to her feet like a coiled spring.

***

"Don't you want to finish your coffee?" Maan asked surprised at this sudden display of energy.

"No, I've had enough. Thank you," she replied tersely, hurrying to the exit.

Maan capitulated reluctantly. He should have known; she was as volatile as quicksilver.

They walked out smack into a wall of dense arctic air. Maan flicked up his collar and watched with amusement as Geet stoically battled the subzero temperatures as they stood in line for the taxicab.

"Welcome to New York," he said offering his coat.

She refused it, instead wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged and stuck a forefinger in the air. "Feels like snow."

"How can you say that? Are you the...weatherman?" she scoffed in a halting stutter.

"No." He said before shoving her roughly into a car. Her chattering teeth had begun to sound like a concrete drill on meth.

As luck would have it, the cabbie turned out to be one of the ubiquitous South East Asians who owned the NYC cab service and who liked to keep his temperature up by carrying on a nonstop conversation, either with his cell phone or his passengers whether they liked it or not. And when he discovered it was Geet's first visit, he treated them to an impromptu joyride around town. She emboldened him by rolling down the window and sticking her face out to gawk wonderstruck at the skyscrapers.

"Do you want your head chopped off?" Maan barked, yanking her back inside while the Bangladeshi cabbie chattered up a storm, much to Maan's considerable annoyance. But he kept his cool for Geet's sake when he saw her visibly relax; perhaps finding for the first time someone she could relate to since her arrival.

She was smiling and almost back to her usual self when they finally disembarked outside his old brownstone. Maan nodded a greeting to the janitor, who informed him cheerfully that the elevator had broken down again.

"She's having one of her temper tantrums," the man called after them, poking his head over the balustrade as they trudged up the stairs; his rheumy eyes affixed on Geet.

But Maan carried on up the steps, not yet ready to put the lonely old soul's speculations to rest; he could do with some excitement.

Yet, when Maan turned to Geet to gauge her opinion, he found her engaged in curiosities of her own; having opened the door to his apartment she was rapt in the scrutiny of his living room. Seeing her this way, he took the opportunity to step back and appraise it himself. He concluded that it represented a perfectly respectable bachelor's pad though with nothing much to write home about. The furnishings were nominal but sturdy, and utilitarian, and the decor with its muted colors and heavy drapes bordered on the gloomy side. The only indulgence he'd allowed himself was a large, misshapen, overstuffed recliner that frequently served as his resting place and invariably gave his mother a headache"thus effectively banishing her from his lair but not his hair.

The person who was now going to accomplish that tough task was standing in the center of the room looking expectantly at him.

"You're wondering where everyone else is?" he said hitting the nail on the head.

"Yes."

"You'll see them tomorrow," he told her in his most reassuring tone. "They live in Queens, in an independent house, so my mom can grow her own vegetables. This place just happens to be my very own little one bedroom pad."

"I... I can't stay here," she said, quickly turning apprehensive. "A motel, perhaps?"

He grinned. "I anticipated you'd say that. Not to worry. You can take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"No, I'll sleep on the couch," she retorted, though doubt still lurked in her eyes.

"Nope. Not this time. You are my guest. Besides, I'm called in on emergencies. I wouldn't want to disturb you."

"But..."

He raised his hand. "I'll hear no more on the subject. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and you'll need all your strength. Why don't you take a nice warm shower while I put together something to eat?" He carried her brand new scuffed up suitcases into the bedroom, and then hurried out, leaving her alone.

After shoving the frozen paneer masala into the microwave and pouring out tomato bisque soup into two large bowls, Maan placed a skillet on the stove and turned the heat on low. He then ripped open a brand new pack of Mission tortillas and reached into the shelf to pull out a couple of dinner plates. Everything was store bought, nothing prepared from scratch. It was unfortunate, but that was the life he led. He had never felt the need nor the inclination to cook. Most of his meals were taken in the hospital cafeteria, except on some rare weekends that he spent at the Mehta villa. His diet and palate for the most part remained unchallenged.

Having set the table to his satisfaction, he looked up at the clock and decided that forty-five minutes was time enough for any girl to get ready for dinner. But when repeated raps on the bedroom door incurred no response, he tried the door. Finding it unlocked, he stepped inside.

The room was icy cold despite a healthy fire burning in the fireplace. Puzzled, his attention shifted to the sliding glass doors that led to the small balcony. Sure enough it was ajar.

Cursing under his breath, he rushed over to pull the doors closed when he was struck by a singular sight. His companion of a few hours was standing outside barefoot, clothed in a mere bath towel with her tongue stuck straight out, aiming to catch the first snow flurries of the season.

He didn't hesitate a fraction.

"Have you lost your freaking mind?" he thundered. Then forcibly picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her back inside like a sack of potatoes.

"You were right," she cried, unfazed and breathless as he unceremoniously deposited her on the floor near the fireplace. "It did snow and it tastes delicious."

"You are nothing but an imbecile! You'd have frozen to death!" he snapped with barely controlled fury. Then without warning, he jerked her towel off in one movement, paying no heed to her gasp of alarm. And while she scrambled helplessly for cover, he calmly yanked off the bedding and wound the sheets snugly around her, adding his own sturdy arms to the mix.

As he rubbed her back with rough, broad strokes, he felt her shivers gradually subside. But that didn't cause him to let go. He was invariably trapped.

Tugging at the wrap that covered her hair, he watched the damp ringlets tumble around her delicately-boned face that shimmered like gold satin. The large eyes that stared back at him no longer looked terrified. He found himself drawn irresistibly to her generous mouth, wanting to cocoon those ashen lips with his own, thereby restoring them to their natural luster.

Maan! A tiny voice cautioned. And it was enough. He thrust her away with a violence that surprised him.

"Get dressed and let's eat," he said, and walked away.

tbc