The Singles Table, page 6
As if sensing his presence, she looked up and caught his gaze just as the crowd parted. Her eyes moved slowly down his body, taking in his blue shirt, striped tie, and dark wool suit. It was just enough time for his brain to register her electric blue choli, cut to reveal her toned midriff and the gentle dip of her waist. Her matching skirt, embroidered with gold and pink designs, skimmed elegant shoes bright with gold sparkles, the same color as the glitter in her hair.
He didn’t know whether to smile or scowl. But before he could do either, she gave a disinterested shrug and turned away.
Jay gaped, shocked to the bone. He’d never been given the cold shoulder by a woman before. He was a good-looking man, charming when he put in the effort, fit, and successful. For a moment he wished he’d worn something bold enough to hold Zara’s attention—a patterned tie, a pinstriped shirt, maybe even a sweater vest. He had to give himself a mental kick when he realized he was still trying to find her in the crowd.
* * *
• • •
For the next half hour, Jay drank at the bar with Tarun’s groomsmen and counted down the minutes until the dancing started so he could quietly slip away. Despite his attempts to put Zara out of his mind, he was hyperaware of her buzzing happily around the bar everywhere except near him.
He was brooding over the insult when Tarun introduced him to Salena Patel, a distant relation who had arranged all the flowers for the sangeet.
Jay didn’t know anything about flowers. He and his mother had never had a garden. They’d lived in apartments in the most affordable areas of the city until he’d made enough money to buy her a house. His receptionist, Jessica, ordered flowers for his dates when special occasions arose, and his mother preferred practical gifts for special days.
“They’re lovely,” he offered.
“I did the flowers for Nasir and Priya, and I’m doing the flowers for the weddings of Layla and Sam and Daisy and Liam.”
Jay didn’t know any of the people she’d mentioned, although her expectant look suggested he should. Now that he’d exhausted his range of flower compliments, it was a struggle to know what to say. “Beautiful.”
“Do you know who is beautiful?” She moved in closer. “My niece. She’s a smart girl. Good salary. She has lots of energy. Not like those girls who just sit around all day staring at their phones. Very sociable. And a good heart.”
“I’m not looking to get married right now.” He shifted his weight, mentally calculating the distance from the bar to the door. If he had a clear path, he could get away in less than ten seconds.
Her forehead creased in a frown. “You have a girlfriend? Fiancée?”
“No.”
She adjusted her glasses and stared him up and down. “Are you sick? Injured? Are you not earning? Why don’t you want to get married?”
He searched for something to say. “It’s not the right time.”
“Always the young people say it’s not the right time.” With a sigh, she shook her head. “Always they think they need to have the perfect job and the perfect house and the perfect car. But no. These things are easier to achieve when you have someone by your side. Someone to support and help you.” She turned and searched through the crowd. “Beta.” She waved her hand. “Come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Jay cocked an eyebrow at Tarun in a silent plea for help, but his friend just laughed.
“I need to go and rehearse my dance for later tonight.” Tarun dropped his voice to a low murmur. “I’m sure you can hold your own against Salena Auntie. She’s half your size.”
“Get ready,” Salena said. “Here she comes.”
* * *
• • •
Oh God. Not Jay. Why wouldn’t the aunties leave her alone?
Zara forced a smile for the man she had been trying to ignore all evening—a virtual impossibility given that he dominated the bar with the force of his presence alone. Tall and brooding, with a strong, sexy jawline, and the barest hint of a five-o’clock shadow, he was too attractive, too confident, too intense, and from the smirk on his face, clearly too aware of his charms.
“This is my niece Zara.” Salena Auntie nudged her forward and launched into a quick summary of her attributes, which included being employed, helping the family, having good teeth, no mustache, and a very healthy appetite.
“This isn’t 4-H, Auntie-ji,” she murmured. “I’m not competing to win the blue ribbon for best in show.”
“And she’s funny, too,” Salena said with a light laugh. “Just now she made a joke that I’m talking about her like she’s a farm animal at the fair.”
“Very amusing.” Jay’s flat tone suggested it was anything but.
Zara closed her eyes and willed the ground to swallow her up. “Jay and I have met. He was at the bachelor-bachelorette party.”
“Even better.” Salena patted Zara’s hand. “Did you tell him your mother is a partner at a big-city law firm? And your dad . . .” She forced a wider smile. “Is an engineer.”
“Auntie-ji . . .” Zara shook her head in warning. Her aunties always left out the most important part—the part that scared potential suitors away. “He isn’t an engineer anymore. He’s an artist and a musician. He’ll be playing in the bhangra band tomorrow at the baraat.” The traditional Punjabi music was now a feature of many Indian weddings, particularly at the groom’s procession on the morning of the ceremony.
Salena clamped a hand around Jay’s wrist as if she were worried he’d run away now that Zara’s father’s shame had been made public. The arts were low down on the list of desirable desi professions. Her father’s career change was problematic for the aunties who were desperate to see her wed.
“Jay’s mother runs the daycare where Taara Auntie takes her boys,” Salena Auntie continued, seemingly unaware of the current of tension between them. “He was a captain in the air force, and now he is CEO of a security company. I didn’t have time to find out more about him, but I’m sure he can tell you anything you need to know.”
A wave of nausea crashed through Zara’s gut when she recalled their conversation in the bar. I’ll bet he’s one of those wannabe military types who spends his weekends playing paintball with his geek friends, pretending he’s the real deal. What had she been thinking? But that was the problem. She was always living in the moment, not thinking at all.
“Thank you for your service,” she mumbled, her cheeks burning. She could only hope he’d been as drunk as she’d been and didn’t remember the slight.
“Pleasure.” The deep rumble of his voice made her toes curl. “I’m the real deal after all.”
Oh God. She willed the floor to swallow her up. Where was a natural disaster when she needed one? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said at the bar. I didn’t know you were . . . you.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Salena Auntie clasped her hands together. “I have a good feeling about this. I think I’ll be adding another match to my summer scorecard. Mehar won’t know what hit her.”
An awkward silence followed. Desperate for a distraction, Zara stopped a passing waiter and took a glass of champagne from his tray.
“Drink?” She offered the glass to Jay.
He was enjoying her discomfort, she realized when he smirked. “I thought you preferred beer, or does it hamper your powers of observation?”
“Take the drink,” she snapped. “It might help.”
“With what, exactly?”
“With your tendency to grumpiness and reluctance to smile.” She knew she was being defensive but it was incredibly annoying to have her missteps called out, especially when being this close to him, breathing in his scent of pine and crisp ocean air, made her knees weak and her stomach twist in a knot.
“I smile,” he retorted, not smiling.
“At what? A pleasing financial statement? A perfectly polished belt buckle? An employee who shouts How high? when you tell them to jump? A paintball team that obeys your every command?”
Jay arched an eyebrow, a superior gleam in his eyes. “We would still have won the game if we’d followed my strategy.”
“You’re probably right,” she admitted with reluctance. “But would it have been fun? Why spend hours crawling through cold damp leaves covered with spiders when you can run through the forest dodging enemy bullets while your team cheers you on?”
He was silent for so long she wondered if she’d offended him. “We clearly have different ideas of what constitutes fun,” he said finally.
She tipped her head to the side, considering. “You’re still talking to me, so I don’t know that we do.” Most corporate types would have left by now. They didn’t usually like to be teased or challenged and she’d really pushed the limits with Jay. But she couldn’t help herself. There was something about him that made her want to take the risk, to dig deeper and see what lay beneath that stoic exterior. No matter the cost.
“When is the last time your heart pounded with excitement, Jay? When is the last time something took your breath away?”
She heard shouts and laughter behind her. Someone bumped into her from behind. She stumbled forward, hands flying up to brace against his chest. Too late she remembered the glass in her hand. And then she was enveloped in warmth.
* * *
• • •
When Jay had started his weekly visits to his mom’s daycare, he’d worn his suit. On the first Friday, one of the toddlers painted a happy face on his bespoke Italian wool jacket. The second week, a first grader cut off his tie. He sat on green paint on his third visit and was drawn into a water pistol fight—Adrian had started it—on his fourth. Given his experience with sartorial mishaps and the fact he always had a change of clothes in his car, a spilled glass of champagne was hardly a disaster.
At least not until his brain registered that Zara was in his arms.
“Watch where you’re going.” Jay scowled at the dude who had bumped into her, sending him scurrying back to his friends with a mumbled apology.
Willpower and an awkwardly placed champagne flute kept Jay from pulling her closer. She felt right in his arms, her soft curves fitting perfectly against his body. He drew in a breath and the scent of her perfume, sexy and bold, clouded his senses—as did the light brush of her hair against his cheek when she pulled away.
“I’m so sorry.” Her breath hitched, long lashes fluttering over soft cheeks. “Let me clean you off.” Before he could respond, she whipped off her dupatta and patted his chest.
Jay glanced up, wary of attracting attention. He went to great pains to avoid this type of humiliating situation. And yet he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think of anything but her gentle hands on his body.
“You don’t have to—” His words caught in his throat when her hands moved downward, a light pressure over the ridges of his abs and then across his belt. When the tail end of her long scarf brushed his fly, he silently cursed the salesman who had insisted that pleats were out and tight dress pants were in fashion.
“My dad has this same belt.” She polished the buckle and the situation down below became critical. Could he distract her with conversation?
“You mentioned he plays in a bhangra band.” His voice was so rough and hoarse he almost couldn’t believe it was coming from him.
“Yes.” She looked up, the scarf dangling from her fingers. “He almost lost his life in a car accident and had an epiphany. He gave up his career to pursue his passion for art and music.”
Passion. Bad word. His body tensed as his blood rushed through his ears like a freight train. He tried to draw deep calming breaths through clenched teeth and made a hissing sound instead.
“It destroyed my parents’ marriage.” She sighed, balling the scarf in her hand. “It was one of the reasons I didn’t pursue theater at college. That and the fact I would have been disowned. Now I have to get my fix by acting in community theater in my spare time and dancing and singing at weddings.” She glanced toward the door and the courtyard beyond, where the festivities would take place. “Are you dancing with the groom’s squad tonight?”
He steeled himself against regret. “I don’t dance.”
“Bad experience?” Her face creased with sympathy. “Did you try it one time? Mess up the steps? Were you stumbling around the stage not knowing what to do, and people were laughing, and you were utterly humiliated, so now you’re afraid to do it again?”
Jay frowned. “No. That’s not—”
“An old girlfriend, then?” She put a hand over her heart, and her dark eyes glistened. “Did you two dance beautifully together until she ran off with someone else and broke your heart? Did you vow you’d never dance again because every time you heard ‘The Humma Song’ you thought of her and it hurt too much?”
Jay’s mouth opened and closed again. He was a practical person who lacked even a shred of imagination. How did she come up with these ideas so fast? “Absolutely not.”
“So, you’re just insecure,” she said. “Otherwise, you’d be dancing tonight to support Tarun.”
Bristling, Jay gave an indignant huff. “I’m not insecure.”
“Well, then, let’s see what you’ve got.” She spun in a slow circle, humming a tune as she rocked her hips and undulated in front of him.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had to take his eyes off her. Had to do something because there wasn’t enough slack in his pants to accommodate his rising desire.
“Have a little fun with it, Jay. How about some jazz hands?” She waved her hands in front of him.
“I’m not interested in public displays of any kind.” He instantly regretted his abrupt tone when her smile faded.
“Of course not.” Her voice sharpened. “What was I thinking? You must be desperate to get away.” Without warning, she dropped to a crouch in front of him and dabbed her scarf against his thigh.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
His mouth went dry. “What are you—?”
“Just getting those last few drops. It spilled all the way to your knee.”
Brain freeze. He couldn’t keep up on the crazy road trip from insult to admonishment to sexy-woman-dancing to jazz hands to woman-on-her-knees-with-her-hands-on-his-thigh. Was she trying to seduce him? Confuse him? Tease him? Torture him? Or did she really not understand the effect her position might have on a man?
“Stop.” He caught her slim wrist, drawing her up from the ground. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
“Are you sure? I’d hate to think of you walking around all evening in wet pants. I dated a male model a few years ago and every time I looked at him . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “Let’s just say I know from experience how uncomfortable wet pants can be. Sometimes it’s just better to go without.”
Jay tried to push that mental image out of his head. Failed. The need to flee the scene became a pressing concern. If he’d thought the situation was bad when she was patting him down, it was nothing compared to the thought of all those sexy curves bare under her skirt.
“I don’t need your help.” He backed away when she lifted the scarf again. “You’ve done enough.”
Zara’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time.”
He instantly regretted both his words and his sharp tone. But before he could apologize, she turned and strode away.
Buttoning his suit jacket to hide the stain, he watched her work her way through the crowd. If he hadn’t been so unsettled by her attempts to clean him up, he would have handled the situation better, he told himself. He had simply overreacted because of the public display.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was the most captivating woman he’d ever met or that she made him feel things he shouldn’t feel, want things he shouldn’t want.
Nothing.
• 7 •
By the time she arrived at Tarun and Maria’s wedding reception on Saturday night, Zara wished she’d made different clothing choices for the wedding events. She hadn’t been able to move more than a few steps all day without being accosted by yet another auntie looking to make a match. The fun, flirty outfits she’d worn for the morning baraat and the afternoon ceremony had caused enough problems, but tonight her bright teal lehenga choli, heavily embroidered with gold thread, was attracting aunties like shoppers to a Black Friday sale.
“My nephew Akash is visiting from India. Big, strong boy and only one foot shorter than you.”
“My cousin’s sister’s son just graduated with his Ph.D. in statistics. He reads dictionaries in his spare time. He eats only raw. Very healthy.”
“My neighbor’s boy is single and is looking for a nice girl to cook, clean, and bear his children.”
Dodging and weaving through the crowd in the receiving area, she stopped to chat with uncles, cousins, and friends that she hadn’t seen since the last wedding season. With upbeat bhangra music in the background and everyone dressed in their wedding best, it was impossible not to feel happy despite the constant harassment. Weddings were magic and the noisier, the better.
“Here she is. Here she is.” Taara Auntie grabbed her cheeks and gave them a squeeze. “We hardly ever see you, beta. Layla and Daisy are around all the time. The boys miss seeing their cousin.”
Zara suspected her aunt’s school-age boys didn’t give a damn about their grown-up cousin unless she was bringing them treats. Her aunt was infamous for her bad cooking, often offering her Indian American fusion creations to unsuspecting newcomers. Her children had quickly learned to scavenge for food wherever they went.
