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“What were you about to say when you saw me?” he demanded, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush.
A slight dusting of pink claimed her cheeks and she turned away. “Nothing. My thoughts were somewhere else.” She threw a look at him over her shoulder. As if to confirm he was still there. “Daadiji left with Virat and your sister. Anya kept saying you wanted to see your grandmother, but he didn’t listen. They won’t be back tonight and Daadiji is leaving for London tomorrow.”
When he didn’t show any sign of leaving, she turned around again, folding her arms under her breasts. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Are you dismissing me from my own home, Ms. Menon?” he said, suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable. Riling her up, he was realizing, was making his own grumpy mood better.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“You’re upset. What’s happened?” he asked softly. Something was off about her reaction to him. About his reaction to her. About this whole thing.
“I’m not upset,” she denied, her voice full of a shakiness that belied her words. Her dark brown gaze met his briefly and again, he felt that jolt of electricity thrum through him. Another pair of beautiful eyes the exact same dark brown as hers had held his gaze boldly while he’d lost himself in her warmth.
He walked across the room, and leaned against the wall. He wanted to sit down but he saw the panic in her eyes, the tensing of her shoulders with every breath he took. She was nervous in his presence.
Because they had argued with each other last time he’d been here? Because she didn’t like him? Or for another, much more sensational reason?
She sighed. “I got some news today that upset me a little... On top of learning that Daadiji’s leaving for London tomorrow. It’s been a too much kind of day.”
He nodded absently.
She was the right height for Dream Girl, though that’s all he had in the physical arena to go by. There was no way he could have missed that mass of curly hair. But hair could be straightened and he knew first-hand the miracles makeup could achieve.
Not that this woman needed makeup to look stunning.
So if it was her, why all the secrecy? What did she hope to achieve by pretending as if they didn’t know each other in the most intimate way? Had it truly been a fantasy of a few hours? Damn the woman, why did she have to complicate this by not admitting it?
“I have her permission to stay here tonight. You can call Virat and confirm that if you would like.”
“You think I’m waiting to throw you out right now?”
She shrugged.
Vikram bit his lip and then went for it. “I apologize for speaking harshly to you the first time we met. And for assigning cheap, utterly unfair motives to your presence here. I have had enough calls from Daadi to understand that she really appreciated your company and assistance these past two months.”
“It was my pleasure,” she added, without really acknowledging his apology.
So, the woman held grudges, huh? “What were you doing for Virat before you came here to help Daadi?”
“Just some research for another one of his projects. I have a half-finished PhD in film history so I was qualified.”
He swallowed his frustration and nodded at the gramophone player.
“What was the song you were listening to?”
“Oh, it’s from the nineteen-fifties. I found the record while sorting out your grandfather’s old things.” For the flash of a second, excitement lit up her face. And he saw that same incandescent quality that had held him breathless in the dim light of the library. “Some of those records are priceless. Your grandmother said I could have this one. But if you want it—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about that old record. Stop casting me as some mustache-twirling villain.”
Her mouth twitched, but she still didn’t meet his gaze.
“Tell me what the song means,” he said, wanting to see that joy return to her eyes.
She frowned. “Why?”
“There’s no ulterior motive, Ms. Menon. I know most songs from that era but I’d never heard of that one.”
“It’s in Tamil,” she said.
