Temptation

  temp·ta·tion

  © Copyright 2012, © Copyright 2018 Micalea Smeltzer

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  temp·ta·tion

  a desire to do something, especially something wrong or unwise.

  After the death of my boyfriend, my whole world is tossed upside down. I lose not only him but my home and, suddenly, nothing is the same.

  Then I meet him.

  Siva.

  My savior.

  He’s dark and brooding, the complete opposite of everything I’ve ever known. Somehow, though, I’m able to see the light in him that no one else can. He tempts me ever closer, my heart reaching out to him, even while my mind shouts at me to stay away.

  That it’s too soon.

  That it’s wrong.

  But when temptation becomes too strong, who am I too resist?

  I always knew death would touch my life at some point.

  It’s inevitable, really.

  We all die after all.

  I guess I never expected it to be the man I loved—or if it was, I expected us to be old and gray in our beds.

  But life had other plans, and now Devak is gone, and I’m … I’m numb.

  I wiggle around on the hard pew, trying to get more comfortable. It doesn’t work.

  The man at the podium drones on and on.

  About nothing.

  About everything.

  About life.

  About death.

  Devak wouldn’t have liked this. He was a simple man. He wouldn’t appreciate so much fussing over him, and he definitely wouldn’t appreciate his step-mother blubbering her eyes out in the front pew.

  His father, Rajas, pats his wife’s back in comfort.

  It takes all my energy not to roll my eyes.

  Although, I guess I’m bitter since they stuck me in the back like I’m unimportant. Since Devak and I weren’t married, Rajas and his wife, Lila, consider me null and void now. They never liked me. They thought me to only be a thieving American, after his money and name. They couldn’t be more wrong. I truly love Devak. Loved. I loved him. Past tense. I nearly choked. It didn’t seem right to be thinking of him in the past tense.

  The man speaking finishes and everyone stands.

  Everyone except me, that is. My legs feel like they weigh five-hundred pounds.

  Probably five-hundred pounds of tears.

  I haven’t cried, not once, since I got the news Devak was killed in the car accident. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  I will the tears to come now, as Lila and Rajas take one last look at Devak, but nothing happens.

  All that exists is the numbness.

  Rajas looks sadly at his youngest and favorite son, gone from this world too soon. Dev has—had—an older brother, but I’ve never met him. I’ve never even seen a photo of him. He’s something of a pariah.

  Although, if Rajas were my father maybe I’d be the same way. The man takes the word overbearing to another level.

  Though, I never really understood why Dev didn’t talk about his brother.

  He didn’t talk about his mother much either except to say she left shortly after his brother stopped coming around.

  I look around the people still gathered in the church, and no one looks like they could be his mother or brother.

  They probably don’t even know Dev’s gone, and it makes me sad. They deserve to know, though I’m sure Rajas would disagree.

  Several people eye me, and I see Rajas say something to one of them. I’m sure it isn’t anything nice. If he’d ever actually bothered to get to know me he would’ve seen how much I loved his son.

  They could think what they wanted, though, since I knew my love for him was true.

  I wasn’t in the habit of caring what people thought of me. I learned a long time ago the opinion of others was useless.

  The church emptied, and I was left alone with a somber Rajas and Lila, both of them looking at me like I was a speck of dirt they wanted to wipe off their designer shoes.

  Rajas is tall and handsome like Devak. He’s full Indian with dark caramel skin and inky black hair. His eyes are as dark as his hair, and his mouth is almost always set in a frown. He has a regal air about him, like royalty, though he’s not.

  Lila has pale skin, light blond hair, and lifeless blue eyes. She’s the complete opposite of his first wife, Isla. I’d only ever seen a picture of the woman, but she was beautiful, with black hair, olive skin, and violet colored eyes.

  “Sloane,” Rajas says sternly.

  “Sir,” I address him. I’m not allowed to call him Rajas, or even Mr. Kapur.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes raking over me where I sit, picking apart my black dress and shoes I’m sure.

  “Sitting,” I say sarcastically, since it’s pretty obvious what I’m doing.

  I’m not normally so short with him, since I usually want to impress him, but with Devak gone I can’t bring myself to care. What’s the point anymore?

  He starts to smile but it quickly disappears when he catches himself. He clears his throat. “Aren’t you leaving?”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Not yet. I’m not ready to leave,” I answer honestly. I need another moment with Dev. This is my last chance with him.

  Lila stands slightly behind her husband, peering over his shoulder at me.

  Rajas clears his throat. “Don’t be too long.”

  I nod as he straightens his suit jacket.

  “I won’t be much longer.”

  Stiffly, he takes Lila’s hand and starts for the doors. I watch them leave. Rajas pauses at the door and looks back for one last look at his son. He looks heartbroken, and while he might be a raging asshole to me, I think he truly loved his son—well, at least the one.

  He shakes his head and places his hand on Lila’s waist, ushering her out the door.

  The heavy doors bang closed and I’m finally alone with Dev.

  I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.

  One tear.

  All I ask is for one tear.

  One tear for the man I love.

  I get nothing.

  “Oh, Dev,” I whisper into the empty church. “Why has this happened?”

  Of course no one answers.

  Time passes slowly as I sit, and still no tears come even as I beg—beg to feel something besides this emptiness now residing in my chest.

  The doors behind me open, and I jump to a standing position, thinking it’s Rajas come to tell me my time is up.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry,” I stammer, my head bowed as I grab my coat. “I was going.”

  “Oh?” responds a voice I don’t recognize but feels entirely familiar at the same time.

  “What the—?” My head shoots up and my eyes connect with violet ones. I nearly choke on my tongue because the guy is gorgeous.

  He narrows his eyes on me, his two dark brows drawing together. He’s handsome, it’s undeniable. His black hair is brushed away from his face and his skin is a beautiful honey color, and I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. His face is chiseled, with full lips, and a dimple in his chin. He’s tall, easily six-feet, but I’d say taller, and lean but still well built so it’s clear he works out. His dress shirt clings to his chest and his gray dress pants hang delectably on his hips.

  And I’m checking out a guy at my boyfriend’s funer
al. Just fucking great.

  The man stalks toward me slowly, his brows still drawn together, giving him an angry look. Each step is slow and deliberate like he’s stalking a frightened deer.

  I probably do look like a deer caught in headlights.

  “You are?” he asks in a British accent.

  My hands wring together. His intensity has me unnerved. “Sloane,” I reply.

  “Sloane,” he repeats, testing out my name on my tongue. He makes a face, and I’m not sure he likes the flavor. His unusual violet eyes narrow on me. “What are you doing here?”

  I swallow thickly. “I’m attending my boyfriend’s funeral.”

  He looks around at the empty room and then back at me, as if to make a point.

  I clear my throat. “Everyone … uh … left.”

  “But not you?” He stares at me like I’m some fascinating exotic bird he’s just discovered. I have news for him—I’m not interesting.

  I look to the floor, my shoes, anything but his inquisitive violet eyes that seem to see too much. “They don’t like me,” I finally respond. “I wanted a moment alone.”

  His laugh fills the air, and it surprises me. I get the impression this isn’t a man who laughs a lot. “We have that in common, Sloane.”

  “What?” I asked stupidly.

  “They don’t like me either,” he whispers conspiratorially, like he’s letting me in on some sort of secret.

  “Why?” I ask, my eyes roaming over him. He looks familiar, so much like Dev, but I know I’ve never met him before.

  He shrugs. “Because I dare to go against the grain. I find rules are meant for breaking.”

  “Who are you?” I finally ask, in awe of him.

  I feel like he’s put a spell on me or something.

  “Siva,” he answers.

  My eyes narrow in thought. I know his name—but how?

  My mouth pops open as clarity hits me.

  Oh.

  Siva … as in Siva Kapur.

  Dev’s brother is back.

  I curl into the window seat, drawing my legs up to my chest, watching the rain slick against the window.

  Even the weather is mocking me.

  It’s been six days since Dev’s funeral. It’s rained every day since, and still no tears from me.

  It’s like I’m broken or something.

  Or maybe you didn’t love him like you thought, my thoughts mock me.

  I refuse to believe that. I loved Devak. I know I did.

  I breathe onto the glass, fogging it over. I reach out, drawing a frowny face into the condensation.

  “Please,” I beg, “one tear, that’s all I ask.”

  It doesn’t seem like too much to ask for, but my words continue to fall on deaf ears.

  The coffee maker chimes, letting me know it’s ready, and I jump, startled by the sound.

  I hop up and scurry over to the counter.

  I grab my favorite chipped orange mug and pour some of the steaming liquid inside, then take a sip and hum. It’s perfect. I’ve been drinking coffee since I was twelve so I’ve long since perfected the art of making the perfect cup.

  I take a seat on the denim sectional with my cup of coffee and turn the TV on. I flip through the channels, but don’t find anything to hold my interest. I’m not a big TV watcher. I prefer books.

  I take another sip of coffee before sitting the cup on top of a magazine on the coffee table.

  I can hear Dev’s voice in my head saying, “Babe, please use a coaster or something. I don’t want you to ring the furniture.”

  I smile at the memory. God, I’d give anything to actually hear him again.

  To touch him.

  To see him.

  One minute he was here, and the next he was gone forever.

  I draw my legs up, picking at a loose thread on my sweatpants. It’s Saturday so I don’t have to go to work. Although, I would have appreciated the monotonous sound of the click clacking of fingers on keyboards. I work for a small local magazine. The money I make barely pays the bills but it’s a start I desperately need.

  Ever since I was a little girl I’ve wanted to be a journalist. Travel the world, meet new and interesting people, that sort of thing.

  I came to London once on a school trip and instantly fell in love with the city, so when it came time to go to apply to colleges I applied to one here on a long shot.

  By some miracle, I got in.

  I picked up my whole life and moved across the world to pursue my passions.

  Somewhere along the way, in the corner of the library, I met Dev.

  Returning to America never occurred to me after I met Dev. I was in love with him and the city, and this became my home.

  My mom has never understood, especially now that Dev is gone. She’s spent the last week trying to convince me to move back home, but this is my home now.

  I finish my coffee and wash the mug out. My cereal bowl is sitting in the sink from earlier, with a couple other dishes, so I wash those too. I dry my hands on the rag and forcefully shove my bangs away from my face. I hate them and can’t wait for them to grow out.

  A knock on the door startles me making me jump away from the sink.

  I peer around the flat, ashamed. It’s not really in any sort of shape for visitors. There’s trash on the coffee table, pillows and blankets piled up, and there’s a pile of laundry by the bedroom door.

  I head for the door, wondering who it could be.

  I don’t have any friends here. Only Dev, and he’s gone now.

  Even back in the States I’d never had many friends. I usually kept to myself.

  I step toward the door and peer through the peephole.

  Rajas.

  I sigh. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here, and yet I am.

  I open the door and realize too late I’m in a pair of dirty sweatpants and a tank top that’s practically see-through.

  “Sir?” I address him, trying to ignore the fact I’m dressed like I’m homeless and he looks like he’s stepped off the runway in a suit that costs more than I make in a year.

  “Sloane,” he greets, stepping right inside like he owns the place.

  Which he does.

  He bought this place because Dev and I wanted it. He didn’t approve, but because Dev wanted it he finally gave in. I didn’t exactly like living in a place my boyfriend’s dad bought, but I’d had little say in the matter. Rajas required me to pay rent every month—it wasn’t much, but I couldn’t help feeling like the guy wanted to make me suffer.

  I wonder if he’s here to collect rent, but I quickly realize I just paid him. It took me a minute to remember, since the last week hasn’t exactly been normal.

  So if he wasn’t here to collect rent, what was his purpose?

  “Would you like some coffee?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Or tea? I think there’s some orange juice left too.” I ramble, his intensity making me uncomfortable. He always manages to make me feel like a bug being inspected beneath a microscope.

  “Yes,” he replies stiffly, settling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Some tea would be nice.”

  I hasten to make his tea, silently cursing. If he’s sitting down and asking for tea, it means he’s going to be here a while, which can’t be a good thing for me.

  He looks around the flat with disapproval clear in his eyes while I heat some water.

  “I never understood why Devak liked this place.” He gives me a significant look and I know he’s really saying he doesn’t understand why Dev ever liked me.

  I pour the steaming liquid into a mug and add a tea bag, handing the mug to him before sitting across the table. I’m sure he’ll judge me for this too, since in his home he only uses loose tea leaves.

  The flat is in an old historic building off the beaten path but still close to the city. The floors are original hardwood covered in various stains, scratches, and dents. The walls are a warm beige color with white trim. The kitchen isn’t stainless steel and granite bu
t it is clean and cute. Unfortunately, there is no dishwasher. Dev and I liked the charm it holds, though. The crown molding, the window seat—it was lived in.

  It was our home.

  Well, my home, now.

  Rajas’ home was cold, modern, and clinical. Like a doctor’s office. Everything was white. Void of color. Void of life. So I knew why this place didn’t appeal to him.

  Why I didn’t appeal to him.

  I wasn’t cookie cutter.

  “It’s home,” I finally say in response to his comment.

  I slide the bowl with sugar cubes across to him and he drops his two customary cubes into the mug.

  I lace my fingers together and my golden colored eyes meet his lifeless black ones.

  “Sir, I know you’re here for a reason so get to it instead of wasting my time and yours,” I say, flourishing my hand.

  He smiles and it’s slick and slimy. He makes me feel dirty. He’s a cunning and crafty man. I’m sure it’s why he’s done so well in business. “You know me well. You’re a smart girl. You’ll go far.” He wags a finger at me, smiling like he’s given me the greatest compliment ever, but coming from him it sounds like some sort of death sentence. His black eyes shine like a panther. A slick, slimy, no-good panther. Dev may have worshipped the ground his father walked upon but I see through the man. I don’t trust him at all.

  “Sir?” I prompt, trying to get him back on track.

  He leans back in the chair, propping his ankle on his knee.

  “Since Dev is gone I have no reason to continue to keep this place,” he says spreading his arms wide. “It holds no value or want for me.”

  “I pay my rent,” I whisper, barely audible, having some idea of where he’s going with this.

  He smirks, clearly pleased to be in the power position here.

  “You do, but I should charge you three times more for a place of this size and location. But we both know you would be unable to afford it,” he says, knowing he’s right. I can’t afford it. I’m trapped. He’s backed me into a corner there’s no getting out of.

  He grows quiet, waiting for my reaction. I’m sure he’s hoping for lots of dramatics and screaming on my part so he can tell Lila how wild and unchained I am.

  I can hear him saying, “Americans are so uncouth,” in his stuffy nasally British accent. I always loved Dev’s British accent, but on Rajas it sounds wrong.