Temptation Read online

  He continues like I said nothing.

  “I rebelled in typical teenage fashion. Well, maybe worse. I was drinking and partying and smoking or snorting every substance known to man. I got in with the wrong crowd … the really wrong crowd. My dad reported me to the authorities and I spent some time in jail. It was probably the best thing my father ever did for me. When I came out of jail I tried to turn my life around. And then Saia was raped. She changed a lot after it happened. She went from being this carefree spirit to this … dark hole of nothing. She finally confessed to me what had happened. I hate to say I wanted to go back to my old ways, nearly did. But Saia talked me out of it. She didn’t want me to ruin my life for her. You see, I wanted to track down the son of a bitch and put a bullet through his head. He deserved it.” He turns to face me and I listen intently. “It was my father’s business associate who did it. It wasn’t some random street thug. It was someone we knew, someone we trusted. I think he raped her again; she had been getting better and the next thing I knew she was dead. I never told my father who did it. I figured he wouldn’t believe me. He still thought I was a lying thug. At least he had Devak. Golden boy Devak who could do no wrong. He was a kiss ass that’s what he was. He couldn’t see our father for what he truly was. Did you love him?” he asks suddenly, stopping his tirade.

  “Who?” I ask entranced by his story.

  “Devak. Did you love Devak?” he growls at me.

  “Yeah … yeah I did. We were always happy.”

  He glares at me. “Then it wasn’t love, Sloane. Not really. You may have loved him but you weren’t in love. When you fall in love with somebody you fall hard and you can’t get back up. You feel sick and breathless. You’re the farthest thing from happy.”

  My heart stutters in my chest because if what he’s describing is right then I’m hopelessly in love with him. Can he possibly feel the same way? I want to ask him but then he starts talking again.

  “I got into it pretty bad with my dad one night after Saia died. My mom … He had to put her in a home after Saia killed herself. My mom couldn’t handle it. He got even meaner and one day he went over the edge and shoved me too hard and I went through a window. No one else was home. God, there was blood everywhere and I hurt so bad. At least he didn’t push me through a second-story window. He looked at me and … he did nothing. He left me there to die. I probably would have. He left and I made it to the kitchen and called an ambulance. Then I passed out. I woke up strapped to the bed three days later. My dad said it was self-defense on his part. That I went off on him. He was rich and everybody believed him. He got away with nearly killing his son. When I got out of the hospital I moved in with friends, went to college, and built my business from the ground up.”

  “Did …” I pause and wet my lips. “Did Dev know what really happened?” If he did and he still chose his father then I didn’t really know Dev. Not at all.

  “Devak didn’t know.” He rests his arm on his knee. “My dad paid me off so I wouldn’t tell Devak. I took it. I needed the money for university. But once my business took off I paid him back and then some and tried to contact my brother but he would have nothing to do with me. Father’s sticky tendrils were in too deep.” He lies down on the towel and puts his hands behind his head. The movement does amazing things for his chest muscles. “What about you, Sloane? Tell me about your life.”

  Siva asking about my past? Are we going to sing campfire songs and hold hands now?

  Sloane, he did shove you into a wall and smother you with his lips.

  “You really want to know?” I ask, playing with the sand again. A light breeze lifts my blonde hair around my shoulders.

  “I want to know everything about you,” he admits softly, almost painfully.

  “Well,” I begin, gathering my thoughts, “there’s not much to tell. My mom and dad met while they were in high school. My dad joined the military and they got married. I came nine months later.” I smile fondly. “They never had any more kids even though I begged for a sibling. My dad spoiled me but not in the way you’d think. He taught me how to fight off an attacker. Fat lot of good it did me,” I laugh. “My mom’s kind of an airhead. I worry about her. But … my life wasn’t there. I had to leave. So, I did. She never understood my need to be a journalist or my desire to come to London. My mom wanted me to be like her. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing because it’s not. But she wanted me to graduate high school, get married, and pop out kids. That’s not for me.”

  “You don’t want kids,” he says and he looks almost sad. That surprises me.

  “I do want kids. But I wanted a career first.”

  “Ah,” he hums reflectively.

  “I need to go see her. It’s been … too long. Far too long,” I whisper softly. “Siva, can I ask you a question?”

  His muscles tighten and his jaw tenses, but after a moment he relaxes.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you … Do you feel sick and breathless and the farthest thing from happy?” I let the sand fall through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass.

  He gasps. His lips part and his white teeth shine in the sun.

  Time passes and silence stretches on.

  I think he isn’t going to answer, but then …

  “Yes.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked to say the least. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts, and even then I don’t think I have them in order.

  “Do you …” I choke on my words. “Do you feel that way about me?” I squeak. I hate how high my voice goes. It shows how afraid I am to hear his answer, and what sucks is I don’t know if I want him to say yes or no.

  Who am I kidding, I want him to say it’s about me.

  He glares at me like the idiot I am. “What do you think?”

  I gulp.

  “Have you ever felt this way before?” I ask. My nerves make my voice quake. I hate even more his answer even matters.

  “Thank the Lord I haven’t. It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling.” He sighs.

  Why do I feel so relieved he hasn’t loved anyone before?

  I’m surprised when Siva’s fingers twine with mine. I stare at our joined hands, a jolt going through my body; I never want him to let me go.

  He’s stretched out on his side and I’m sitting with my legs tucked under me.

  “Sloane,” he says, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear with his other hand. “You make me want to be a better man. You made me quit smoking—“

  I give him a look.

  “Well, mostly.” He shrugs his shoulders and a smile almost lifts his lips. “I want to take care of you, Sloane. I’ve never felt like that before. Ever. It’s a strange feeling but … I don’t want it to go away either. When I saw …” His jaw clenches. “When that son of a bitch put his hands on you, I’ve never felt protective before. At least not since Saia killed herself. Saia’s death hardened me. I stopped feeling. It was easier that way. But you? You make me feel again.”

  He presses his lips to mine and pushes me down on the towel. His body hovers over mine. I feel sheltered, protected. My lips match every movement of his. I think my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. Despite the space between our bodies I know he has to feel the wild drum beat.

  “You. Drive. Me. Crazy,” he murmurs in between breaths.

  I want to say, “Back at you, bud,” but my brain is too fuzzy to formulate words.

  I hear someone on the beach whistle at us and I blush but Siva doesn’t stop. I’m secretly glad.

  “Completely. Crazy.”

  My fingers tangle in his soft black hair. It’s softer than I imagined.

  “Siva,” I breathe and I can feel his smile against my lips.

  After another moment he finally releases my lips but keeps his hold on me.

  “This is … new for me,” he confesses. I’m trying not to drown in his violet eyes. They’re so purple. I’ve never seen eyes like his. So unique, like everything about him. “I’m sort
of a.…” He looks at me, ashamed. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em type. It’s easier not to get attached. Then I can’t get hurt.”

  I look down at our hands and bite my lip. My hair blows in the ocean breeze. “Are …” I find my voice after a time. He waits patiently which is new from him and I wonder where this newfound patience comes from. “Are you going to do that to me?” I ask looking back up into his swirling eyes. “I’d rather know upfront.”

  He seems startled by the question. “No,” he replies firmly. “Don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you? You’re different. Different from all the other girls. Better.” He sits up straight but doesn’t let go of my hand. His hand is warm and solid in my grasp and it sends little zings all through my body. “It figures the one girl who makes me feel this way would have loved my brother.” He laughs sardonically to himself.

  “I did love Dev,” I say and swallow past the lump in my throat. “But … Now I think I didn’t love him the right way. He was more like my best friend not my … Well, you get the idea,” I trail off.

  Looking back now, I see how Dev and I weren’t connected like we should’ve been. I loved him and he loved me, but I don’t think we were ever really in love. And if I’ve learned anything over the past few months it’s we didn’t really know each other all that well—the nitty-gritty.

  “Is what I feel … wrong?” he asks after a time. His eyes bore into mine. I’m falling, drowning, and I can’t get up, I can’t even breathe.

  “If what you feel is wrong then what I feel for you is doubly wrong.”

  “Do two wrongs make a right?” he jokes.

  “No, not usually.”

  “Not usually,” he repeats. “Does that mean you’re willing to try?”

  I look out at the vast ocean trying to calm my racing heart. “I think it does,” I breathe.

  “Good,” he blurts. “Good,” he repeats in a softer tone, his lips curling into a smile.

  I deserve to be happy, and so does he, our pasts be damned, but it’s still hard not to feel like it’s wrong. But love should never be wrong … right?

  ***

  “Let’s go out for dinner,” he says suddenly. We’ve come back into the house, showered the sand off of our bodies, and are now reclining peacefully in the sunny yellow family room. Siva sits on the couch and I lie with my head in his lap. Every little bit his fingers gently massage my scalp. I soon find my lids growing heavy but his words rouse me to wakefulness.

  “Where?” I ask with a yawn.

  He thinks for a moment. “There’s a really nice seafood restaurant near here. Right on the water.”

  “Sure,” I agree. “That sounds great.” I pause. “Is this like … a date?” I can’t help but ask and brace myself for his answer in case it isn’t the one I want to hear. I even squish my eyes shut and hold my breath while I wait.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess so. I’ve never actually gone a date before,” he says and the air gushed out of my lungs in a whoosh.

  “Right” I chuckle. “Love em’ and leave em’.”

  Siva flinches. “I can change. For you, I will.”

  I hope he can. I really do. Not for me, but for him. I don’t want to lose Siva. He’s become my friend. My moody, arrogant, annoying friend but a friend nonetheless. I feel like I need him in my life. Like I’m incomplete without him.

  “When do you want to go eat?” I ask, grasping for a much needed change of subject.

  “Now, I guess. I’m hungry.”

  “Sounds good.” I sit up and stretch my stiff limbs. My joints creak and pop like an old woman’s. So lovely.

  I have on a pair of fitted jeans and an ivory, Greek style shirt with intricate beadwork along the top. Siva also wears pair of jeans and a fitted lightweight lavender sweater, much like the green one he’d worn earlier and his feet are bare. Siva stands and slips his black flip-flops on. I grab a lightweight jacket I brought and tug it on. The evening air has grown cool and I don’t want to get too chilly. I slip a pair of flats on my feet and join Siva at the door. He grabs his car keys and we leave for the restaurant. I didn’t think I was hungry, but now I’m suddenly starving. At least it looks like my appetite might be returning.

  ***

  “You know, when you said right on the water I didn’t know you meant literally right on the water,” I comment as we trek across the dock to the restaurant hanging over the ocean on a dock.

  Siva’s deep laugh fills the evening air. “I didn’t know it needed clarification.”

  I smile at him. He looks handsome tonight; I mean he’s always good-looking but tonight he’s relaxed and it makes his features even more beautiful.

  He opens the door for me, his hand on the small of my back as he guides me inside.

  The hostess smiles kindly at us. “Two?”

  “Yes,” Siva answers and he fidgets nervously. It’s actually kind of cute.

  “Now’s the time to run,” I say under my breath, half joking, half afraid he’ll listen.

  “I’m not going to run,” he declares, his lips lifting slightly, making the scar stand out. But his eyes still shift around uneasily like he’s searching for an exit.

  The hostess places the menus down on a table and I sit. Siva clears his throat and glares at the hostess. She shrinks under his gaze. I don’t blame her. That gaze is intense when it’s aimed at you.

  “I’d prefer something more private. Maybe the rooftop deck?” he suggests but his tone brooks no argument.

  Her eyes shift to the floor and a red flush covers her skin in splotches. The poor girl looks ready to break out in hives.

  “Uh … it isn’t open at this time,” she mumbles, sounding truly regretful she’s the one who has to tell him this.

  “I see,” he says and she flinches at his icy tone. “Will this make a difference?” he asks as he slides some cash into her hand.

  “Uh … uh … certainly. Right this way, sir.” She grabs up our menus. I stand and begin to follow her.

  She leads us up a carpeted staircase. Everything in the restaurant is done in red and navy. Very nautical.

  It’s cold and slightly windy when we reach the rooftop deck and I immediately understand why it wasn’t open. She motions for Siva to pick a table. No doubt she’s afraid he’ll bite her head off if she picks the wrong one. He chooses a table for two against the deck looking straight down at the ocean with an unbelievable view of the sunset. I gasp at the beauty of it. Siva pulls out the chair for me, clears his throat nervously as I sit down, and I swear I see a blush beginning to creep up his caramel colored neck.

  He pushes my seat in and then sits down across from me tugging on his sweater. The hostess places our menus, goes over the evening specials, and then turns on an outdoor heater. Bless her. I mouth, “sorry”, at her as she leaves but she didn’t see. Siva does though.

  Oh no.

  “Sorry. For. What?”

  Oh no, no, no, no, no. He’s not about to go all moody, arrogant, jerk on me, was he?

  I bite my lip and pick at my fingers. I wish desperately I had some food, or even a glass of water to distract me.

  “What are you sorry for, Sloane?” he asks again in that deadly icy voice.

  I straighten in my chair, bracing myself.

  “For your ridiculous behavior. The place she seated us was perfectly all right,” I say in defense.

  “It was too loud and far from private,” he counters.

  “You didn’t have to bite her head off,” I snap.

  “Are we arguing, Sloane?” His lips twitch with barely suppressed humor.

  “It’s what we do best.” I shrug my shoulders. My mouth has gone dry and I find myself wishing for water again. “Although it’s probably a bad sign. We should probably quit while we’re ahead,” I say and find my eyes moistened with tears.

  Don’t leak, don’t leak, don’t leak. I repeat in my head as if the words themselves can form a dam.

  “Arguing is a fact of life. Arguing shows passion. I think we’re both
very passionate people, Sloane. And by the way,” he says leaning across the table so he’s closer to me, he lowers his voice, “I’m not a quitter.” He sits back.

  I bite my lip and I’m still biting it nervously when the waiter shows up with two glasses of water. Siva orders some fancy wine I can’t even begin to pronounce, and I tell him to go ahead and order my meal.

  The waiter disappears down the steps. I take a sip of my lemon ice water. The this-is-awkward meter has reached its boiling point.

  “Sloane, come on,” says Siva, his British accent making me want to melt.

  Hold your ground, girl. You can do it.

  “Don’t be mad,” he pleads and his violet eyes get bigger. The waiter has lit a candle on the table and the reflection is doing wonderful things to his skin.

  Sloane, I silently scold myself.

  “Remember,” he begins slowly, “I’m new to this. Be patient with me. I-I’m trying Sloane, I really am. But you have to work with me. Please,” he begs. Hurt clouds his violet eyes.

  “Siva,” I begin and snap my jaw closed. “I … I’m sorry,” I finally utter.

  His face falls. “Why? Because you can’t do this?”

  “I’m not sure I can,” I say and those treacherous tears threaten to leak out. Instead, the tears flood my eyes until my vision blurs.

  “Please,” he says, and sounds lost. “Please try,” he pleads and his voice breaks.

  How quickly he’s gone from moody and arrogant to pleading and desperate. Everything is a roller coaster ride with Siva. A roller coaster I can’t seem to get off of.

  “But I am trying, Siva,” I say softly, my eyes taking in the pure white table cloth. The place screams money at me and I feel sorely out of place.

  He sits back in his seat. His hand rests on his knee, which bounces up and down in nervous anticipation. “Try harder,” he growls. The iciness returning and the little boy leaving. I wish the little boy would stay more often. I like him better than this … this … I don’t know what this is.