untouchable.” Of course he’d touched her hours ago. All over. Marking her skin with his teeth and the gentle scoring of his nails. He’d had her in ways that Harsh could only dream about…except even Harsh’s dreams were probably sanitized by a censor board. He was too good, too clean, to have a single filthy thought.
Hell, he was too well bred to even acknowledge Avi had just warned him off his wife, instead smiling and mouthing some platitude about how the only thing more effective than Trish’s beauty was her drive and determination. What bakwas , what total bullshit. If Trish’s drive had really been that powerful, she would’ve bedded this glorified department store mannequin years ago and gotten him out of her system. But even his wife’s considerable charms couldn’t penetrate a man made of stone. Avinash shook his head, disgusted, and wheeled back to Michael, who had watched their odd little exchange with interest. “I’m going to have a smoke. Join?” he offered, tapping his jacket pocket.
“Sure. Why not?” Michael shrugged, putting down his gin and tonic and following him out. The old haveli had a thousand corridors, nooks and crannies that were perfect for a film about divided loyalties and working against the British rule. It had energy and history…and a wealth of walls. They found one attached to a more secluded, private veranda, leaning against it as Avi went through the motions of tapping out two cigarettes and looking for his matches.
“So, there’s some history between Harsh and Trishna, yeah?” Michael observed.
“My father-in-law took Harsh under his guidance when he was on A Handful of Stars with her.” He shrugged, knowing that Michael didn’t need to hear all about Trish’s years and years of unrequited passion. “They were just kids, na ? He played her brother, Chaudhury- saab helped launch him, but they’re not friends. We don’t socialize.”
“Hmm.” Michael tucked his cigarette behind his ear instead of between his perfect lips. “He wants to fuck her.”
His fingers slipped, and he burned himself on a light. “What?”
“You don’t see it?” Michael’s brows drew together and he tilted his head, as if calling forth images of Harsh and Trishna for himself. “He tries so hard not to look at her, not to notice her. I was surprised he didn’t snap from the effort. When he said she looked great…it was so bloody obvious that he was forcing himself to be casual.”
“ Bahenchod! ” Avi swore, only realizing the irony of the insult when Michael laughed. Sisterfucker. Oh. Right . “I swear to God, if he lays a hand on her I’ll kill him. This is the last thing Trish needs, some asshole messing with her head.”
Laughter quickly faded into something more somber. “What are you doing out here with me, Avinash, if not playing games? I don’t want to be some pawn in the middle of your marriage. I don’t sneak around, I don’t do that bullshit.”
He gave up trying to light his smoke, stuffing it back into the pack. “You’re not in the middle of my marriage,” he assured, meeting Michael’s coolly speculative gaze. “We’re…polyamorous.”
He made a face as he enunciated the word. It sounded ridiculous in his half-American/half-Hindustani accent and felt even more ridiculous as a label. In the six years they’d been married and the seven they’d been together, he could count on one hand the number of other people Trish had actually slept with. He was the one who had a parade in and out of their bedroom. Sometimes she would join in, but mostly she was content to watch. “I like to direct, big shot,” she often chuckled. “Maybe someday I will become a producer of blue films.” His in-laws would be so thrilled by her career aspirations, na ?
Michael studied him for what felt like the longest minute in the world. “I don’t like to share,” he said finally, turning to face him so only one shoulder touched the wall. “Especially not with
Charles G. McGraw, Mark Garland