One Indian Summer

[Dark Saint Alaick]

With a faux huff, she folded her arms and pouted. “Fine. I love romances. There, happy?”

Wiggling his eyebrows until she laughed, he said, “I will be if you indulge me.”

“Are you ever serious?”

His laughter petered out, his smile fading to nothing and she clamped her lips shut, wishing she could take it back.

Silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable, and she cursed her inexperience, wishing she could break this deadlock and revert to the fun they’d been having before.

“I’ve had my fair share of serious. It’s overrated.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“And risk spoiling this beautiful day?”

[Dark Saint Alaick]

His arm swept wide, encompassing the vibrant Goan streets around them: the majestic Catholic churches left over from the Portuguese settlement days, the spice stalls filling the air with redolent aromas of cumin and coriander and garam masala, the incessant chatter of people—from vendors to children—touting, bargaining, squealing their delight at a new discovery.

She closed her eyes, opened them, seeing the cosmopolitan city through his eyes as if for the first time, guilt streaking through her that she took this for granted on a daily basis, craving an escape from the chaos.

“This place has a charm all of its own.”

“Like someone else I know,” she muttered, grateful when his somber expression evaporated, his resident mischievous twinkle back.

“Tell me about Goa. What’s it like living here?”

Boring. Humdrum. Monotonous.

But she couldn’t spoil this for him, well aware her circumstances tainted her view of this beautiful city.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

“We’re a tourist haven.”

“What else?”

“The beaches are lovely.”

She ventured a standard answer, ever aware of his astute gaze fixed on her, probing for answers she wasn’t willing to give.

“How long have you lived here?”

“My whole life.”

What she remembered of it. She could barely recall her parents, a shimmer of an image clawing at the edges of her memory, that of a petite woman in an emerald sari feeding her laddoos—sweet lentil balls—and a striking man who perched her atop his shoulders.

Then there was nothing, the treasured memory superseded by a young girl barely out of toddlerhood roaming the streets, being rescued by Leela, finally feeling safe after hours—days—of fear.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

“Tell me.”

He clasped her hand, pressed it to his lips, the simple action conveying his belief in her, his sincerity in wanting to know more, and before she could second-guess his motivation, she found the words bubbling up from deep within and spilling out like a geyser.

“My folks died in a cholera outbreak when I was three. Leela found me wandering not far from here. I don’t know how long I’d been out there—days and nights blend together when you’re a kid. She saved me. Searched for my parents, arranged their funerals, checked if I had any other relatives, then took me in, raised me.”

His low whistle hissed out through clenched teeth. “Wow, she sounds like some lady.”

No trite apology for her loss, her early years, and she liked that, liked how he didn’t dwell on a time she’d rather forget.

“Aunt Leela is one of a kind.”

And would have a hari-kari-sari fit if she discovered Khushi’s little secret. If she didn’t trust men, Leela didn’t acknowledge the species existed. While she may be over Byron now, she hadn’t seen her aunt show interest in a guy since, not even to ask how she’d enjoyed her infrequent dates.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

“I look forward to meeting her.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why?” He squeezed her hand, his exaggerated wink pacifying the sudden trepidation ripping through her at the thought of Harrison and Leela ever meeting. “Think my charm won’t work on her?”

“What makes you think it’s working on me?”

His laughter washed over her, warm and comforting, beckoning her to snuggle into him and keep him laughing all day. “You’re good for me.”

“Good for a laugh.”

“Good for this.”

He placed her hand against his heart, palm flattened against hard, muscular chest, the steady beat reassuring while her own jackhammered and bucked and created havoc.

[Dark Saint Alaick]

“Good for me.”

She caught the serious undercurrent in his tone, slowly raised her gaze to his, blown away by the intensity of emotion there. Heat. Raw need. Blended with a tenderness that made a mockery of her vow to never trust again.

Grateful the rickshaw had stopped, she glanced around. “You know about Baga beach?”

He nodded, sheepish that a ring-in who’d lobbed into town for a week had discovered one of Goa’s best-kept secrets.

“The owner of the hostel I’m staying at clued me in. Said this place was perfect for a date, much quieter than the other beaches.”

“So this is a date? And here I thought I was taking pity on a tourist and showing him around.”

Staring into her eyes, his intent clear, he caressed her cheek with the barest touch.

“We both know today is far more than that.”

“Oh? What is it exactly?”

He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before it lifted, slowly, maddeningly, his hungry expression leaving her in little doubt he’d resume a very close study of her lips again soon.

“It’s the start of the rest of our lives.”

[Dark Saint Alaick]

Chapter Four


Khushi’s eyes widened to the point he could see tiny caramel flecks in the tawny depths.

Damn, he’d said the wrong thing, blurted his innermost thoughts. Stupid, considering they’d grown closer on the ride over here. He’d seen her visibly thawing, relaxing, as she unobtrusively leaned toward him, her shoulders slack, her eyes rarely leaving his, focused on him, on every word.

Now he expected the shutters to come slamming down, blocking him out, but she surprised him again—the first time had been turning up at their rendezvous point half an hour ago—her mouth curving into a beguiling smile he never knew she possessed.

“You say the most outrageous things.”

Happy she hadn’t reverted to shy and withdrawn, he hopped down from the rickshaw, paid the driver and held out his hand to help her down.

“All true.”

[Dark Saint Alaick]

He only just caught her mumbled “bollocks,” the English curse sounding funny spilling from her Indian lips, before he remembered her addiction to movies.

Stepping down from the rickshaw like a queen from a diamond-encrusted carriage, she released his hand as soon as her feet touched ground.

“A bit difficult to start the rest of my life with someone I know nothing about.”

Slinging his backpack higher on his shoulder, he gestured to the shade of a nearby palm tree. “What do you want to know?”

Her soft touch on his arm shocked him more than the depth of feeling in her eyes.

“Everything.”

He mentally punched the air, ecstatic she’d finally acknowledged the connection between them, the underlying, undeniable conviction that whatever they’d started yesterday on Colva Beach had to be seen through to fruition.

“Everything, huh? Well, let’s settle in for the long haul.”

[Dark Saint Alaick]

Whipping a muslin sheet from his backpack, he settled it on the ground, unzipping the cooler bag as she sat, making quick work of the small picnic he’d brought.

“Wow, you fit all that in there?”

“Thought we might work up an appetite.”

She blushed, the faintest pink staining her olive cheeks as he wondered exactly how inexperienced with men she was. There was something about her, an untouched quality, and while she must’ve had other relationships, he mulled over how she managed to come out so unscathed.

“With all the talking while we get to know each other,” he clarified when his earlier declaration had reduced her to silence.

Taking a soda bottle he offered her, she raised it in his direction. “Start talking then.”

“Born and bred in Melbourne, Australia’s most beautiful city.”

“I thought that was Sydney?”

[Dark Saint Alaick]

She was teasing him, her melodious, singsong accent filled with amusement.

“And you would know because...?”

“Movies, of course.”

“Ah...and the big screen never lies.”

Laughing at his fake indignation, she sipped at her soda and waved him on.

“Continue.”

“I’m a doctor.”

Her lips parted in a surprised, tempting O.

“You thought I was a bum?”

He tugged at the ends of his too-long hair, ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. “Don’t let appearances fool you. I can be pretty respectable when I want to be.”