Hey all, back with my new update. Thanks to all who read and commented on the last part. I feel like words alone are not enough in conveying how much your feedback means to me. You all have encouraged me so much and it's just amazing to know you're enjoying my little ff. Hope this part will continue the trend! 😳😆 Please ignore any errors or mistakes and please do like/comment/criticise.
Chapter 9
Armaan's
head jerked up, his heart stopping, as he realised that the screams were coming
from Shilpa's room. Without wasting another second, he jumped to his feet and
rushed across the apartment, throwing open the door to her room.
She was lying on the bed, but she
was writhing around in obvious distress. Her legs were kicking out at some
invisible force while her hands clawed at her pillows. Armaan had never seen
anything like it and for a moment he just stood there, too shocked to know what
to do or to remember how to move. But then she let out a chilling cry and her
body convulsed violently. It acted like a switch, making Armaan's reflexes kick
in, and he darted across to the bed.
"Shilpa? Shilpa!" He called her name
as he reached for her arms. She was still flailing about, caught in some
half-waking, half-dreaming state, but he managed to get a hold of her wrists.
Using all his strength he pulled her upright as he sat on the bed.
"No!" she screamed, fighting against
him. "No!"
It was only one word but it held so
much terror that it turned Armaan's blood to ice. He tightened his grip on her
wrists, kneeling down so he could see her face, so he could try and make her
look at him. Her eyes were scrunched tightly shut, her skin was deathly pale,
but beaded with perspiration. She was shaking, badly, and her breathing was
rapid and shallow; frightened.
"Shilpa, Shilpa, open your eyes,"
Armaan said in his most commanding but reassuring tone. "Look at me, Shilpa."
"No!" she screamed again, thrashing
about like an animal caught in a snare. "Mama! Papa! No!"
His heart jolted as he realised she
must be having a nightmare about her parents. Dropping her wrists, he reached
out and caught her face instead, pressing his hands firmly against her cheeks,
holding her as still as he could.
"Shilpa, you have to wake up. Can
you hear me?" Her eyes fluttered and he gave her a small shake, careful not to
put too much force in case he hurt her. "Shilpa, it's me, Armaan. Open your
eyes."
For one horrible moment he didn't
think he'd managed to get through to her and panic started to well in his
chest, cold and suffocating. But then her body jerked and with a gasp her eyes
flew open. Her pupils were so dilated her eyes were nearly all black. She
stared at him wildly, breathing heavily, shaking even more violently than
before.
He leaned closer to her, brushing
his fingers soothingly through her hair. "You're okay now," he told her softly.
Shilpa's mind was still caught up in
her nightmare, images from it floating about the edges of her vision so that
Armaan's concerned face bisected the sight of her parents' broken bodies. His
brilliant blue eyes stared into hers, so deep and dark and filled with worry
and reassurance. In her confusion it felt like a memory, as if he'd really been
there, pulling her out the wreckage, into his arms, pressing her face into his
warm chest, his fingers stroking softly through the tangled strands of her
hair.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I've got
you."
His scent wafted over her, that
wonderful mixture of spice and cologne. It filled her up, making her feel safe,
calming the frantic pounding of her heart. The images started to fade from her
mind and she became aware of how solid his chest felt below her cheek, how firm
the arms around her were. Real, not some figment of her imagination.
"Armaan?" she whispered, scared that
if she spoke any louder he would disappear and she'd be all alone again.
"Yes," he answered in the same
hushed tones. "It's me."
His arms slid further round her,
wrapping her in the safety of his embrace. Her heart gave a stuttering jump and
with a small sob she wound her arms about him, clinging to him. The tears that
she had refused to shed in her nightmare spilled over and she buried her face
in his sweater, letting all the fear and horror pour out of her.
"Ssh," Armaan soothed her, his heart
clenching as the wetness of her tears seeped through his sweater. "You're all
right. It was just a dream."
"I saw...their faces," she sobbed,
lifting her head from his chest to speak. She glanced up at him, her eyes large
and so haunted it hurt him just to look at them. His fingers tightened at the
back of her head, mimicking the twist of his gut. "It was...exactly...exactly
like...that day."
"Shilpa, listen to me." He moved his
hands to either side of her face again and stared firmly into her eyes. "It was
a dream. Nothing more. It's over now."
She tried to shake her head. "Their
faces..." Her eyes shifted from his, staring over his shoulder, looking far
into the distance. He didn't know what she was seeing but the depth of despair
in them was enough to make a chill run down his spine. "Blood...everywhere."
"Shilpa!" He shook her, harder this
time. He didn't mean to, but that look on her face was scaring him. Her eyes
snapped back to his, searching his face as if she didn't really recognise him.
"You're awake now. Nothing can harm you. I promise you, I won't let anything
happen to you."
"It was all my fault," she said
softly. It broke Armaan in two.
Pulling her into his arms, he
crushed her to his chest again, his hands burying in her hair. "Nothing is your
fault," he told her, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you hear me? Nothing."
His lips hovered just above her
hair, so that when he spoke his breath whispered over the top of her head, as
calming as a spring breeze. A part of her wanted to argue, to tell him how
wrong he was, to share the deepest secret of her heart. But locked in his arms
she felt something she never had before: cocooned. His embrace was warm and
comforting and right. He made her feel as if she belonged there in his arms. It
was a new, wonderful experience, one she didn't want to lose. And she knew that
if she told him everything he would pull away, would reject her like everyone
else in her life. Even though she knew it was selfish of her, she wasn't
prepared to risk that.
"I'm sorry," she said against his
chest.
"What for?" he asked, frowning.
"For earlier. For...whatever I did
to upset you."
There was such genuine dismay in her
tone that it instantly sent a shaft of red-hot guilt through Armaan's heart. You
did this to her, a little voice inside his head whispered; you upset her and it
came out in her dreams. Self-loathing swept over him, leaving a bitter taste in
his mouth. He'd promised to look after her, to give her a welcoming place to
stay, but he'd hurt her, just the same as her aunt had.
You
destroy everything that's good in your life, Armaan. The voice sliced
through him and he squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers clenching in Shilpa's
hair. Pain welled up in his chest, pressing down on his lungs, his heart.
"You didn't upset me," he said
gruffly. "I was just being a dick. I'm good at doing that."
"No," she countered, voice quiet.
"You're good at this."
"At what?"
"Caring for people." She shifted her
head so her cheek rested on his chest. "I don't deserve your kindness."
"Shut up," he told her, digging his
fingers into her shoulder. "You have to stop putting yourself down. And you're
wrong, I'm too selfish to care about others."
"I don't believe that," she replied,
a yawn creeping into her voice.
Armaan started to stroke his fingers
through her hair, his heart burning at her belief in him. If only she knew how
destructive I am...
"Go back to sleep," he said softly.
She made a small noise of assent and
closed her eyes, snuggling into his side. The rational part of his mind
informed him that he should tuck her back up under the covers and get the hell
out of there, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Somehow, sitting there,
watching her chest rise and fall as her breaths evened out into those of a deep
sleep, felt more natural than it should have. He continued to thread his
fingers through her hair, long after she'd fallen asleep. He loved the silky
texture of them and the faint floral scent they carried. It made him think of
hazy summer days and as his eyes began to grow heavy his mind was filled with
images of tall, wafting grasses, cast in the sun's golden glow. He saw Shilpa rushing
through them, trailing her hand over them, the sun shining in her hair, teasing
out the coppery strands. She turned to him, her laughter ringing out
infectiously, her green eyes alive with delight as she beckoned to him to
follow her.
It was the last thing he remembered
before sleep washed over him.
Shilpa
couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed. Sighing happily, she
rolled over, marvelling at how soft and comfortable her bed was. The mattress
had always been kind of hard and there had been that one spring that kept
jabbing her in the back, but it had miraculously gone. Maybe Massi had finally
had an attack of conscience and bought her a new one while she was in hospital.
She snuggled into the nice warm
column lying next to her. God, this was nice. She was snug and toasty and the
sound of the heart beating under her ear was so soothing.
Heart?
Her eyes flew open, her own heart
beating hard against her rib cage as she realised that there was someone else
in the bed with her. With a gasp she jerked upright, shock coursing through her
body like an atomic blast. Her sudden movement jolted Armaan awake and she
found herself staring into wide, slightly startled blue eyes.
His hair was all rumpled from sleep,
giving him a sweet little-boy look that melted her insides. He was lying on his
back, only half covered by the duvet. One arm was stretched up by his head, but
the other was still resting at her waist. She was already becoming conscious of
the warmth of it next to her bare skin.
Her
bare skin? With a thud of the heart she glanced down and noticed with
horror that the plain white T-shirt she'd worn to sleep in had ridden up,
exposing much of her midriff. Face flushing with embarrassment she started to
tug the top down. Armaan's eyes followed the movement unconsciously. His mind
was still groggy from sleep and reeling from the shock of waking up next to
Shilpa, so it didn't register with him at first what he was doing. He had a
tantalising glimpse of her smooth creamy skin and a little shiver of desire
went through him. It was that that jolted him back into awareness and his head
snapped up, eyes widening in horror.
Shilpa was staring at him, those
green irises dark and filled with a look that bordered on aghast. Shame washed
over him, heating his skin, making it prickle all over. He dropped his eyes
again, struggling to breathe as the all the air seemed to evaporate from the
room.
There was so little space between
their bodies and he was way too aware of that. All the heat seemed to pulse out
from her skin, seeping into his, doing things to him that heightened his
embarrassment. He knew he had to get out of her room now, before the urge to
take her in his arms got the better of him, but his limbs refused to obey his
brain's commands. He couldn't seem to move at all.
"I, er, must have fallen asleep," he
said, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"It's okay," she interrupted him.
She needed to get off the bed. Now. The
sensible part of her knew this, but there was a whole other part of her that
wanted to snuggle up close to him again, to feel the warmth of his body next to
hers, to have him stroke his fingers through her hair.
Sucking in a breath, she forced
herself to shift over to the edge of the bed. She was losing her mind; she had
to be. It wasn't normal to have thoughts like these. Armaan was just a friend.
She barely knew him still. And yet she was lusting after him like he was the
last man on earth. Maybe she'd hit her head harder than anyone realised when
she had her accident.
Getting off the bed was not so easy
with her ankle still in the cast, however. The moment she swung her legs over
the side of the bed and tried to stand she nearly toppled back down again. She
put her hands out to grip something, anything, to steady herself, and a pair of
strong hands caught her by the upper arms.
Her heart leapt to her throat and
she glanced sharply up, finding herself looking into Armaan's deep blue eyes.
They were darker than usual, almost sapphire, and the expression in them made
her nerve ends tingle. His grip tightened on her arms momentarily and she
thought he was going to pull her closer, but something flashed in his eyes and
the next second he stepped back, his hands falling away.
She gripped the bedpost and tried
not to feel crushed. What did you expect, a nasty voice in her head asked? As
if he would take an interest in someone like you!
"I, uh, I better let you get
dressed," he said, keeping his eyes cast down. He didn't trust himself to look
at her again. The expression in her eyes was too open and vulnerable. It made
him want to pull her to him and never let her go. "The bathroom's just down the
hall if you want a shower."
She nodded, but he didn't see. He'd
already turned away and strode to the door. He felt her eyes boring into his
back as he left the room, but he wouldn't let himself glance over his shoulder
at her. It was taking every single bit of willpower he had to leave as it was.
The minute he closed her room door
he bolted across the corridor and into his own room. He was careful not to slam
the door, but he shut it hurriedly, before falling back against it with a heavy
sigh.
For a long time he just stood there,
concentrating on breathing in and out, trying to block any other thoughts from
his mind. It didn't work so well. Shilpa's scent still clung to his skin and he
breathed it in each time he inhaled. It made him think about how soft she'd
felt curled up next to him, how her hair had felt as he brushed his fingers
through it. Need flashed through him, hot and unexpected and he groaned, his
hands balling into fists.
How the hell had he let himself fall
asleep beside her? Of all the dumb things he'd done in his life that had to
come tops. It was far too intimate, of course it was going to mess with his
mind. He needed a shower, he decided, stepping away from the door. Maybe once
he'd washed her scent off of him he'd be able to put her out his mind.
He stood in the spray for ages,
letting the cool water run over him, reviving him. By the time he finally
turned it off he felt calmer and his mind was clearer. Back in his room he took
his time getting dressed, standing in front of the mirror fussing with his hair
for a while. He hadn't bothered to put any product in it for months, but that
morning he took time to artfully style it into a mussed-up look.
When he was done he stepped back and
surveyed his handiwork, feeling rather proud of himself. The man that stared
back at him looked young, cool and carefree, like the old Armaan. Smiling to
himself he headed out his room, his stomach informing him that breakfast was
needed.
The rich, enticing smell of coffee
hit him before he'd even reached the end of the corridor. He followed it out
into the living room and stopped dead in the doorway at the sight that greeted
him.
Pale winter sunshine was filtering
through the window, bathing the living room and kitchenette in a soft golden
light. Everything seemed to be haloed, including the girl standing over the
cooker, brewing the coffee. Her creamy skin seemed to shimmer as she moved
about, as if she were coated in stardust. Her hair was still damp from her
shower, hanging loose about her shoulders in slight curls that made her look as
if she'd just stepped from the sea. Armaan had never seen anyone who looked
more ethereal.
Enchanted he watched her moving
about the kitchenette as she brewed the coffee. Despite her hurt ankle there
was still a grace and fluidity to her movements that reminded him of a dancer.
The radio was on low in the background, set to a Hindi station, and she was
humming along absently. Her voice was sweet and melodious, and Armaan drank it
in, loving the little shivers it sent down his spine.
Unconsciously a smile started to tug
at the corners of his mouth as he watched her. He'd been living on his own for
years now and he'd thought that he preferred it. Being on his own meant he
could come and go as he pleased, be in as bad a mood as he wanted, and never
have to worry about pissing anyone off but himself. Basically, he was free to
do whatever he liked.
After a childhood of curfews and
torturous hours spent at the dining table having to answer a million questions
on his behaviour, this freedom was intoxicating. People sometimes asked him if
he never felt lonely, but he always laughed and countered with the question,
why would he? Solitude was infinitely better than having to explain himself to
another person all the time.
But, standing there, watching Shilpa
making coffee in his kitchen, he was struck by how nice it was to have someone
there to prepare breakfast for him. The combination of the sunshine, the coffee
aroma and her soft singing made the apartment seem more homely than it ever had
since he moved in. He'd never imagined that homely would be something he'd
covet, but as he savoured that moment he found himself wishing that every day
from now on would start like this.
Armaan continued to gaze at her as
she turned to one of the higher cupboards and reached out for one of the jars
on the top shelf. It was too high, however, and though she did a little hop
with her good foot, she couldn't quite reach.
"Damn," she muttered under her
breath. She went up onto her tiptoes, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in her
injured ankle. You're not going to keep me back, she thought irritably,
stretching her arm to its full length, her fingers groping for the jar.
"Here."
She barely had time to register the
husky voice in her ear before an arm stretched up beside hers, the fingers
brushing against the back of her hand as they reached for the jar. A shock of
pure electricity went down her arm, causing her heart to thud against her rib
cage. As if she'd been burnt, she lowered her arm, conscious of the warm breath
fanning against the tip of her right ear.
Slowly, she turned, her pulse
fluttering madly. She tried to keep her expression neutral as she lifted her
eyes, but the ball of nervousness in her chest seemed to expand by the minute
and she had a terrible feeling it would be written all over her face. Her eyes
swept up, meeting Armaan's, and her breath stopped. They were luminous,
sparkling with humour and something she hesitated to call pleasure. They
travelled over her face as he lowered his arm and placed the jar on the counter
behind her, and her skin flushed just from the weight of his gaze.
He placed the jar down, but he
didn't draw his arm back. Instead he rested his hand on the counter too,
creating a sort of barrier on her left side. There was little space between
that arm and her waist and for reasons she didn't want to ponder that sent a
rush of excitement down her nerve ends.
Armaan's lips curved into a smile,
exposing the two dimples that had fascinated her that first night she met him.
Oh God, she groaned internally as her heart starting to race. What the hell was
going on with her? She'd thought she'd gotten a hold over her raging hormones
in the shower, but being this close to him again had all those crazy feelings
rushing back. It was ridiculous and embarrassing and she wished she knew how to
squash them. But right now, the only thing she could concentrate on was the
proximity between their bodies.
"Are you always this reckless?" he
asked, voice low and far too seductive for her confused brain to handle.
She swallowed and dug her nails into
the palm of her hand. "How was I being reckless?" she asked, aware that his
eyes had swept down to her lips.
"Reaching for that jar," he
answered. He lifted his eyes to hers once more. "You could have fallen and hurt
yourself."
She shrugged, aiming for
nonchalance, but knowing she hadn't quite pulled it off. "I needed to get the
jar."
"You could have asked for help," he
pointed out, his brows dipping into a slight frown.
He was so close that each time he
spoke his words touched her face like a warm caress. It was seriously messing
with her mind, sending repeated shock waves down her arms and spine and causing
her breathing to deepen. In an effort to try and distract herself from the
sensation, she shook back her hair from her shoulders. Armaan's eyes followed
the movement, spying the little drop of water that fell into the hollow of her
throat. It sat there, gleaming, reminding him of a tiny jewel. He had a sudden
urge to kiss it from her skin, but he forced his eyes back to hers.
"I'm just used to doing things for
myself," she said.
"You don't have to anymore," he told
her. Without thinking about what he was doing he moved his hand from the
counter, brushing back the loose strands of hair that she'd missed at her
temple. "I'm always here to help you. If you ever need me, all you have to do
is ask."
Her heart went from racing to
full-out galloping as he trailed his fingers through her damp tresses and then
down the back of her neck. Their touch was light, but the reaction inside of
her was intense. A spark of excitement rushed down her spine, breaking apart at
the base and shooting off into her bloodstream, till every nerve in her body
pulsed. Heat spread through her skin, following the glide of his fingers, and
her breath caught tightly in her throat. Suddenly the air felt heavy, almost
suffocating, but it didn't frighten her. It thrilled her.
He swept his fingers along her
collar bone, pausing when he reached the little drop of water at the hollow of
her throat. A small tremor ran through him as he stood with his forefinger
hovering over it. His heart began to speed up, a strange breathlessness coming
over him as he warred with the desire to kiss that droplet.
This is wrong, he thought; I
shouldn't be feeling like this. Panic welled up inside him and he dropped his
hand, stumbling back as the reality of what he'd been about to do hit him. His
eyes flicked up to hers. She was staring back at him, those deep green irises
so dark, half filled with passion, and half with bewilderment. Her lips were
partly slightly and they looked way too full and red and inviting. In that
instant he knew that if he didn't get out the apartment now he'd reach out and
pull her to him. That was something he couldn't allow himself to do.
"I...I have to go out," he
stammered, backing away from her. His hip banged up against the breakfast island
and he had to reach out to steady himself. He inched round it, heart pounding.
"I have some errands to run. I won't be long."
Shilpa nodded. She didn't think she
could speak. There was something in her throat, constricting it, making it
ache. Bemused and more than a little upset she watched Armaan turn and hurry
towards the door. He grabbed a coat, almost as if an afterthought, and then he
was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
For a long time she just stood in
the kitchenette, too confused to know what to do or think. What the hell had
just happened? One part of her said that Armaan's touch had been teasing,
bordering on the intimate, but another part told her she was being ridiculous.
Hadn't she seen the way he charged out? He couldn't get away from her fast
enough. And why did she care anyway? She didn't have feelings for him. He was a
friend. Whatever craziness her
hormones were going through, it was merely a temporary blip, probably caused by
all the change in her life in the last few days.
A sharp knock at the door jolted her
out of her thoughts. Sighing, she grabbed her crutches and made her way across
to it. She'd barely gotten the door open when she was confronted with a short,
but very formidable looking woman, who fixed her with a glare that could have
melted ice. Shilpa opened her mouth to say hello, but the stranger never gave
her the chance. Before she could get so much as one syllable out, the woman
snapped out a question at her in a voice so sharp it made Shilpa flinch.
"Who the hell are you?"
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