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?"
