every other thought aside for now, she lifted her face, closed her eyes and delighted in the water raining over her and flowing down her body.
The soap was deliciously fragrant. The sheer lavishness of the modern tile-and-marble bathroom made Megha feel weepy again. So foolish—to cry over a simple bathing routine—but her nerves were frayed and the tears came easily. After a while she washed the cut on her foot, which stung from the soapsuds and continued to bleed a little. Her scratches and bruises burned under the hot water.
But otherwise the shower was marvelously soothing. Even better was getting that awful grime and stench off herself. She used large quantities of Kiran’s shampoo to wash her hair and spent a long time in the bathroom trying to speculate and strategize. But for the life of her she couldn’t think of a plan of action. Right now, all she wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep. It was as if her mind had shut down completely. Having made it this far, to a state of relative safety, a strange kind of numbness seemed to have set in.
While Megha was in the bathroom, Kiran heated a mug of milk in the microwave oven and stirred some Ovaltine into it. After hunting around in the kitchen cabinets he found a packet of chocolate cream biscuits and put a few of those on a plate.
He then made a cup of instant coffee for himself, pulled out a chair at the dining table, and sat down to think.
What was he going to do with Megha? This late at night there was nowhere she could go. He could probably afford to keep her with him for one night, maybe two, but after that? His mind drew a complete blank. She might have a few uncles and aunts and cousins somewhere, but relatives and friends could not be told of her whereabouts. Hotels were not particularly safe for a lone young woman, and anyway the police would be sure to look for her in every hotel within a twenty-mile radius.
His own Mumbai flat was large enough and completely furnished in anticipation of his impending move. But though he had mentioned the idea to her, he now realized Megha was too young and inexperienced to live alone in a big city. Her petrified reaction earlier to the imaginary policeman in his living room had shown him that.
All Kiran knew for sure was that she was in danger and had to be protected. But if she remained so close to him, under his roof, the threat to his sanity was equally troubling. He was a man infatuated, with all the needs and instincts of a healthy male. At the moment, with her in the next room, naked and bathing, his nerves were already tied in knots.
However, where else but in his home could she remain safe? He was the only one who really cared about her, and he was also the least likely to be suspected of harboring her. The police and his family would target all of Megha’s family and friends, but nobody would think of asking him regarding her whereabouts. That more or less clinched the matter. She would have to stay with him indefinitely. He’d have to keep his baser needs and his emotions under strict control. Perhaps in a day or two they could review her situation and come up with some practical answers. There had to be some way to resolve this.
When Megha came out of the bathroom he noticed the edge of the T-shirt fell all the way down to mid-thigh level on her, but despite its looseness it didn’t hide her feminine shape. The absence of a brassiere was obvious from the way her breasts strained against the soft cotton of the shirt. It took all of Kiran’s self-control to tear his eyes away from that particular spot. A wave of longing to feel her crushed against his own hard chest washed over him for a second before he ordered himself to stop behaving like a hormone-crazed juvenile.
The shirt’s sleeves covered her elbows, and the shorts hung well below her knees. Her face had a clean pink glow. Her hair fell in damp waves over her shoulders and down her back. The enormous dark eyes were less red now. She smelled of his soap and shampoo, and something else…essentially female. She smelled sweet.
Looking like an incredibly beautiful teenager, she seemed so unspoiled and innocent. And, with that sense, an all-male desire to defend and protect once again replaced the need to touch and possess her.
The bright red dot on her forehead had been washed away, too. The mangalsutra was tucked inside the shirt. For some reason it gave him deep satisfaction to see her dressed in his clothes and the dot gone. That dot had meant she was still married to Suresh. Kiran wanted Megha to belong to himself. He’d make sure that would happen soon. Knowing what the divorce laws were like, it could be at least two or three years in the future, but Kiran considered himself a patient man.
He’d wait as long as he needed to. Megha was worth waiting for.
Megha stood awkwardly in the kitchen, embarrassed at wearing Kiran’s clothes. She hadn’t exposed her legs in years. She felt naked. When she saw that Kiran wasn’t laughing at the odd picture she made, she took a step forward, feeling more confident. Encouraged by the kindness in his expression instead of the ridicule she’d expected, she moved closer to the dining table.
“Feeling better?” Kiran asked.
She nodded. Eyeing the steaming milk in the mug, she smiled at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you to so much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” He rose and pulled out a chair for her—one of four matching chairs surrounding a round, smoked-glass dining table. “Come, sit down and drink some Ovaltine.”
She sat down with some hesitation and studied the table. It felt strange to be waited on by someone, especially a man.
“Eat some biscuits,” Kiran encouraged. “Unfortunately, mine is a bachelor’s home. I don’t have anything more substantial than this.”
“Ovaltine is fine. It smells wonderful.” She gratefully picked up the mug with both hands, hoping to savor the aroma and the heat from the cup seeping into her palms. Instead she winced and put the cup down with a thud, the scalding liquid sloshing over the rim.
“Too hot, Megha?” Kiran half rose from his chair.
“It’s my hands. I bruised them earlier.”
“Did you fall down?” His eyes traveled to her arms and chin, probably wondering about the scratches, too.
She nodded reluctantly. “I was running in the dark—it was hard to see where I was going. And then…I had to climb over a rough-surfaced stone wall.”
“Why?”
“Some disgusting drunkard was chasing me.” She avoided meeting Kiran’s eyes. Her story was beginning to sound like something out of the movies. Such bizarre things didn’t happen in real life.
“Did he hurt you?” Kiran sounded angry, as he’d sounded earlier.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Suddenly she felt very exposed, talking about a near molestation to a man she didn’t know all that well.
“Can you at least tell me if you’re all right? You don’t need a doctor?” He was still scowling.
“Uh…no. I’m okay, thank you.”
“You’ve been through hell tonight, haven’t you?” Kiran’s expression softened. “Here, hold this around the cup,” he said, handing her a cotton napkin. Then with a sponge he carefully cleaned up the spilt Ovaltine.
She did as he suggested and it felt better, the warmth from the mug comforting. She realized she was ravenous as she sipped the Ovaltine. It tasted delicious.
Kiran drank his own coffee and pushed the plate before
