A Scandalous Proposition (2 page)

TWO

Ranbir walked to the porch of the
office building, where his car waited for him, his hands curled tightly into
fists. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had got under his skin the
way Mira had. He couldn’t help thinking of her heart-shaped face and
ridiculously overlong earrings that glinted through the mass of her curly dark
brown hair. And her eyes, her large dark brown eyes—he had heard the phrase
‘doe eyes’ before, but this was the first time he had actually seen them. Could
those thick curling lashes be real? In a world brimming with beauty aids, he
thought not. But there was something wholesome about the girl. Her skin was
dewy fresh. All at once, he remembered the succulent peaches he’d bitten into
as a young boy, juice dripping down his chin. His favorite fruit, impossible to
resist, topped with the thick cream Dadi would pour over it. Unbidden, the
thought rose to his mind, would Mira’s skin taste like that boyhood peach? His
body clenched as a wave of desire overtook him. He remembered the feel of her
body against him in his office and again in the elevator. He could possibly
span her tiny waist in his hands.

As he climbed into the car, he reminded himself that no
matter how attractive or desirable she was, she was working in his office, and
Ranbir Dewan never mixed work with pleasure. And he definitely did not want to
be distracted from the contract he was going to discuss with his lawyers before
he went to the meeting that would seal his next deal.

***

It was late by the time Ranbir returned home. It had been a
good day. The deal had been struck and he was elated, if tired. He looked at
his watch. There was just enough time to go up to his penthouse suite for a
shower before he joined the family for dinner. His grandmother, Mrs. Saudamini
Dewan, the matriarch who held the family together under a tight rein, insisted
that the family meet for dinner unless they were travelling or had a dinner
appointment. Ranbir smiled wryly. In a mansion where each family member had a
suite of rooms to themselves, only Dadi could get away with so peremptory a
command. It was lucky for all of them that she chose to assert her authority so
rarely. ‘The family that eats together stays together’ was her favorite maxim
and Ranbir had to admit that it did help him unwind to listen to his cousins, uncle
and aunt talk of their day at the dinner table.

Ranbir was an only child. He had lost his parents in a car
accident when he was eight. Dadi had been both his comfort and his strength at
the time. The family business had been handled by his father’s younger brother,
Ajay, till Ranbir came back from Harvard Business School to join him. As the
scion of one of the wealthiest business houses in India, Ranbir was aware of
his own worth. And if he did chance to forget it, there were enough newspapers
and magazines to propel it back into his memory. At thirty-one, he was termed
the country’s ‘hottest bachelor’ and was sought after by the most glamorous,
successful and unattached women, and often seen with a model or actress draped
over his arm. He could just snap a finger and women would fall into his arms.
That was why he found it intriguing that all through the day, he had not been
able to banish the homespun Mira from his thoughts.

“Early night tonight,
beta
?” asked Dadi, as the maid
put a hot
chapati
onto his plate.

“No, Dadi, I’ve promised to take Manisha to the new club
that’s opened in Greater Kailash.”

“It’s really cool, Bhai,” said his cousin, Vasundhara, who
sat across the table from him. “A couple of us had gone there last week. Good
music.”

“What music?” said Meenu Chachi. “What kind of music is
played at such a volume? Too noisy by half, these clubs. You can’t hear
yourself; thinking and talking to people is impossible! If you want to listen
to music, why not listen in your room?”

“Clubs are for young people, Meenu,” said Ajay Chacha with a
teasing smile, “not for people our age.”

“What do you mean ‘our age’?” she sniffed. “I’m not all that
old. Remember you married me straight out of school.”

Vasundhara kicked her cousin under the table and Ranbir hid
a smile. “Chachi, where’s Tarun?” he asked to deflect the tirade he could see about
to erupt from his aunt.

“He’s gone to stay the night with Raza. He says they study
better together. In our time, our parents locked us up in our rooms when exams
were around the corner.”

“Yet, you barely managed fifty per cent,” said Chacha
mischievously.

“That was because I fell ill just before the exams,”
bristled Chachi, when Dadi cut in.

“Stop needling her, Ajay. Look how well Meenu runs the
house. Would she have managed it any better if she’d gotten a first division?”

“Well, I’m off,” said Ranbir, scraping back his chair and
looking affectionately at his family all laughing together.

***

“Let’s dance?” asked Manisha, downing the last of her
mojito. The night club was hot and crowded for a weekday night. Ranbir followed
her to the dance floor. Manisha was a vigorous dancer and, usually, he found it
easy to keep up with her, but today, he felt his thoughts wander. Peaches, he
thought, soft and downy, ripe and succulent.

“What’s up?” Manisha asked, a puzzled expression on her
carefully made-up face.

“Tired,” said Ranbir. He was more distracted than tired,
actually. All because of a silly little chit who had walked into his office by
mistake and had haunted him all day.

“Shall we leave then? Maybe I can fix you coffee at my
flat?” Manisha’s voice was carefully guarded. They had been dating for six
months, but had not taken it any further yet. Ranbir knew what she was
proposing. What the hell! he thought. Why not? It might just help to keep his
mind off the peaches and cream girl.

“Let’s go,” he said.

As they entered the elevator that went up to Manisha’s flat,
Ranbir pulled her towards him and kissed her lips. Her hands came up to rest on
his shoulders, and he buried his hands in her hair and deepened the kiss,
exploring her mouth with a thoroughness that left her breathless.

“Wow!” she gasped, drawing back as the elevator door slid
open at the tenth floor. “Where have you been all my life?”

Inside the flat, she flicked on a muted light and went over
to where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. She pressed her lips
against his mouth, grinding her hips against the bulge that was growing in his
trousers. Ranbir pulled her roughly towards him, hands reaching under her silk
halter top to find the clasp of the lacy bra she wore underneath, snapping it
open. She moaned as his hands covered her breasts, fingers rolling her nipples
to attention. Her body arched in pleasure, begging him to take her further.
Ranbir pulled at the ties of her top and let it fall in a pool at her feet. He
lowered his head and took a dark nipple into his mouth.

Manisha moaned and reached in frenzy for his belt buckle. Ranbir
picked her up and carried her to the couch in her living room and laid her
down. He removed his T-shirt, while she slid off her jeans. As he unbuttoned
his jeans, he gazed down at her. She was naked except for a lacy thong and her
eyes were large with arousal.

“Come here, you,” she whispered and drew him down to her.
Ranbir settled his long length over her, burying his face in her neck, his lips
seeking the soft warmth of her throat. She raked her nails over his back in
ecstasy, lifting her torso and offering her breasts up to his mouth. Ranbir
lowered his head to tease her nipples with his tongue before he drew one into
his mouth. She moaned even more deeply. His hands were already seeking the wet
warmth that had dampened her thong when, unbidden, a heart shaped face framed
by thick brown curls swam before his eyes. Mira! He groaned and sat up in a
sudden movement. “I'm sorry, Manisha, I can't. Let's not rush this...”

“What happened, Ranbir?” asked Manisha, bewildered at his
sudden withdrawal.

Ranbir moved off from the couch, doing up his jeans. “What’s
wrong?” asked Manisha again, standing up and wrapping a throw around her,
sarong-style. “You can’t just leave me like this.”

Ranbir pulled her hands into his. “I’m sorry,” he said,
looking into her eyes. “It’s not about you—it’s my fault. I think I’m tired, I
don’t know, but I don’t think I’m ready for this yet.”

“Was this some kind of a test?” cried Manisha, furious now.
“Did you just want to see what kind of a girl I was? How far I would be willing
to go? Surely you don’t expect a virgin wife!”

Ranbir pulled on his T-shirt. “Manisha, I thought we were
just having some fun, enjoying each other’s company. I am not planning to get
married yet. If I had known you had marriage on your mind, I wouldn’t have come
back with you to your flat.”

Crack! Manisha’s hand made sharp contact with Ranbir’s
cheek. “Get out! Right now! You bastard, who the hell do you think you are?! I
never want to see you again!”

Ranbir opened the door and looked back at her face, streaked
now with angry tears. “I guess I kind of deserved that,” he said quietly, “but
believe me, I’m sorry....”

≈

THREE

In a couple of weeks, Mira was
pretty well established in the routine of the cafeteria. It was still a bit of
a rush to get to the office at seven in the morning. Getting up at five every
day to catch the first Metro train was not what she would have described as an
ideal state of affairs and, most days, it was more luck than efficiency that
found her aboard the train, eyes still crossed with sleep. She would run into
the cafeteria to find Dhruv already cutting up the fruit for the morning
staff’s breakfast. Luckily, once Dhruv realized that her cooking skills were
all that she’d boasted of and more, he was prepared to look the other way if
she didn’t clock in at exactly seven.

“Do they eat oats every day?” Mira asked as she stirred the
huge pot on the stove. “Why not cornflakes? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Mr. Dewan feels that oats are healthier than readymade
cereals.”

“Doesn’t he ever feel like eating an
aloo ka paratha
?”
she asked. “I wouldn’t eat this pasty stuff if my life depended on it. Give me
a hot
paratha
, with a dollop of butter on it, and a glass of
chaas
,
and I could die happy.”

“You
would
probably die on that kind of diet,” said a
voice behind her. Mira whirled around from the tiled island where the stove was,
to find Ranbir looking at her. She blushed vividly, casting around hurriedly in
her head to recollect whether she had said anything about him. Ranbir gave no
indication of having heard anything. He was dressed in a charcoal grey suit,
with an ice blue shirt and a navy blue tie.
He’s had a haircut
, thought
Mira irrelevantly.
He looked better with his hair longer.

“Once Miss Talwar has finished her perusal of me, will you
send her to my room with some breakfast for me?” Ranbir looked at Dhruv. “Oats,
fruit, some dates and scrambled tofu—you know how I like it.” He strode out of
the cafeteria.

“Scrambled tofu? Why not good, wholesome
paneer
?”
asked Mira, as Dhruv took a bowl of the white stuff out of the fridge.

“More fat content,” he retorted. “Soya milk is better. Now
chop up some ginger and one small green chilli. No sugar in the oats. And no
pineapple—Mr. Dewan is allergic to pineapple. That’s why we keep it in a
separate bowl.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mira was carrying a tray to Ranbir’s
room. Standing outside his door, she was wondering how to balance the heavy
tray in one hand so that she could knock, when the door opened suddenly before
her. Ranbir had obviously heard her shuffling outside his door.

“Your breakfast, Mr. Dewan,” she said demurely, bending to
place the tray on the coffee table. And then spoilt it all by nearly
overbalancing and sloshing some of the steaming black coffee on her hand.
“Ouch!” she muttered, scowling at the offending liquid.

“Is it possible for you to do anything without fumbling?”
asked Ranbir, stepping up behind her and then looking at her. She was blowing
furiously on her hand where the hot coffee had scalded her, tears of pain
brimming up in her eyes. “Have you hurt yourself?” he demanded, catching hold
of her hand.

Mira felt herself tremble at his touch. All sensation of
pain in her hand vanished as her senses heightened to fever pitch and all she
was aware of was how close Ranbir was and the feel of his hands on hers. Ranbir
grabbed a jug of water from the nearby cabinet and dragged her to the huge
potted palm near the French window in his room. “Ohhhhh!” she gasped, as he
splashed the ice-cold water over her scalded skin, drenching half of her as
well in the process. She was wearing a yellow voile
kurta
and the water
soaked into it quickly. Ranbir sucked in his breath sharply as he took in the
outline of her body under the now almost transparent material, the smooth curve
of her bottom and the taut thrust of her breasts.

Mira looked at him nervously—he was so close. She took a
step back, only to find the glass of the window a chilly barrier behind her.
Ranbir closed the distance between them with one determined stride. Mira closed
her eyes as his mouth swooped down towards hers. Her body was stiff with
tension and she turned her face sideways.

“Please…” she whimpered, pushing ineffectively at his chest
with her hands.

Ranbir caught her hands in his and pushed her arms up on the
window, leaving her face defenseless against his impending assault. She could
feel her heartbeat race to a tempo she had not believed possible till then. He
lowered his head and claimed her lips even as she shuddered at the contact. His
lips were firm, dry and they hovered on her mouth, pressing gently against her
lips. His tongue laid claim next, tasting her, probing gently till a moan
escaped her and he took advantage of the moment to explore her mouth. Mira
exploded in the storm of sensations that overtook her.

He kept her captive against the glass with one hand, while
the other traced the delicate line from her brow to her ear and lower down to
where a pulse beat frantically at the base of her long, graceful neck. His
fingers were gentle, caressing and sensuous, and they aroused in her feelings
she had never dreamt of. “Ranbir, Mr. Dewan, please…” she gasped, as his mouth
followed the path traced by his fingers, and then “Ohhhhh!”, as he let go of
her hand to cup her breasts with both hands, his thumbs creating a gentle
friction over her nipples through the thin, damp fabric of her
kurta
.
His mouth moved back to her mouth, deepening the kiss, even as he eased his leg
between hers, pressing close to the fiery heat that was dissolving in her core.

There was a sharp rap on the door. Mira pushed him away from
her. “Ranbir?” said a voice outside the door. It was Jasmine.

Ranbir walked to the door and said, “In a bit.”

By the time Mira had straightened her clothing, Ranbir was
sitting in the armchair, eating his breakfast. The only evidence of the passion
they had shared just minutes ago was his slightly askew tie. Mira felt herself
tremble with anger. “How dare you, Mr. Dewan?” she raged. “How dare you touch
me?”

“I thought it was well reciprocated,” he looked up at her.
“I didn’t hear you protest at the time.”

“That’s because…because…”

“Because I was kissing you?” he interjected calmly.

“What do you think of yourself, Mr. Dewan?” Mira spluttered.
“I am not the kind of girl you can kiss in your office.”

“I just did,” he said, stabbing his fork into a chunk of
apple.

“You may know women who will do anything you want. I’m not
one of them. I am a respectable, middle class girl.”

“Everything has a price, Miss Talwar. Or should I say
everybody has a price? Sit down, we can reach a suitable arrangement.”

“I will not!” fumed Mira. “And what kind of arrangement? The
only kind of arrangement we could have is my work in the cafeteria.”

Ranbir put his plate down and looked at her, his eyes
suddenly cooling to steel. “Miss Talwar, Mira, I will not beat around the bush.
I find you attractive. In fact, I find you extremely attractive. You’re
different from any woman I’ve met before. There’s something about you that gets
under my skin—like an itch. And I mean to have you. I see you everywhere I go.
I want to caress every smooth silken inch of you, to make you moan under my
caresses till you no longer remember anything but my name.”

Mira trembled at the images he was invoking.

“How can you talk to me like this?” she whispered. “What do
you want?”

“Be my mistress.” His voice was cool. “Sleep with me for six
months—till I work you out of my system.”

“Are you crazy?” Mira’s voice rose sharply. “Sleep with you?
And after six months? You’ll throw me out? Forget it, Mr. Dewan. Go find
yourself another toy.”

She was about to open the door when he called her back.

“Think about it, Mira. I’ll make it worth your while,” said
Ranbir, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You need the money and you know it. No
one need know. I’ll find you a flat close by. You can tell your mother it’s a
company flat. I will not expect you to make any public appearances with me.
Frankly, you’re not my type. And you can continue with your work here in the
cafeteria, but you will make yourself available whenever I want you.”

Mira shook her head at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
she asked in amazement. “Do you really think you can go around buying someone
just to—what did you call it, scratch an itch? You think people are so
dispensable? You think I am so cheap, so easily bought? What world do you live
in, Mr. Dewan?”

“One in which everything has its price—a price that I am
willing to pay.” Ranbir threw down the napkin and stood up. “What is your
price, Mira?”

“You’ll never be able to afford it!” she spat out at him,
moving to the door. An astonished Jasmine watched her walk out, disheveled,
head held high in rage.

***

Mira made her way to the restroom, the strain of holding
back her tears making her temple throb with pain.

She managed to lock herself into a cubicle before the flood
began. She cried then—loud, sobbing tears that engulfed her in an emotional
wave. All the pain, worries and tensions that had dwelt within her since their
father’s death ebbed out now through her eyes. She wanted to march back into
Ranbir’s cabin and tell him she no longer wanted to work in his office, but she
knew she could not afford the luxury.

As she sat on the turned down cover of the toilet seat,
dabbing at her eyes with toilet paper, a disquieting thought struck her. Ranbir
had put a shameful proposition before her, made an offer that a middle class
girl like her should have rather died than even heard out. And yet, she was not
cringing with shame. In fact, even now, she could not put out of her mind those
endless minutes when he had been caressing her, his tongue meshing with hers,
the warmth of his body pressing into her. She realized with a shock that she
had enjoyed his hands on her body, enjoyed them caressing it to heights of
arousal she had not realized were possible. The thought of carrying on what
they had started in his office in a bed filled her with a tingle of
anticipation.

She shuddered in horror. “Am I so wanton?” she whispered to
herself, touching the lips Ranbir had kissed with such thoroughness just
minutes ago.

She came out of the cubicle and went to the sink. She
studied her ravaged face in the mirror above it. She was strongly attracted to
Ranbir, she admitted to herself, her skin prickled with awareness every time he
came near her, she had begun to crave his touch.
But
, she thought,
I
will not give in to his preposterous demand. He can sack me if he likes. I am
young and strong and I can find another job. I will not be treated like some
cheap girl who will go running to him every time he snaps his fingers.
She washed
her face, bathing her red, swollen eyes so that Dhruv would not be suspicious.
Then she made her way back to the cafeteria.

Dhruv looked at her as she entered. “You didn’t get into
trouble again with Ranbir, did you?”

“I burnt my hand,” she proffered weakly, showing him the
angry red mark on her wrist. “And Mr. Dewan got angry…”

“I don’t know what it is about you and Ranbir. You seem to
rub each other the wrong way all the time. The other day, I thought he would
dismiss you straight off. You have to learn to control your tongue, Mira!”

She choked back a sob. Dhruv’s face softened. “You know,
Mira, Ranbir’s not quite the ogre you seem to think he is. Have I ever told you
how good he has been to me? I was Tarun’s classmate in school…Ranbir’s cousin,”
he explained in response to her questioning look. “When Ranbir learnt that I
was looking to start a ‘different’ restaurant in ‘butter chicken Delhi’, he
offered to finance me. But I would not accept his money just like that. So, he
asked me to run this cafeteria and told me that all that I earned in two years,
he would match sum for sum, so that I could realize my dream. I don’t know many
people who would be so sensitive to other people’s self-esteem.”

Mira sniffed. Be that as it may, she thought, as far as she
was concerned, Ranbir Dewan was an arrogant monster and the less she had to do
with him, the better it would be for her.

***

Ranbir Dewan was in a bad mood. He glared at Jasmine when
she walked in with the seating plans for the after-conference dinner, when the
Dewan Group’s employee awards would be announced.

“How many years have you been here, Jasmine? Why can’t you
handle these minor details yourself? You’ve done it enough times.”

“You did ask me to make a list of the staff members who
should sit at the family tables, Ranbir.”

Ranbir waved his hand at her dismissively, “Tomorrow,
Jasmine. I have enough to deal with today.”

Jasmine nodded and walked out of the room, but not before
she noted the absorbed look Ranbir wore and the frown that wrinkled his brow.
His tie was loose, too, she noticed. In short, Ranbir Dewan was not his usual
calm, collected, well-turned-out self. Could it have anything to do with the
cafeteria girl? Jasmine thought for a moment, then shook her head. Ranbir might
have had a reputation as a ladies' man, but he had never looked at a girl in
the office.

Inside his room, Ranbir leaned back in his chair and propped
his feet up on the wide desk before him. He knew he had a load of work awaiting
him, but he couldn’t concentrate. He meshed his fingers together and regarded
them reflectively. What was it about that girl? She was so painfully
chakmak
!
Bells in her ears and bells on her feet—ridiculous! And that glittering
bindi
!
Suddenly Ranbir’s face softened slowly. Amma used to wear glittery
bindis
just like the ones Mira wore. Ranbir remembered Amma coming to kiss him good
night; fascinated by the lights that struck off her
bindi
, he would try
and grab it only to receive a gentle admonishment and a loving kiss.