Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (35 page)

An orgasm broke with powerful sweetness over her, washing her in the scent, taste, and feel of both ecstasy and her lover. Rohan pushed into her with a long, slow stroke, filling her completely before he groaned low in his throat and succumbed to his own rapture.

 
Devora clutched him to her, their chests heaving. She skimmed her hands over Rohan’s muscled back, suddenly wishing that she didn’t have to leave so soon. Rohan pressed his lips against her neck and moved to roll away from her.

 
Devora tightened her arms around him, murmuring a sound of protest. “Don’t go.”

“I am crushing you.” Rohan moved onto his back and pulled her on top of him. “Better.”

 
With a contented sigh, Devora rested her head against his chest. She let her leg slide between his in a position that felt eternally natural. His heartbeat thumped into her ear, sounding as if it were pulsing into her body and her very blood. Tightness clenched Devora’s chest as she realized this might very well be the last time they were together.

 
“What time must you leave tomorrow?” Rohan asked.

 
“My train leaves at ten,” Devora said. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she was unable to prevent them from falling to dampen Rohan’s chest. “But I have to go back and pick up my belongings from the Thompsons.”

 
Rohan eased his hand underneath her chin, lifting her face to look at him. He gazed at her for a long moment, wiping away a trail of tears with his thumb.

 
“We’ll never see each other again,” Devora choked.

 
“I would not say that. The universe holds many mysteries.”

 
“Sod the universe,” Devora muttered. “I’d rather have you.”

 
Rohan gave her a gentle smile and lifted his head to kiss her. “And I you.”

 
“What was it you said the other day?” Devora asked. “When you told me I might know someday?”

Rohan brushed his fingertips over her lips. “I said you were my
bhagya
,” he said. “My fate. And my
prem
. My love.”

 
Devora stared at him. She couldn’t believe this inscrutable man would reveal something so poignant to her. “That’s what you said?”

 
“Yes, that is what I said.”

 
“Oh, Rohan.” Devora wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, touched to the core that he would actually say that to her, even after everything they had been through. “And you meant it?”

“I only say what I mean.”

 
“I wish you could come to Bombay with me,” Devora confessed. “You probably shouldn’t stay in Calipore either. I suspect that no British family will hire you.”

 
She reached out with her finger to trace the lines of his mouth. A thought suddenly occurred to her, one so daring and exciting that she could hardly believe it might be a possibility.

 
She sat up, resting her hand on his chest. “Rohan, why don’t you?”

 
“Why don’t I what?”

 
“Come to Bombay with me.” Excitement lit in Devora’s eyes. “I have more than enough money to buy you a ticket.”

 
“I have enough of my own money. I do not need you to pay for me.”

 
“Does that mean you’ll come with me?” Devora asked.

 
Rohan looked at her for a long minute, brushing her hair away from her face. The touch of his fingers was light and soothing. “I do not think that is wise. An Indian man and a British woman cannot travel together.”

“We won’t be traveling together,” Devora pointed out. “This will be just like our trip to Agra. And I’ll have to ride in a separate car with the other British women anyway. We’ll just be on the same train, and we can meet at Victoria station in Bombay.”

 
“And then what?” Rohan asked.

 
Devora shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have an easier time finding a job there, I know that much.”

 
“True enough,” Rohan allowed. “But I could just as easily return to Delhi.”

 
Devora sighed as disappointment lanced through her. “You know, you can be annoyingly practical when you want to be,” she said. “It was only a suggestion. If you don’t want to go, then don’t.”

 
Rohan splayed his hands over her moist back, rubbing her skin with gentle strokes. “And a good suggestion.”

Devora looked at him, hardly daring to believe this might work. “Really?”

 
He smiled his beautiful smile that made the entire world brighten.

 
“Oh, Rohan, how wonderful!” Devora threw her arms around him and hugged him. The light from his smile filled her entire soul. “I really didn’t want to let you go.”

 
“Nor I you,” Rohan admitted. “You should not travel completely alone, anyhow. It is not safe for a British woman to do so.”

 
“Wonderful, you can be my bodyguard,” Devora said wryly.

 
“I would like to guard your body.” Amusement flashed in Rohan’s expression.

 
“It’s yours to guard if you want to.” Devora kissed him again, sliding her tongue over the smooth surface of his teeth. Happiness filled her at the thought that their relationship not only didn’t have to end, but that they might even be able to start something new together. “And do other things with,” she murmured.

 
“You are indeed a wicked woman,
memsahib
.”

 
“Yes, I know. A wicked woman with an old soul. What on earth are you going to do with me?”

 
Rohan’s hands curved over the globes of Devora’s bottom and pressed her pelvis against him.

 
“Ah, Devora. I will think of something.”

 
Devora lifted her head and stared at him, stunned by the sound of his deep voice saying her name. “What did you just call me?”

 
“You have a lovely name.”

 
“Say it again.”

“Devora.” He said her name as if he were eating a chocolate, wrapping it around his tongue and tasting every subtle nuance.

 
Warmth broke open inside Devora, spilling a sudden, incredible peace to every corner of her being. She smiled and stroked her hand through his hair.

 
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “I like that.”

 
“As do I, my Devora.”

***

EPILOGUE

 
Devora set the old scrapbook aside and turned on the light above her desk. The approach of winter had begun to result in shorter days. Darkness invaded her workroom much sooner than it had before, but she didn’t mind since the windows overlooked the sky and her garden.

There was a sublime pleasure in watching the sky and earth become submerged by the twilight. Devora gazed out the window for a moment at the sky painted with red and gold cloud-ribbons. Her garden below still bore remnants of blossoms and flourishing greenery, but soon a cloak of white snow would cover the grass and plants. How lovely it would be.

 
Reluctantly breaking out of her reverie, Devora returned her attention to her latest array of drawings illustrating different aspects of Indian mythology. Her publisher had requested that she turn out at least ten watercolor paintings to include in her next book, and Devora was only too happy to comply.

She couldn’t wait to see what color plates of her work would look like. Her last four books had been enormously successful, although the first one about the Khajuraho temples had to be published by an underground British publisher due to the sexual content. Still, that hadn’t prevented it from becoming a success.

 
“Tea,
memsahib
?”

 
Devora turned at the sound of the teasing, male voice. She smiled as Rohan entered the room with a tea tray in his hands and a package tucked under his arm.

 
“Thank you,” Devora said. “You didn’t have to bring it up here. I could have come down.”

 
“I know you are working hard.” Rohan set the tray down and poured two cups of tea. “Is it going well?”

 
“Yes, very well. What’s in the package?”

 
Rohan handed her the package. “From your publisher, I think.”

 
Devora picked up a pair of scissors and cut open the package. Eagerly, she reached inside and pulled out an advance copy of her next book.

 
“Oh, look! The cover is beautiful.” Devora ran her hand over the glossy cover, admiring the gold lettering that read
Parvati’s Wish: The Goddesses of India
.

 
“Yes, it is attractive,” Rohan agreed. He touched her hair gently. “I am very proud of you.”

 
Devora smiled at him. His black hair was shot through with threads of gray now, and his abdomen had thickened slightly over the years, but Devora had never considered him to be more handsome as she did now.

Fifteen years ago, she had stayed in Bombay for an entire year before booking passage to England. She hadn’t even considered the notion of Rohan returning with her until he casually mentioned something about always having wanted to see Westminster Abbey. He refused to take her money for a ticket, choosing instead to remain in Bombay and work until he had enough. Eight long months later, he had arrived in England.

 
Devora soon realized that she couldn’t have imagined what her life would be like without him. Of course, it hadn’t been easy since their relationship was hardly acceptable by social standards, but neither of them cared. They had been through too much to let a little thing like society stand in their way.

 
“The publisher is going to find out about distributing it in India,” Devora said. “I hope they do. Then perhaps we’ll have an excuse to take a trip back there.”

 
Rohan shook his head. “There is much unrest in India now,” he said. “I do not know what will happen, but the Indians are determined to free themselves from British control.”

 
“As well they should,” Devora muttered. “I heard Gerald is still there, only he’s in Calcutta now. Apparently he’s a top official in the freedom negotiations, only of course on the British side.”

 
Rohan shrugged. “We all live according to a certain destiny.”

 
“Really? And what was mine?”

 
“To go to India and discover the true nature of your old soul,” Rohan replied. “Your soul needed to find the place of its birth.”

 
Devora lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “You mean I was a withered, Indian woman in a previous life?”

 
Rohan chuckled. “Honestly, Devora, I would not be surprised.”

 
“And you? What was your destiny?”

 
He smiled at her. “To find you, of course.”

THE END

Nina Lane is the author of elegant, romantic, and sometimes raunchy erotica. For more novels and short stories by Nina, visit
http://www.ninalane.com