Chapter Twelve
Krish tugged on the brim of his baseball cap to better cover his face and leaned back in the quaint rocking chair outside
the general store. He inhaled the cold air, hoping it would fill his lungs, but nothing could get the scent of Sejal out of
his nostrils. She was inside the store, but it was also like she was imprinted on him.
A mistake. A release.
The words had tasted like lies on his tongue when he’d uttered them, but as he lay there in the early morning sun with Sejal
on top of him, he’d forced himself to try to believe them.
They’d had sex, oral sex, but sex. He now knew what she tasted like, what her thighs felt like around his head and draped
over his shoulders.
He’d had sex with her. She’d had sex with him. No matter how he sliced the pronouns and verb, the reality was that the two
of them—two people fate had basically declared adversaries, born to families on different sides of the law—had slept together.
Krish nodded at a stranger, who barely gave him a second glance.
He wasn’t particularly worried that Alexei and Viktor could sneak up on them here.
He’d visited this town only once before, when his mother had brought him here to show him the safe house, but if his mom said it was safe, he believed her.
This place was extremely similar to the small town he’d grown up in and itched to leave. His brother had itched to leave their
hometown, too.
Neither of them had been back to visit very often. Avi had craved better weather and the excitement of a thriving nightlife
and women, while Krish had yearned for the convenience of stores that stayed open past seven p.m. and a more diverse population.
It was only their mother, who had ironically enough grown up in the bustling metropolitan city of Mumbai, who adored their
ranch in the middle of nowhere, Montana.
Krish ran his hands over the arms of the rocking chair. He’d already done his own shopping to restock his clothes and toiletries,
and his purchases were in the brown paper bag at his feet. Men’s fashion was pretty simple out here, especially at this time
of year, when the weather was turning. All the jeans on display were stiff Wranglers, and all the shirts were flannel or cotton
in various shades of plaid. He’d changed in the small dressing room before buying his clothes, a pair of jeans and a maroon
Henley, along with a cream-colored coat that suited the weather.
When he was about six, his mother had brought him to a small general shop like this one, to find clothes for the upcoming
winter season. He’d wandered around the store, finding all the heavy, soft material overwhelming and exotic, a sharp cultural
contrast to the fine cotton he was used to wearing.
The cold seeped through his clothes, and he shivered.
You’ll be warm enough once you’re on the West Coast. Which was why he’d also dropped some warm-weather clothes into his basket.
He didn’t want to take advantage of his mom and stepfather’s financial generosity, but much as he’d been at eighteen, he was ready to get the hell out of their home, so he had to think ahead.
And not think about Sejal’s thighs anymore.
Definitely don’t think about that.
How could he not? Despite the stirrings of attraction he’d felt toward her before, he hadn’t dared to think about what her
naked body might actually look like. Now he couldn’t think of anything else. He mourned that he hadn’t taken off her shirt.
He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his new, stiff jeans. He hadn’t lied to Sejal, he wasn’t going to die from blue balls,
but he had had to take a very icy shower to get rid of his erection this morning. Frigid water was not a fun experience.
You were the one who told her it wouldn’t happen again.
Because that was the reasonable, rational thing to do. And she’d agreed that it had been an error in judgment, a mistake.
She didn’t seem affected at all. A little cool this morning, but she’d easily slipped back into being casually relaxed with
him. So he’d stuff all of this desire down and carry on, like the hyper-focused, logical person he was.
He swallowed, hating how badly he wanted to taste her again. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain, a switch
that had been teased before but now was firmly turned on.
You’ve kissed her before. Except back in that bar, she’d still been a pawn, a Chaudhary, Cobra’s daughter and granddaughter, and not . . . not Sejal.
Not a complicated, reluctantly kind, funny, intelligent, competent person in her own right.
Because Cobra is bad, Sejal.
She’d looked stricken, for a moment, when he’d said that, and he’d considered taking it back.
However, he didn’t know how to explain to Sejal that the reason they had to keep her connection to Cobra quiet wasn’t because his mother would hate her for being Cobra’s daughter.
No, it was because his mother would immediately realize he was up to something tied to Avi, blow up Krish’s impersonation, and do everything in her power to stop him.
Krish examined the sinking feeling in his stomach. Fuck. It was guilt. For so much, but especially for pinging what was obviously
a sensitive subject for Sejal. She hid her emotions quickly, but she did not like to be painted with the sins of her parents.
Who did, really?
Hour by hour, things were getting so much more complicated.
But you’re still going to continue to use Sejal to get to her aunt? He adjusted his coat. He hated to admit it, but that part of the plan was getting murkier. And not just because of her thighs.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
His head swiveled around at Sejal’s low voice, and he hoped she didn’t know that he’d been ruminating about her thighs. Again.
He took in her appearance and, though no thighs were on display, nearly swallowed his tongue again. Unlike his rather low-key
clothes, she’d changed into a body-hugging wine-colored sweater dress that went to her ankles, and paired it with low boots.
The chic wool coat over her shoulders was cropped and didn’t hide a single curve. She wore a wig, and long black hair cascaded
over her shoulders.
She looked nice. Better than nice. Beautiful even. Krish opened his mouth, but all that came out was “You found that outfit
in this store?” The same store that sold flannels and various types of screws?
She looked down at her dress. “I did, yes. Don’t worry, it was on sale.”
He waved that concern away. His parents had more money than they could spend easily, thanks to his mom’s investments, and he’d eventually pay them back. “And the hair?”
She touched the strands. “Yeah, Halloween is coming up. They had a small selection of wigs. What do you think?”
“It’s . . . different, but I suppose that’s what we’re going for.” Truth be told, he found that he preferred Sejal’s short
hair with the buzzed undercut. No, it wasn’t that he preferred it, he hastily corrected himself. A boyfriend or a husband
could prefer things like hairstyles. He just . . . liked how she looked.
His fingers itched to snatch the wig from her head so she could go back to the funky, one-of-a-kind Sejal he knew.
She tilted her head. “What I meant was, do you think it could pass as my actual hair?”
He didn’t know enough about wigs to know if it was good or bad. “Oh. I suppose so.”
She came closer. “It feels a little waxy, but I think from a distance it should be okay.”
He wasn’t about to touch it, or any part of her. “I think it’s fine.”
“You okay?”
Krish came to his feet. He needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t let her see that he was bothered, that his brain was
hopping from thought to thought. Or that he felt guilty.
That’s right. Go back to being slightly wary of her. “I am, yes.”
Sejal glanced around. “I was worried about being out and about, but there’s not a lot of people around right now.”
“Folks here are really protective of their own. If someone came asking about us, they’d get no information.”
“You’re their own?”
“My mom makes friends anywhere she goes.” An evasive answer, because no, he didn’t feel like he belonged to anyone or anywhere. However, he’d be afforded the same level of silence and protection that his mother was. “You have the necessities?”
She lifted her bags. “Yes.”
“Great. Let’s head back.” They walked to the Jeep, which was parked right in front of the store.
Sejal peered around. The curiosity in her gaze seemed genuine. “This seems like such a cute town.”
“It is.”
“Was the town you grew up in similar?”
“Yup.”
“But you got on a bus out of there as soon as you were able.”
He put their purchases in the trunk and closed the door with a loud thunk. “Yeah. It was nice, but not always easy.”
“How so?”
He puffed out his cheeks. He hadn’t intended to reveal that much about himself. This isn’t your girlfriend, here on a hometown date. “Not a lot of people in general, but also not a lot of people who looked like us.”
Sejal frowned. “You were bullied?”
“Terribly.”
“For what?”
“For everything. Looks, accent, food.” He’d been so little, but he remembered that he’d lost his accent in a matter of months,
not years, so eager had he been to fit in. He shrugged. “But it got a little better as I got older and bigger.”
“And the girls started to notice your eyes instead of what you were eating?” she asked dryly.
He went to her door and opened it for her. “What about my eyes?”
She squinted up at him. “Seriously?”
He brushed his fingers over his left one. “Huh? Is something wrong with them?”
Sejal put her hand on her hip. “You must have been told all the time that they’re beautiful.”
Oh. He ducked his head to hide the heat in his face. Yes, people had remarked on his unusual coloring, but he didn’t fool
himself. His scar had gotten smaller after many treatments and time, but his face was still—as his college ex-girlfriend had
rather cruelly put it during their last fight—rough. “Ah, no one has ever told me I am . . . beautiful, and certainly not