Where the Lotus Flowers Grow Read online

  “No, sir, but here is the thing. I do like my job. As you said, I’m fine where I stand.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said. And your statement doesn’t offer me any greater insights into your position. You’re wasting your life.”

  Her mouth tightened. I thought she’d leave then, or slap me, or some other gesture I deserved. Instead, she cut me with the harsh tone of her words. “That’s an opinion, not a fact. And it’s not exactly a very solid opinion when coming from someone who isn’t passionate about his own life.”

  “At least warn me when you’re about to gut me.”

  “I should go. It’s late. Unless you actually have any questions involving my job or this hotel?”

  Fine, we’d play it her way. I had a whole fucking list of questions. I skipped right to the most important one.

  “I’m sure you’re aware this hotel is losing money.”

  “I am. Everyone is.”

  “Do you have any suggestions or opinions on the matter?”

  She looked around the room. “May I be bold and improper, sir?”

  “Better than meek and weak.”

  Her smiled widened. “The hotel is a fraud.”

  “A fraud?”

  She stood and knocked on the decorative molding that framed the window. “This is plastic. The floor,” she said, tapping her foot against it, “is not real stone, but a cheap factory-made porcelain imitation. The rug is a mass-produced, made in China, reproduction of a Persian rug.”

  “What is your point?”

  “We should not try to be something we are not. This is Jaipur. You can cross the lake and stay at a real Raj’s palace. Why would you want to stay at a fake one?”

  I paused, my grip tightening on the pencil. She’d successfully expressed the very issue that eluded me. “You make a strong point.”

  “Thank you, sir. Are you writing this down?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not. You haven’t been taking notes this whole time. What are you doing?”

  She held out her hand, gesturing to the pad. I gripped it tighter. “It’s chicken scratch you won’t be able to read.”

  “Then why won’t you let me look at it?”

  What use was it? We—no, not we—I had crossed so many lines tonight that I might as well have walked a marathon.

  I set down the pad. It was a rough sketch at best, but she looked at it as if was a fine work of art. Her finger hovered above the lines, following them in the air. I drew her with her hair down as I imagined it would look, her pouty lips in that carefree sexual smile that rarely surfaced. But whenever it did, my heart jumped, as did another part of my body.

  “It’s me?”

  “I was paying attention to what you said, but I really wanted to draw you, which is weird considering I haven’t drawn anything in a long time.”

  “You’re very good.”

  “Hardly, it’s a hobby.” Not even a hobby anymore.

  “Have you had any formal training?”

  “No.”

  “Then you are naturally talented.”

  In my head, I snorted at the compliment. “I have professional opinions to the contrary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was eighteen, I wanted nothing more than to be an artist…a painter. My father had other ideas.”

  “So you didn’t do it because of him?”

  “Oh no, I wasn’t a docile boy. I rebelled. He threatened to disown me. I’ll have you know I didn’t balk at that idea. I accepted it. Things are always easier when you’re young.”

  “What changed?”

  “He made a deal with me. It was a fair deal, and I accepted the terms.”

  “What deal?”

  “He said I couldn’t make a living with the bohemian lifestyle I chose for myself. I disagreed, of course, but he wanted to prove that to me. He offered to pay all my living expenses for six months. After that time, I would have an exhibition. If I made enough to cover what he’d spent, then he’d send me to the art school of my choice. Or to Europe to study with a master. I really wanted that, Mary. I wanted to improve and hone my skills. So I accepted.”

  “And?” she asked as if I was withholding a captivating plotline from her.

  “And I worked hard those six months. I lived as frugally as I could, intending to prove him wrong. My girlfriend and I moved into this tiny loft and split the rent. I think it was half the size of this room.”

  “You didn’t sell enough then?” Her disappointment was almost adorable, except that shortcoming in my life still hurt.

  “One. One fucking painting, and to my father no less. A pinch of salt for my wounds. The critics blasted me, and these are New York critics, so they were especially harsh.”

  “That made you stop? Because you didn’t make any money?”

  “People cannot live on their dreams. I went onto college and business school, the path he’d planned for me.”

  “But there were other options. You could have gotten a temporary job and continued to paint. Just because you didn’t make money doesn’t mean you’re not good.”

  “It most certainly does mean that. It’s basic commerce. Besides, after I put everything into it and failed so epically, I didn’t have the heart for it. I parted ways with my paintbrush.”

  “And the girlfriend?” she asked, a little sharply.

  “We parted ways, too.”

  She stared down at the picture again. “I look beautiful in this picture.”

  “You look beautiful every day.”

  “May I purchase this from you, Mr. Montgomery?”

  I replayed her request in my head, unsure if I heard correctly. “You can have it. After all, you’re the reason I wanted to sketch in the first place.”

  She stood and reached into her blouse. My cock stirred at the sight. But when she pulled out a bill, I almost fell from my chair.

  “I have to purchase it.”

  “I’m not taking money from you, Mary. Have you gone mad?”

  “This isn’t much. It might get you some hard candy at the market, but it’s important I pay for it.”

  “Why is it important to you?”

  “It’s not important to me, Liam. It’s important to you.” Fuck, she picked now to say my name? As if I could refuse her anything. God, she was clever. “I don’t mean to offend you. But you’ve made it clear you don’t think you’re talented unless there is a monetary value associated with your work. It’s my way, a symbolic way, of showing you that you are.” She held out the note. “Please take it. I really want your sketch, but I won’t accept it unless you let me pay for it.”

  Reluctantly, I took the note from her. The gesture, even though it was strange, touched me. She brought something out in me I didn’t know existed. “You’re emasculating me. You know that, right?”

  “I’m empowering you.” She bowed her head for emphasis. “Sir.”

  And that gesture…well, that made me want to spank her, to kiss her, to send her away, to hug her, and to fuck her at the same time. Where Mary Costa was concerned, I checked the box that read all of the above.

  She carefully ripped the paper from the ledger and folded it into a neat square. “I have to go. It’s very late.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “That wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Wise people are boring. We’re going to be foolish.” I mentally forced my dick into submission before I stood.

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  “Don’t speak—not a single word. You will walk ahead of me, and I will follow a few paces behind until I see you safely behind your quarters. Is that understood?”

  She took a step back, her breaths coming out quicker than before, her breasts heaving. I hadn’t even touched her…yet. At least not the way I wanted. Oh God, Mary, you love this, don’t you? She was stubbornly independent, but she also had a desire to be dominated…at least on some level
. Or was it just me who brought this out in her?

  The former suited me just fine, but the idea of the later caused my erection to become painful. The same could be said for me. I enjoyed dominating, but I wasn’t a dom, for God’s sake. I didn’t know the first thing about that particular lifestyle except for a passage of Fifty Shades a girl read to me one night. But with Mary, I found myself with all kinds of kinky thoughts about tying her up and having her kneel before me. Get it out of your head, Montgomery. Mary Costa and I made absolutely zero sense in every way.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Say. My. Name.”

  She bowed her head slightly. “Yes, Liam.”

  Fuck…we were in trouble.

  Chapter 8

  Mary

  I double-checked my wrapping. I hadn’t bought a present in years, not since my family was alive. Here I was buying two in one week. Well, technically the sunscreen didn’t count.

  I’d traded shifts with Pooja so I could make the two-hour journey to the bookstore. Instead of renting a book, I bought one for the first time. The clerk almost fainted when I handed her the money.

  The whole day I wrote little messages and stuck them inside the stiff pages of the hardback novel. I had no idea if he’d appreciate it or be offended. I wished I could talk to Pooja about it, but one sentence, and she’d figure out the whole sordid thing. The rumors would spread quicker than malaria and attract just as many flies. Instead of trying to avoid the gossip surrounding me, I’d actually be the gossip. I didn’t want that. I kept everything in my heart hidden. No time to start sharing now.

  The same banquet room where we’d had the strange discussion about face creams was also the location of Liam’s party. He did a good job of acting surprised. He even appeared grateful to Prabhat. I gathered dirty plates and empty glasses during the party, stealing glances at Liam the whole time. A few times his gaze was already on me. Prabhat had invited the high-level staff as well as guests, splurging on the higher-end suites.

  I wasn’t sure of the right word for him…dashing, handsome, striking? His sandy hair swept across his face, and his intense green-brown eyes captured more light than the twinkling chandelier in the center of the room. The dark suit and emerald striped tie contrasted nicely with his skin, which had taken on a golden hue since he’d arrived.

  My heart skipped entire beats whenever I looked at him. But I wasn’t the only one. The women all made excuses to be near him. I did my best not to notice…or at least pretended not to.

  “Oh, my God,” one lady with considerable breasts mused to another when I cleared their table, “he’s like the British Channing Tatum.”

  I made a mental note to ask Pooja later who that was. She had worked for a western family before coming to the hotel and knew lots of things I didn’t.

  When I cleared his table of the cake plates, he leaned in close to me. “Thank you,” he said, pressing a tip into my hand.

  I quickly walked away, afraid all of my hidden feelings would spill out in one lusty look. Liam’s deep voice boomed across the room. “Prabhat, the party wore me out. I’m going to retire for the night.”

  “But it’s so early, sir. We have entertainment.”

  “I’m really tired.”

  A selfish part of me wished I hadn’t talked him out of cancelling the party. It meant no room service for him tonight. I craved our nightly chats. After every dish was cleaned and all the guests had left, I unfurled the bill he’d given me. A note with a tiny drawing of a lotus flower fell out.

  Meet me outside at the rear of the building next to the garden. Unchain the rope.

  What rope? Did he really want to risk us being seen? Did I?

  I did.

  * * * *

  I had to use every ounce of control not to run there. The rope stopped me short with the large wooden sign that stated the garden was closed for the night. Ah, this rope. I removed the chain and hooked it back up after me. None of the lights were on to illuminate the path, but it still didn’t stop me from running. I searched all the dark shadows for him.

  An arm hooked around my waist, pulling me to the side of the building. His breath warmed my skin.

  “About time. I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  “I just saw the note. You waited for me?”

  “I would have waited a lot longer. You’re worth the wait.”

  My knees buckled at his words. He rubbed my arms, his hands curling around them. Dear God, how would those large hands feel on the rest of my body? But he let go all too soon, before wicked thoughts could turn into wicked actions. I lowered my head. I wanted him in a way that scared me. I wanted him to kiss me with his soft mouth. I wanted to run my fingers through his thick hair, making it even more unruly. I wanted to watch the muscles in his arms flex as he lay on top of me. He tilted my chin so I was looking at his intense eyes.

  “How was your day, Mary?”

  Getting much better, thank you. “It was a good day for me. Did you enjoy your party?”

  “The company was lacking. I missed you.”

  Butterflies hatched in my stomach, their wings fluttering like crazy. The air between us crisped and sparked. His hands settled on my hips. He wanted to kiss me. I wanted it, too. But he took a deep breath instead and let me go. A crooked smile lit up his face as he jerked his head toward the garden. “Come, I have something to show you.”

  He took my hand and led me down the dark path of the garden.

  “Why is the garden closed?”

  “Patience, Miss Costa.”

  He placed me in front of the fountain. “Stand here.” He went to the other side. Under the dim light of the full moon, he picked up two extension cords. “I hope I don’t get electrocuted,” he said as he joined them.

  There were no words. The trees canopying the fountain sparkled with tiny white lights. Polished stones lined the fountain, the smell of fresh mortar slightly masked by the rose petals floating around my proud surviving lotus flower.

  “They fixed it without disturbing the flower. I made sure of it.”

  “It’s beautiful. You’ve given me the best gift. And on your birthday, too. Thank you.”

  “I told Prabhat I’d like an outdoor going-away party tomorrow night.”

  My stomach burned, a caustic acid dripping on delicate, fluttering butterfly wings. He was leaving. Why did I keep forgetting that? “You hate parties.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I do, but how could I explain I wanted it done in one day without making him suspicious?”

  “You did all of this for me?”

  “Yes, but I had my own selfish reasons, too. I wanted a dance with you.”

  “There’s no music.”

  “But there is.”

  He took out his phone and set it on the fountain. Two seconds later Dusty Springfield was singing “Don’t Forget About Me.”

  Staring at Liam, I completely understood Dusty’s lyrics. “You remembered.”

  “Of course, I did. I told you I was listening.” He bowed slightly. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Costa?”

  “Yes, Liam, I will.”

  The green took over his eyes, his hands grasped my hips, and he bent toward me until our foreheads touched. “I love the way you say my name.”

  He pulled me against him and spun me around. I giggled like a teenage girl. I had never danced with anyone. But there were silent commands in the firm grip of his hands, the penetrating stare of his eyes, and the fierce pull of his body. I surrendered to all of it. It was easy to follow him…so, so easy.

  I was out of breath by the time the song finished. God, if he could exhaust me with just one dance, what would he be like during other intimate pursuits? I pushed the thought out of my mind because, for once, I was not going to run away or think too hard. I was only going to enjoy the perfect night he’d given me.

  He pulled me toward a bench. I rested my head on his shoulder. Dusty started crooning �
��Spooky.”

  “Dinner is served,” he said, pulling out a brown paper bag from under the bench. I peered inside. There were mangos and bananas. At the bottom was a plastic container with a piece of his birthday cake. “I’m sorry. It’s not much. I had to pack it myself, but I know this is usually the time you eat. I’ve had my dinner already, but I didn’t want you to go hungry.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  I took a mango and sniffed. “It smells delicious.” I held it toward him.

  “Mmmm,” he agreed, except he didn’t smell the mango. He buried his nose in my hair.

  Then he shifted away, perhaps thinking the trespass was too much.

  It wasn’t enough.

  I found a knife at the bottom of the bag and used it to cut through the amber flesh of the mango, holding it steady in my hand.

  “Do you want a plate? I can get one.”

  “I do this all the time.” My bracelet slipped. I stopped and pushed it back up. I had linked the chain too loose this morning. I started cutting through the mango again. The bracelet inched down once more. I stopped to fix it, sighing in frustration.

  He took my wrist. “Let me take it off.”

  “No!” I pulled my hand away.

  He flinched. “You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to take it off.”

  God, Liam, don’t ruin this perfect moment…please.

  “Then let me finish this,” he said, taking the mango and knife. I calmed myself by watching him and listening to Dusty. Liam rolled up his sleeves, the fabric of his shirt stretched across his frame. His hands were large, but far from clumsy—they could handle a small knife with mastery, yet cover a great expanse. I’d never noticed how long his fingers were, only the electric tingle my body had whenever they touched me. He had the hands of an artist.

  He worked swiftly, making two halves. He started to chop them into smaller pieces.

  “That’s enough.” I took a slice. “This is the way a mango should be eaten.”