Page 127 of The Rut in the Road

Raj had gone to find a fan to dry them faster, and was starting to assemble the ones that had dried. We’d talked more about his family, what his great-great-great-great-grandfather had done to earn the watch, what it was like visiting his parents’ friendsin London, and the fact that he’d spent a summer at the same college where his parents had met in Cambridge.

“What’s your middle name?” I asked him, after a lull in the conversation.

He looked at me curiously. “Vijay,” he answered. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Your ancestor’s first name was Rajesh,” I told him. “And his middle name was the same as your father’s name, so I wondered if they didn’t swap them back and forth.”

He chuckled. “Oh, they did, sort of. Every generation always has one of the two names, if not both. My grandfather’s two older brothers were Rajesh and Farhan, andhewas a Vijay. He nearly lost his mind when my parents named Gibran something else, as the eldest son.” He chuckled. “I think that’s how I ended up Rajesh—to keep my grandfather from disinheriting my father.” The way he said it, however, made me think he wasn’t being entirely serious.

We worked in silence for a while.

“Where did your name come from?” he asked.

“I was born during a hurricane,” I answered. “It seemed appropriate, but my parents didn’t want to use a conventional spelling. Like Vi is Violette, like the flower, but fancier, because they were pretentious.” I shrugged. “According to Vi, it was our mother’s favorite flower.”

We fell back into silence, and spent the rest of the evening that way, working and chatting in a way that was extremely pleasant.

I had no idea what time it was when Raj set down the glue, then used his hands to crack his neck to each side. “I think I’m done hunching over for the night,” he told me, giving me a smile.

I looked up, blinking, realizing that I was also getting a little stiff from sitting hunched over my tiny brush. I stretched my good arm over the back of the chair, wincing a little. “Me, too,” I agreed.

“Stay?” he asked me, pushing himself back to his feet and coming over to reach out a hand. I took it, smiling, and nodded. I’d been hoping he’d ask me to stay.

He pulled me up out of the chair, and immediately tugged me against his body, his other arm sliding around my back to rest against my spine. I let my hands rest against his chest, and his second hand joined the first against my back. I pushed up a little on my toes, and Raj took it as the invitation it was, bending to press a long and lingering kiss against my lips.

I wanted more than lingering, so I nipped at his bottom lip.

It had the desired effect, and he let out a soft growl and deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing against mine as he pulled my hips against his. My body reacted to his proximity and the teasing intensity of his mouth on mine, remembering other things that he’d used that mouth on. I reached up, putting my arms around his neck, careful not to jar the cast on the injured one too much.

“God,” he breathed into my mouth. “You are?—”

But he didn’t tell me what I was, instead kissing me again, his hands sliding down over my butt. When he cupped his hands under the backs of my thighs and lifted, I pulled, wrapping myself around him as he let out a small rumble.

I pulled back as he carried me out of the room, heading for the stairs. “You don’t have to carry me upstairs,” I told him, a little breathless from his kisses.

“Do you want me to put you down?”

“Only if you’re going to hurt yourself or drop me by carrying me up them,” I replied.

He laughed. “I won’t,” he assured me, not breaking stride as he started up the stairs.

The upstairs of Raj’s house had three bedrooms, one of which served as a barely-used office. The other smaller bedroom was the guest space, and there was a shared small bath in thehallway, all of which he ignored, carrying me directly to the big master bedroom with a king size bed, rocking lounger with ottoman, and a high dresser with a dish that held watches and rings. Raj also ignored all of these, lifting one knee up on the edge of the bed to crawl across it, holding me up so that I came with him.

Then he set me down on my back. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice still a bit of a throaty growl. He bent his head and began to nuzzle against my neck, interspersing it with gentle kisses and teasing licks against my skin.

I could feel every inch of that skin flushing, and I wanted his hands and his mouth everywhere all at once. I squirmed under him, trying to figure out how to get both his and my clothes off at the same time.

He lifted his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” My answer was emphatic enough to make him laugh.

He bent again, kissing my neck where it met my shoulder, and murmured into my skin, “What do you want?”

“Clothes off,” I half-grunted, tugging at his shirt with my good hand.

He sat back onto his heels, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. “Did you mean mine or yours?” he asked, eyes sparkling gold and brown.

“Yes,” I answered, trying to tug my argyle sweater vest off over my head.