Laughing, she kissed his temple. “Anywhere else?”

“Here.” He tapped his mouth.

“It’s not an easy fix,” she whispered. “Lips need a lot of attention.”

“Then you’d better get started.”

His brain short-circuited when she kissed him, and he gave in to the tidal wave of emotion he’d been holding back since the crash. He kissed her hard and fierce, his tongue touching, tasting, owning every inch of her sweet mouth.

She moaned softly, one hand gripping his shoulder as he buried his face in her neck, licking and sucking her skin. He was hard as steel beneath his fly, his body pulsing with need. Everything about her called to his baser instincts—to protect, to claim, to hold, to own. He wanted her with a fierce, urgent need that he didn’t fully understand, but if her enthusiastic response to his rough kisses was any indication, she wanted him, too.

“If you were planning on”—he cleared his throat, unable to even form the question as to what she meant by test-drive Harman—“a date tonight, does that mean you’re wearing easy-access underwear?”

“Maybe you should take off my clothes and find out.”

He licked his lips in anticipation and reached for her skirt.

“Beta?” A woman’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Are you here?”

• 19 •

“BETA?”

Layla froze when her mother’s voice rang through the restaurant.

“Where are you? I’m here with Mehar.”

“Oh God.” Layla jumped up and straightened her clothes. “They aren’t supposed to be here.” Hands shaking, she looked around for a means of escape. “Mehar Auntie can smell men. We have to get you out of here.”

Sam buttoned his jeans. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you.”

“Are you serious?” She hissed out a breath. “It’s not the same for women, and you know it. I’ll be grounded for life.”

“You’re twenty-six years old.”

“I’m living at home. I haven’t found a new place yet.” She pushed him backward. “Get into the closet and stay quiet.”

He gave an indignant sniff. “I’m not hiding in a closet. I’m the CEO of a very prominent restructuring comp—”

“You have to.” She pushed him again, cutting him off. “I can’t be here alone at night with a strange man. She’ll think we were up to no good.”

Sam smirked. “We were up to no good—at least until we were interrupted.”

“Sam. Please. You don’t understand. It’ll be a big deal. She’ll make assumptions . . .” Trying a different tactic, she leaned up and kissed him. “Stay in the closet and I promise to tell you the fantasy that I had about you and me and the Eagerson desk.”

Sam ducked behind her father’s spare shirts. “Does it involve handcuffs?”

“No handcuffs.”

“Rope?”

“No.”

“Chains?”

“It wasn’t Fifty Shades of Brown, so don’t get excited.” She closed the door, leaving it open just a crack so he could breathe.

Not a second too late. Her mother and Mehar Auntie walked into the office.

“What are you guys doing here?” She straightened the desk chair, surreptitiously checking for evidence of their illicit activities. “I thought I was closing for you tonight.”

“Taara couldn’t remember if she’d left the gas stove on.” Her mother shook her head. “You weren’t answering your phone so I came to check after picking Mehar up from her sangeet. I saw your Jeep outside and—”

“I smell a man.” Mehar Auntie sniffed the air.

“I’m sure there were lots of men in the restaurant tonight.” Layla leaned over the desk and grabbed a stack of envelopes. “I thought I’d go through the mail and sort through the invoices. It’s been piling up ever since Dad went into the hospital, and the bookkeeper is coming in a few days.”

“No.” Her mother grabbed the envelopes out of her hand. “That’s not for you to worry about. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already got so much on your plate . . .” Her eyes widened when she saw Mehar Auntie sniffing her way over to the closet, like a dog who had caught a scent.

“This is a beautiful salwar kameez, Auntie-ji.” She interposed herself between her aunt and the closet door. “I love the bright orange and red embroidery. Very Bollywood. Did you get it at Nira Auntie’s store?”

“She just got them in.” Mehar Auntie smiled. “Look at this beadwork. I thought it was too nice to wear as a guest, but she said it would be good for sales when I hit the dance floor.” She danced a few steps of “You Are My Soniya” from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, singing as she made wide circles with her arms and slapped her ample rear.

Layla heard a snort from the cupboard and she moved to block Sam’s view. “I’m sure you were a hit.”

Mehar Auntie segued into a more vigorous portion of the dance, bending over to shake her breasts. “You should have seen me on the dance floor. The men couldn’t tell the difference between me and Kareena Kapoor, even though I’m twenty years older.”

“I can imagine.” Mehar Auntie was a sangeet hog, taking center stage at every celebration with choreographed dances that she practiced at home complete with outfit changes.

Layla heard a muffled laugh and coughed loudly, trying to hide the sound.

“Come, beta.” Mehar Auntie wiped the sweat off her brow. “Dance with me.”

“There’s not really enough room.” She backed up to the closet as her aunt spun around, arms waving in the air. “And my skirt is too tight.”

“You should have seen what the young girls were wearing,” Mehar Auntie continued. “These young people today. Everything is cut too low or too high and showing too much skin. I told them a good man doesn’t want a woman who is trying to get him into her bed before they are married.”

“Exactly. You’re very wise.” Layla’s pulse kicked up a notch when her mother fixed her with a stern gaze. She knew that stare.

Layla swallowed hard. “Times are changing, though.”

“That’s true.” Mehar Auntie paused for breath. “Everyone had what they called a coffee bar name. Instead of Noopur, the girl is Natalie. Instead of Tarick, the boy is Ricky. And Hardik wants to be called Harry because he says Americans think his name means he is in the dirty movies.” She hesitated, frowned. “Do you have a coffee bar name?”