A Perfect Mismatch (9 page)

Hearing the crash, Armaan swung the bathroom door open … and the next moment, his world tilted upside down. For those few seconds, he thought he had seen a vision of incomparable beauty. It was surreal and inexplicable. He stared and stared at the sight in front of him without being able to move an inch. In the flickering light of the candles, the wind played havoc with the things in the room from
where a window had burst open. Amidst the clatter, in the centre of the chaos, stood Zara, her long silken hair blowing about her face and bare shoulders. She was struggling with the windows as they flapped and danced about in abandon to the wind’s commands. The bed sheet had slithered half way down her torso and was hitched precariously around her hips while she grabbed a handful of the swirling linen to cover herself up and close the window at the same time.

She was stunningly beautiful! Her skin gleamed, gilded in the lamplight, softened by the shadows. Her figure, silhouetted against the inky black night outside the window, lit up by sporadic lightning, was generously endowed. To his fevered imagination, she appeared to have stepped out of a Raja Ravi Varma painting or a baroque mural and he stared without blinking, noting the dips and opulent curves of her heavy breasts, the small rounded belly and the tempting swell of her hips still covered in the sheet. What was more mesmerizing was her gay laughter that she stifled immediately while resuming her attempts at restoring order. It was the first time that he had heard her laugh. A sound of untrammeled joy that touched him deeply. In that pure moment of madness she was a creature of nature, one with the elements … unattainable …

Then Zara turned with half a smile on her full lips at her precarious predicament and saw Armaan. The impact of his gaze froze her. Her eyes widened and her face turned blood red in sheer mortification. Clutching the elusive sheets as quickly as possible, she spun away from him with her back rigid as steel.

Stirring out of the shocked, mindless state, Armaan strode forward to close the window. Turning towards her, he saw that Zara was already covered from shoulder down and was furtively tightening the knots to avoid any chances of a repeat. Without a word, for he could not speak one meaningful syllable to her even if he strived hard, he picked up his phone and rang up the hotel. At least the signal seemed fine this time. Even as he was talking to the manager he couldn’t get the exquisite image of Zara out of his mind.

Zara wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole until the next century! She trembled in a mixed reaction of sensual awareness and shame. Why had she not heard him come out in time? Oh, the shame! He seemed so calm, just turning away without saying a word. He had come out of the bath with only a sheet wrapped around his lean hips like a sarong, emphasizing the narrow waist and tight flat abdomen. He looked most comfortable in his skin. His smooth muscled back gleamed with droplets of water as he talked on the phone. His hair fell in curly waves on his forehead making her want to run a hand through its thick darkness. She shivered again in reaction, her eyes drawn to the powerful thighs.

Zara wished she could brush the incident aside with the same nonchalance that Armaan had shown. There he was, talking as if everything was perfectly all right, while she felt frumpy and was turning maroon with embarrassment. Perhaps it was because he was used to seeing the female body while he drew them on canvas. It may not have mattered to him, and yes, she wasn’t the kind of woman
he would find beautiful. Zara grew angrier at the turn of thoughts reminding her of Bani’s comment that she could never be woman enough to keep him by her side.

Armaan cut the call and said in clipped tones, “The hotel staff says there is a short cut. If we had reached here on time, they could have sent us a taxi! It is no use saying that now! We might as well get some sleep and leave tomorrow morning.” He began to hang his washed clothes for drying on the clothes stand and placed it in front of the charcoal brazier.

The little piece of information combined with her earlier angry mood, upset Zara even more. They had gone through needless trouble when they could have reached the hotel easily. “If you had not taken a wrong turn we could have reached the hotel for the night instead of getting stranded here!” Zara pointed out.

“We are stuck in this place because of you!” he said with a shrug.

So the blame game began. “To think that for the next six months I have to tolerate this every single day! It is unthinkable!” She sat down on a stool stiff with frustration and began to brush her hair with her fingers.

“Yes it
is
unthinkable that I have to bear with your ill-tempered, uncompromising attitude for such a long time. All you have done is belittle me, since the day I decided to marry you, just so that you could get even with me at all costs.”

“What are you talking about?” She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.

“You deliberately insulted me with that hideous thing
you wore for our engagement. It looked like a giant, shiny orange pumpkin! Everyone was sniggering! You seem to derive pleasure in making a fool of me. If I had not appointed Aparna to take care of your trousseau you would probably have worn a table cloth to the wedding!”

The accusation stumped her into silence but not for too long. “How dare you say such a horrible thing?” She was panting with the effort of putting a lid on her temper. “You don’t know anything about me! I
don’t
enjoy hurting others! Unlike your obsession for trivial things like stylish dressing, I have better things to think about! It is no wonder that you have turned out the way you have! I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with a man who is so fickle! I would rather marry a man who accepts me as I am, whether I am wearing a tablecloth, or a bobbinet, or a … loofah!”

Zara was blurting out words without thinking. She jabbed a finger at his chest and stepped in closer. “Some of us less ‘privileged’ people have different and serious priorities. All you do is run each other down because so-and-so is not wearing a designer outfit or not flaunting a sinfully exorbitant bag, cut out of a dead animal, the cost of which could feed a starving population. It’s called entertainment when someone is seen flashing a milliondollar surgically enhanced pair of assets!” She took a deep breath and continued, “I am not surprised that you don’t want commitment in marriage! You are too shallow to think of any woman with respect or real love! No woman worth her salt would ever genuinely want to stay married to a mulish, boor like you!”

Armaan knew then what white-hot fury meant. His hands balled into fists as his voice lowered into a growl, “Well, it’s a surprise that
you
managed to land a husband at all! If I am not worthy of being a husband then
you
are not perfect wife material either! Your bitter waspish tongue can burn down a man’s home! You are a vengeful, spiteful shrew! In fact, had your mother been alive she would have been very hurt to see you like this! It is a blessing that she is not present to rue this day.”

The silence that followed that statement was an explosion. The moment the last words left his errant tongue, Armaan knew that he had gone too far.

Zara went deathly pale. It would have killed her to admit that his acid comment had gashed deep into old wounds. But she was too enraged to take it lying down.

Without a second thought, or remorse, her hand shot out and slapped hard across his face.

There was an excruciating silence when only the sound of the thunder outside was heard. Zara saw Armaan’s face harden into a mask of unmitigated rage as his lips thinned into a deadly slash.

The growing red weal on his cheek did nothing to ease the agonizing wound in Zara’s heart caused by his thoughtless, cruel words.

A fury he could not control any longer broke loose. Armaan grabbed her shoulders and backed her against the wall. For long moments he held her tight against his body, feeling the blood thrum through his veins at her close proximity. Their eyes locked in challenge. Then his mouth was crushing her lips to submission in every possible way. Every inch of that hard unyielding body welded against her squirming one, extracting sweet revenge. She gasped when he nipped her bottom lip none too gently … just stopping short of causing harm.

A vicious blow caught his shin and Armaan growled in rage. The blow didn’t have the effect that Zara was hoping for. It only resulted in stoking the leashed aggression as Armaan kissed her again.

The fury that she felt was volcanic. Without thinking of the repercussions, Zara was kissing him back, finding it to be the best method of defense. Even as she turned into the aggressor, she realized the folly of her action when his hands curved around her hips to hold her closer to his arousal. She had no way of recovering from the shot of pleasure that slid through her veins. She was melting against him, against her will, with the kiss binding them together.

Armaan was astonished by the kiss. Zara had stopped pounding on his chest. He wished she hadn’t! The kiss was far more effective in unsettling him than her violent reaction. Sheer pleasure hit him when she sank her hands into his hair with her arms around his neck. Zara couldn’t stop kissing him once the floodgates had opened, slaking a deep thirst that seemed endless. Armaan finally took charge, twisting her around and tumbled with her on the bed. He landed effortlessly on top of her, enveloping her in his arms.

Zara was immobile from head to toe. Jolted out of her bubble of excitement, she could not fathom what had suddenly changed between them. His tall muscled body connected with her from chest to thigh. What had she done! Kissing him like it was a lifeline for her! She couldn’t face him. Her eyes squeezed shut, terrified that Armaan would see the hot desire in them. One look would be enough to
elicit a mocking comment. Her heart pounded like a crazy drum. She wanted to cry out, scream at him that she … wanted him desperately! No! She wanted to escape this torture! She was tangled with him, limbs, sheets and all, in such a manner that she could not move an inch. Both were motionless in silent awareness.

For Armaan, the effort of just holding on to his reeling senses was too great. The kiss had left him shaken. Zara’s eyes were squeezed shut when he kissed her again hungrily. She moaned for the first time, wanting to wrap her arms around him, even as her eyes filled with tears.

The warm tears were worse than the slap he had received a few minutes ago. The droplets dripped through his fingers that were tangled in her hair, framing her face. He lifted his mouth off her reddened lips, suddenly contrite. Zara lay still, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her eyes still closed with tears flowing freely now.

“Zara? Sweetheart … talk to me!” Armaan whispered, cupping her face, his voice bordering on a flimsy apology. His tone gentled for the first time since the senseless frenzy had begun. He smoothed her tangled hair away from her face.

Zara didn’t know what to say. The gentle query and the very first endearment from Armaan broke her resolve not to cry. Her face crumpled without words in a soft sob. Zara felt the need to scream and scream, but she would not let herself have that relief yet. Not while he was watching her. Stoically she swallowed the next sob and waited for him to get off her … waited with eyes still closed.

Slowly, the sensations burned every resistance in her body. Her limbs grew heavy and languorous as they acknowledged the hard sinewy, muscles on her. She kept still, not wanting to give away how she felt.

A slow steady fire burned its way between her thighs where his muscled leg had fitted in. Patience, she told herself. Now that he did not seem so angry, he might just leave her. That would effectively douse the fire that was now licking all the way to her breasts, cushioned against his bare chest. Seconds ticked by, but he did not move. She knew he must be watching her, those dark brown eyes without mercy, his face only inches from hers.

If she opened her eyes now would he mock her again? Laugh at her vulnerability? She did not want him to see the hopeless desire in her eyes. So, she kept them tightly shut as the tears flowed.

Little did Zara know that Armaan was already roasting in the same fire. He wiped the warm tears with a feather light touch. Gently he lowered his mouth to kiss some of the salty droplets, afraid that he had injured her.

Zara opened her tear-drenched eyes and Armaan was lost. He watched her parted lips gulp in air. The tiny movement enhanced the quicksilver response that razed down his defenses against the woman in his arms. His wife! His body registered every breath she took and he felt the lush curves melt.

Without thinking, egged on by a raging need denied for too long, he pressed soft kisses on her mouth. All anger had dissipated long back. He couldn’t curb the urge to explore the sweetness of her mouth. Encouraged by the
soft sigh that escaped her lips his finger traced a line on her smooth throat.

Zara decided to let go of all sense and reason. She just gave up fighting all the powerful feelings that she had hidden away for so long. She wanted this more than anything right now. Her arms went around his shoulders, urging him on. His hand curved around a rounded breast and Zara let out a shuddering breath. Soon his hands were running over her fiercely, exulting in the glorious curves and the feminine scent of her body. Her eyes glazed with a rush of desire she
didn’t
want to control. She arched her back when he lifted her off the bed to hold her in a steely grip while he could press passionate, searing kisses from her throat and smooth shoulders to the hollow between her breasts.

Everything changed between them forever. The anger they had been battling was transformed into a greedy need to obliterate everything painful.

Armaan kissed her again with a wild passion that was escalating out of control. Zara was blown away by the ferocity of her desire. She was kissing him with all her heart, responding to every silken touch. When she saw his eyes dark and smouldering with hot desire she instinctively knew that hers were no different. He was soon pulling away the sheets from around them, touching and kissing her ravenously, everywhere, wherever he could find a sliver of satin skin.

What was unleashed could not be explained, or curbed as they hurled into a vortex of need. It goaded them, instigated them to ride the powerful wave.

There was no sense of discovery, no gentle foreplay, no loving words, nor sweet, passionate display of affection. Only a need to sate this wild hunger! Her last coherent thought was that he had not said a word about wanting her. But she could not say a word herself, for she was riding the same wave with him. Perhaps it was best that words did not hover between them in this moment of mindlessness.

Armaan was already pushing her thighs apart urgently with his knee before Zara could recover from the onslaught of his mouth on her navel. His teeth grazed her breasts in open-mouthed kisses. She clung to him, wanting only to appease some of the want that throbbed in her core as his hand dipped into the honeyed wetness. Zara moaned, willingly taking what he was offering her.

The world spun and whirled for Zara, as he settled between her legs. Their eyes met as if in mutual agreement to appease the insatiable hunger quickly. She captured his head in her palms looking up at him. Then he was thrusting into her for the first time. There was pain and she cried out. Her eyes flew up to his and Armaan knew that he had entered her too quickly.

“Zara?” he whispered hoarsely, hovering over the edge, wanting a word of confirmation that she was fine. She reached up and kissed him, pulling him headlong over the brink with her unabashed display of passion. He tried to hold on, but she writhed for fulfillment. After that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, as he thrust again and again. She took a fragmented breath, her hips moving in unison against him. She didn’t want him to stop! The pain receded immediately and pure pleasure soared and melted
her into him, as they became one. It surged and ripped through them and they were stumbling and flying again.

Zara wrapped herself instinctively around him as Armaan groaned her name in indescribable pleasure. Taking her face in his palms, Armaan kissed her lips gently once more. Somewhere in her foggy brain, a thought made a tiny indentation. She had truly become his wife. In a daze she heard Armaan groan her name again and again, tightening his grip to bury himself deep within her one last time, before falling on top of her in exhaustion.

It passed as quickly as a desert storm. For long moments Zara could only take deep shuddering breaths, utterly replete. She was floating on a cloud aimlessly. The pleasure that she had received had been too intense to be given a definition. How, when and why didn’t seem to have any meaning. She remained in a state of complete bliss in his arms for indefinite moments.

Then the pleasure receded and she fell out of the cocoon. The sudden impact of reality made her cringe. She had imagined it differently from this senseless copulation without genuine love and warmth between a man and a woman. The candles had guttered down and there was no light in the room, except an orange glow from the last one in the corner. They remained silent, except for their harsh breathing that brought them back to awareness.

Armaan was the first to rouse. He rolled off her and turned to the corner of the bed. The silence stretched between them, gathering in its wake a leaden grief for Zara. Armaan stared at the ceiling, his eyes vaguely noting
the irregular patterns gouged into the old plaster where several brown moths were settled for the night.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said quietly. Unaware that the statement had cut through Zara, he continued in a monotone, “I am sorry … I didn’t realize … I couldn’t stop myself on time.” It sounded like a pathetic excuse even to his ears.

The silence stretched to tearing point, and then he heard her choked whisper. “I am equally responsible. I didn’t know what came over me! It wasn’t what I had imagined my first time to be like. But I guess I better learn to accept reality as it is.”

That put a crunching halt to his thoughts. He had hurt her. He knew it now … the emotional vulnerability that he had seen in her tears. And he couldn’t do a thing to rectify that mistake. He was
not
going to find excuses for what had happened.

Like all stupid, arrogant males before him he had begun by trying to get even with her. Armaan could not believe that an educated, intellectually emancipated man like him could lash back at a woman by kissing her. It was pure madness! Yes, Zara had been wrong in striking him, but he had been cruel too in the insensitive words he had hurled at her.

There was no solace in the thought that Armaan had forgotten anger when Zara had kissed him back. He had never felt this way with another woman. Then the shock of the first teardrops had been like a cannonball crashing into his defenses. Anger had evaporated even as his mouth had touched hers. There had only been desire after that.
What happened was too complicated for his tattered brain to analyze.

Yes, Zara had been just as wildly passionate as him. There had been no trace of hatred or anger in her eyes when she gave herself to him. But he could have stopped in time. She had been so soft and sensual in his arms that he had not been able to leash the undeniable need. This need to make love to her. Love? Where was the love in this? He didn’t want to think of love. What had happened was only a result of rage and lust. It was useless now to pretend that he did not want her.

Armaan could not remember when it had first registered in his tightly reigned in mind. It had probably always been present … this strange tension that he had felt in her presence. Everything had come crashing down when he saw her wrapped in nothing but sheets. She was too gorgeous and he had lost his mind. Even now in the aftermath, he could have laughed heartily at himself for the blind fool he had been.

What had he said about her? That Zara was as large as a house … and a block of ice? Zara was neither! That knowledge humbled him. He had been too confident about everything and it had washed away like a grandiose sandcastle under the onslaught of the first wave. Never in his wildest dreams could he have known that she could arouse such explosive passion in him. He had fallen off the edge and disintegrated into dust at the sight of her gleaming skin in the lamplight. It would have been much easier, if she had been dressed in those voluminous, ugly clothes that she preferred.

His mind seethed with unending disaster scenarios this episode might bring. Bunching up his fists, he dug them into his eyes to obliterate the images of their intertwined bodies from a few moments ago. The possibility of a pregnancy threw his head spinning like a top. It churned for a long while in his head as he drifted off to troubled sleep.

A long time passed before Zara could stir from her lonely corner. She wanted to escape. If only she could erase some of the pain that was mauling her from within. Armaan was asleep, still sprawled in the same position and she could barely make out his dark shape in the dwindling light.

Quietly she moved towards the narrow door of the balcony and crept out into the drippy night. The wooden stool in the corner was damp but she did not care. Huddled in the sheet, she gulped in the cold air in a sob that caught her unawares. When the tears fell she couldn’t help herself. She covered her mouth lest anyone should hear her tortured voice.

Zara possessed the humility to acknowledge that it was a mistake. She had gone berserk! When he kissed her she had had no defense. Oh, how she had wanted it. She had kissed him back with such pleasure that all her principles had blown away. She also knew instinctively that Armaan had been just as passionate as she had been. She should never have goaded him. Who can forgive a slap in the face? Everything that she believed in had been compromised in those few moments. Where was her self-control and dignity? Why hadn’t she been able to hold on to her emotions?