Nothing Like Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

thread clinging to a shapely hip. “Working early, I see.” He gestured to the kitchen, which backed onto his garden. “Come. Let we have some coffee.”
    Sangita glanced at the thin gold watch on her wrist and then over the fence at her house. She bit her lip and blinked her black slanted eyes at Faizal, letting her gaze trail quite obviously over his lean body. “A quick coffee while we discuss. Half a cup.” Her pink lips turned up at the corners. “Just a sip.” She sashayed past him to the kitchen. Her cream skirt swished at her calves.
    Faizal put a pot of water on the stove and set two blue enamel cups on the small counter, watching out of the cornerof his eye as Sangita crossed and uncrossed her legs. He cleared his throat and she looked up at him.
    “Faizal,” she began, flipping open her notebook. She retrieved the pencil from her hair, letting it tumble like soft silk down her back. Faizal swallowed. “Did the money for the burgundy-and-red prayer mats come in as yet?”
    He poured the steamy coffee into the cups and brought them to the table, accidentally brushing Sangita’s ankle with his toe. “Sorry—and no, because I ain’t take them to my store as yet. The mats are scheduled to be picked up today. I go have your payment for the embroidery by tonight.”
    Sangita scribbled this information into her notebook as if Faizal hadn’t told her this a week ago.
    “Your designs was real nice, Sangita. They getting popular. Everybody who sees one of my mats with your needlework does put in an order.”
    Sangita puckered her lips and blew the steam from her coffee before taking a sip. Faizal noticed the top two buttons of her cream-and-powder-blue blouse were still undone. His eyes lingered there until she placed her cup down and shut her notebook abruptly, snapping his attention back to her exquisite face. A sheen of perspiration glowed on her skin and the hairs around her high cheekbones curled in the warm kitchen. Faizal sat back in his chair and waited.
    “Faiz-al”—she sang his name—“tell me what happened last night.”
    He knew she hadn’t really come about the prayer mats. “Last night?” He feigned confusion.
    Sangita swatted his hairy arm with her soft fingertips. “Faizal Mohammed, don’t play stupid!”
    He moved to throw open the tiny windows, distracting himself from the burn of her touch on his skin. Taking a deep breath as a rush of dewy airy blew into the kitchen, he said, “Didn’t Mr. Rajesh Gopalsingh share all the details with his pretty wife last night?”
    Sangita arched an eyebrow at him.
    Faizal knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t help it. She had been teasing him for years. They had been teasing each other for years.
    “I was sleeping when he come home.” She lowered her gaze and Faizal knew she was lying.
    “Hmm. Well, maybe later, nuh?” He pretended to be interested in two birds flitting after each other in a tree outside the window. “When I get back from the shop tonight, I go tell you.”
    She stared at him. “I can’t come back here
tonight
!”
    Faizal pushed his chair back. “Come to the shop.”
    “In Port of Spain?
How?
” She rose, too, but still she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Just tell me if you see them kiss. What were Krishna and Vimla
doing
by the ravine?” She gathered her heavy hair on top of her head and slid the pencil from the table back in its place.
    Faizal grabbed Sangita’s narrow waist and pulled her close while she fiddled with her hair. She gasped, letting her hands fall to his chest but never pushing. “Faizal—”
    “I found them like this.” He lowered his face close to hers, deliberately, until he could feel her warm breath. She parted her lips and leaned into him as he drew her nearer, until their mouths were only half an inch apart. Then he released her, suddenly, and stepped away. “Just like that. That is what I see.”
    Pink crept into Sangita’s cheeks. She puffed at a tendril of hair that had