Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (23 page)

“So she ran away to Jaipur and became a maid.”

Mary nodded. “That’s not in the book, but yes, it’s what happened. Her heart turned black, and she kept everyone at arm’s length. She wanted to be left alone with no memories, no expectations, no obligations. She worked at a hotel for years under a constant cloud of despair of her own making. She swore she’d never speak of it again. Not to anyone. She never let anyone in, not that it mattered. No one ever looks at the maid anyway.” She titled her head at me. “Almost no one.”

She let out a deep breath, which led to a soft cry. Then the dam broke. I held her, cursing myself for not having the right words and for asking her to return to the very place she’d done everything to avoid. She sobbed for a long time, the emotion too great to be contained.

“Maybe you lost part of yourself, but you were never dead. You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

In the dim light coming through the window, I saw her flinch. “Liam, it’s just a story. You asked what Amira’s book was about at dinner. I told you the story. I’m really good at telling stories. They used to call me the storyteller because I could take other people’s stories and retell them in my own way. It’s a few chapters in a book. That’s all it is.”

I could see what she wanted from me. She wanted to tell me and ask me not to acknowledge it at the same time. Because if she did give it to me straight out, she’d invite the darkness back into her life. It would hover between us in every breath and kiss and conversation.

“Okay, thanks for the synopsis. May I ask one thing?”

“What?” There was an unmistakable warning in her question.

“Is the girl happy now? Is she where she wants to be?”

She exhaled a soft breath. “Yes, she is. Happier than she ever thought she could be. But like I said, this isn’t a fairy tale. She’s not looking for a prince to save her. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m really tired, Liam.”

“Me, too.”

She crawled off me and slid under the covers. I shifted beside her and held her tight.

“Hey, Mary,” I whispered after we lay down. She hadn’t fallen asleep. Pale light crept though the windows, followed by the sounds of birds with their crazy squawking.

“Yes?”

“I understand about the lotus flower now, and why they are special.”

I felt her smile against my chest.

“Finally.”

“Yeah, finally.”

Mary

I’d had the most amazing day with Divya and Amira. Liam had made sure we’d received the royal treatment. Today, as we were leaving, he’d asked me if I’d finished the book. I couldn’t hide my regret…not from him. Despite my protests, he insisted we come to the cemetery before leaving for the airport. As I read the final chapters to Hannah, I was thankful for this man beside me, who had shown me such kindness and warmth. When I neared the end of the book, my voice grew thick with emotion. The words came out garbled. How many tears could one person shed?

“Take your time, Mary.”

“We’re going to miss our flight.”

“We’ll catch the next one. There are hundreds of flights from Mumbai to Goa. It’s no problem. Finish it.”

My hands shook, and the words blurred. “I want to, but I don’t think I can.” I closed the book.

“May I?” he asked.

I didn’t know what he meant, but he placed his hands on the book to steady it. I relinquished it to him.

He flipped to the page I had left off. Clearing his throat, he said, “Hannah, I’m not as good at this as your sister, but I’ll do my best.” Liam continued where I’d stopped, his rich baritone voice perfectly matched for Dickens’s prose. He kept his arm around me the whole time. When he finished, I realized I’d never grieved for Hannah or Papa. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” He looked at the gravestones. “Tell me about them, love.”

“We should go, no?”

He shook his head. “We have time.”

I told him about Papa and his love of books. About how he made up little games for Hannah and me at the dinner table. Opening my wallet, I pointed to the one picture I had of the three of us. Hannah wore a yellow frock with tiny butterflies around the collar, Papaji was in his sweater vest, and I wore my green plaid dress, my hair in two plaits. Liam sat behind me as I told him about how much Hannah had loved her silly dress. How she wanted to wear it every single day. Then I talked about Hannah. Really talked about her.

“Hannah had Down Syndrome. My mother thought it was a curse, which reflected badly on her. When I was younger, I blamed Hannah for our mother leaving. I never said anything, but I wasn’t the most patient sister. I wish to God I appreciated her when she was alive. Papa did. He said Hannah’s extra chromosome came from the angels because she was too good to get what everyone else got. I never understood it at the time, but looking back, I realize she had the biggest heart in the smallest package.”

“She knew you loved her, Mary. It was enough for her. Let it be enough for you.”

He stood and placed a rock on each grave. I recognized them as the flat rocks that decorated the hotel entrance.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a Jewish tradition.”

“You’re Jewish?”

He nodded. “I’m not exactly practicing, but yeah, my mum was Jewish, so I’m Jewish. Is that a problem?”

I shook my head, smiling. “Not for me.”

“Good.”

“Why rocks, though?”

“I’m not sure what the real context is. Mum said it was because rocks are solid and forever, like people. The deceased never really die. Not when they loved someone. You see them in the people they left behind. I didn’t know Hannah or your papa or your dadima, but I feel as though I do. Not just because you told me about them. They exist in you, Mary. You honor their memory.”

Tears dripped down my face as I touched the rocks. I didn’t have the right words to show how much I appreciated this beautiful man.

“Liam, that’s lovely.”

“Do you want more time, sweetheart? I can wait in the car if you’d like some privacy.”

I squeezed his hand. “I’m ready to move on.”

My answer had more than one meaning.

Liam

Mumbai was spectacular buildings and bustling crowds, whereas Goa was tropical breezes and sand. The Wilshire Goa sat right on the beach, shining like a polished majestic jewel. The grounds, all fifty-five acres, were immaculate. It was hard to believe this bright blue water belonged to the same Arabian Sea that surrounded Mumbai. Everywhere I looked, there was a spectacular view. But the greatest sight by far was Mary’s reaction as she took it all in.

“Is this real?” she asked, almost to herself.

“It is.”

I pulled her close while the bellman retrieved our luggage from the car. We entered the sun-drenched atrium of the facility.

“It’s amazing.”

“Yes, gorgeous.” I wasn’t referring to Goa. I was talking about the girl who stood next to me.

The chime of church bells drew her attention.

“Do you know when the last service is?” she asked the bellman.

“Madam, they only have one service every Sunday. It just let out.”

“Thank you.”

The mention of next Sunday filled me with cold dread. I remembered what else Goa was. Goa was goodbye.

I shoved the thought away. We had another week, and a paradise to spend it in. That was enough for me. It had to be enough. I managed a wide smile as we walked into the impressive lobby, which reeked of elegance and class mixed with just the right amount of Zen.

I’d changed the booking to a private garden villa overlooking the beach. She hesitated as she walked into the room, as if the breeze coming through the veranda might turn into a powerful wind and blow her back outside. I placed my hand firmly on her lower back.

Truthfully, I really didn’t have to come to Goa. In Jaipur, I needed to see if anything could be done to salvage our property. In Mumbai, I wanted to check out a new space for another hotel. Here, in Goa, our profits soared and our ratings matched. There wasn’t much for me to do. I just had to see the property for myself. It impressed the hell out of me. Now, with her here, I planned to take advantage of my first real holiday.

“Is all of this for us?” she asked, her eyes widening as she took it in. It had been designed so the interior blended with the outdoors. Because we were on a hill, it resembled a luxury tree house.

“All for us, Lotus Girl.”

“This pool. Do we share it?”

“No, it’s called a plunge pool. It’s for our use only. There are several much larger community pools, not to mention the entire Arabian Sea is our backyard, but this one…this is all ours. There’s an outdoor shower, too. Because the trees surround it, no one will see us if we decide to go without our skivvies.”

She laughed, a throaty, good-hearted laugh. “It’s surprising how different all the properties are.”

I undid my cufflinks and unbuttoned my shirt. She watched me.

“A lot of that is location.” I poured out two glasses of madeira. “You build a hotel to suit the location, not the other way around. The architecture should always fit the atmosphere. That’s what separates luxury from everyday accommodations. We are not a one-size-fits-all operation. Of course, there are times when you end up missing the mark, like Jaipur. Anyway, you don’t really want to hear all this.”

“No, it’s interesting.”

Maybe it was interesting, but the last thing I wanted to think about was work. “I took the week off. No conference calls or meetings or anything. Except for touring the facilities, I plan to spend this week with you.”

“That’s probably the best present you could have gotten me.”

“What shall we do first? Go swimming? Or we could go snorkeling or sailing or take a tour of the old Portuguese churches. What’s your wish, Miss Costa?”

“Those are a lot of choices.”

“Wait, do you know how to swim?”

“Yes. I’ll warn you I haven’t been in a while, so I might not be able to keep up with you.”

“Keep up with me?” I scrounged around my luggage for my trunks.

“I’ve seen you swim. Back in Jaipur. You swam every morning. Probably over a hundred laps at least.”

I turned and stared at her. “You were watching me.”

She took in a sharp breath. I let myself look at her. Look at her exposed shapely legs in the shorts she’d worn. Her rounded breasts, rising and falling, in the black tank top. The way the breeze coming through the open sliding door played with her hair. The sexy pout of her mouth as she took slow steps toward me.

“Perhaps we don’t go swimming just yet…sir.”

Maybe it was because she’d opened the blinds all the way for me. Maybe because we’d struggled with our emotions and feelings for each other until we reached this point of comfort. Maybe it was the lure of this location, the taste of salt in the air, the bottle of wine we’d shared on the plane. But I didn’t think it was any of those things. The way our bodies reacted to each other was a different animal entirely. I was a hungry man craving a girl with a need so fierce it should have frightened me. Yet, it didn’t.

I unbuckled my belt. It hit the solid wood floor loud enough to echo. “I promise I’ll be gentle one of these times,” I said, “but right now is not the time.”

“I don’t want gentle either.” She unbuttoned my trousers.

Our lips crushed, hands roamed, and some clothes were shed while others were ripped. I threw her onto the bed. My teeth grazed her nipples. She left deep scratches on my back. I held her wrists down, my forehead against hers. I kissed her as tenderly as I could before my dick strained for satisfaction. Yet, I didn’t let it rule me. I ran my nose down her neck to inhale her spicy vanilla scent. I took the wine glass and poured fine madeira across her breasts. She giggled, tugging on my hair. I swirled my tongue across her body until I’d gotten good and drunk on madeira and Mary Costa.

“Liam…” My name stretched, a soft humming whisper. She said it slowly and seductively, her fingers raking through my hair.

“What’s wrong, love? Want some wine?”

Although she’d turned me back into a horny teenager, I had the experience of a seasoned lover. I planned to utilize all my techniques to please her. To worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth parted. I traced the outline of her lips. She sucked on my finger.

Oh, fuck.

I shifted up. I trailed my hands down, my fingertips following the curve of her voluptuous body. She squirmed beneath my touch, begging me for more. Grasping her hips, I spun her around. She gripped the sheets with tight fists as I slowly followed the path of her spine with my tongue. The swell of her arse, the arc of her hips, and the narrowness of her waist led to a nicely defined dip on her lower back. I did everything with a shaking control on the verge of chaos. Finally, I could hold back no more. I knocked over a lamp fumbling for my wallet. Damn fucking condom.

My attempts were clumsy, but I managed to get it on.

“On your knees.”

I bent over her, a possessed animal desperate for his prey. We fucked with the frenzy of rabbits and the ferocity of lions. She leaned her back into my chest. My arm was beneath her breasts. She reached her arm up and caressed my cheek. I wanted to come, but even more, I wanted to see her face when I made her come. To see the expression where she was the least guarded and she belonged to me completely. I flipped her. Then I entered her again, deeper this time.

Her warmth closed around me. Her hips bucked, meeting each of my thrusts. Mary closed her eyes and parted her mouth, her moans turning to grunts. She curled her hand around my bicep, her fingers pressing into my skin. When she let go, it was impossible not to follow. In the harsh breaths of the aftermath, I held her close, the wild beats of our hearts merging. We were tangled limbs bathed in sweat and fine Portuguese wine.

I cupped the back of her head and kissed her softy. “I have to paint. I have to paint you. I have to paint you right now.”

I figured she’d tell me I was mad. Maybe I was. How could I explain my need to fill a blank canvas was similar to my need for her? How I wanted to memorialize with detailed strokes all the delicious lines and curves I’d touched and tasted. But I didn’t need to rationalize it.