[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
Heart of ice. Heart of fire. What a deadly combination.
Either one survives to tell the story, or neither, letting the whispery rumors pass around the town. That's not what they seek. They aim to survive and live to tell the story together. Unbiased. Raw. Drenched in the rain of emotions.
The naked truth hurts. And that's what they are motivated to do. For it takes a brave heart to love, to love the one who may just become a shadow of their past.
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I stroke the red shade on my puffed lips, hiding their crimsonness with fabricated redness, smacking my lips as I dab my finger around the outer lining to make it look natural. Taking out the lip gloss from my purse, I adjust the compact mirror to have a clear view of my lips to coat a layer of gloss over them.
"Will you stop doing that?"
I screw the cap on the tube, smacking my lips again to get on his nerves. Serves him right for ruining my makeup, practically my lips. The man sitting beside me twitches his lips, along with his knuckles turning white from the way they tighten around the steering wheel. From the way he keeps shifting, he is reminding himself every other second not to jump on me, as we were up till sunrise.
"So, what is this party about?" I ask, finally done with my makeup and zipping my bag.
He turns the car on the curve, the visibility decreasing due to night and winter fog. "A birthday party."
My nose wrinkles. "When did you start going to birthday parties?"
"I am unpredictable, am I not?"
"Yes." I nod my head. "Just hope that doesn't get you killed by my hands."
"You will kill me?" he challenges me. "Do you even know how to use a gun?"
"Will a knife do?" I bat my eyelashes lovingly at him, tempting him to look at me, but that would just earn us a roller coaster ride down the hills, with a ticket to God. Him to hell, for sure.
"Must be sharp," he replies vaguely.
When a vivid image forms in my head, a chill runs down my bare arms. "Stop it."
He shrugs his shoulders, not probing further, sensing my uneasiness. "The party is hosted by a family friend, and he specifically asked me to come with a date," he changes the subject.
"You're taking me to a party of your family friend? Aren't you worried someone might recognize me?" I refrain from adding, as though I am his some dirty little secret.
He laughs. "He's a white-collar man. I've done my research on the people attending; though they reek of corruption, there's nothing to be wary of."
"The Rathores being friends with a white-collar man is suspicious in itself," I mock.
