Playing With Fire

Chapter 13 - I need to know

"Um, hi."

"Hey." Without an invitation he stepped inside her apartment. "Keeping warm by your imaginary fire?" Shahru smirked, cocking his head toward her pallet and empty fireplace.

"I wanted to relax by the fire, but realized I don't have the stuff to make one."

"We need to talk, Angel. Come next door. I'll build you a fire, and you can talk."

The nickname made her pulse kick up a notch. Things couldn't be too bad if he still called her Angel. He was so hard to read. He looked frustrated, maybe even angry, but still teased her. The nagging feeling clenched her gut that Shahru favoured his serious side a little more right now than usual. "Can't we talk here?" She'd feel more comfortable in her own apartment.

"No, we can't. I want answers, and I have a feeling it may take a while to get them out of you. At my place we can have a fire and a couch to sit on. Now let's get going."

Kajol automatically grabbed her keys and walked to the door without questioning him any further. He was right. His apartment would probably be more comfortable, and no matter what, she did owe him answers. At least about the part where she told her mother he was her boyfriend. The other stuff ... Well, she hoped not to have to go there. The look in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw told her she hoped in vain.

Shahru followed her into the hall, stopping to grab the keys from her hand to lock the door. "First thing tomorrow I'm fixing your door."

"Thanks."

"It's my job. No need to thank me yet."

They took the few steps to Shahrukh's door. He pushed it open without a key. "Oh, so I have to lock my apartment but you don't?"

He smirked as he held the door open for her. "Pretty much."

Kajol gave him a humph before stepping into his apartment. Of course the layout matched hers perfectly, but that was where the similarities ended. First of all, he actually had furniture. Second, the word masculine didn't begin to describe the feeling she got just stepping foot into his apartment. All his sidepieces were make of a dark oak ... and he had a lot of it: a coffee table, two end tables, a small bookshelf in the living room, two more shelves on the wall on each side of his fireplace, a kitchen table with matching chairs, another taller bookshelf by the table. All rugged, masculine, wood. On most of the shelves were wood carvings. Some were animals, some just designs obviously from the creator's mind. His mind. That much she knew. How she knew that she didn't know.

Kajol stepped forward to one of the shelves on the far wall, running her hand over the wood bear carving. The lines were flawless, the detail extensive. "Wow. Did you do these, Shahru?" She hoped he would be honest with her.

"Yep," he answered simply.

"They're beautiful." Heavy footsteps walked away from her.

"They're no big deal. It's just something I do. Do you want something to drink?"

Kajol turned to see him standing in front of an open refrigerator. For some reason his carvings were obviously off limits. Still she couldn't help but ask, "And the tables and shelves too? Did you make all this?"

"I'm good with my hands, Angel. It's what I do. Like I said, no big deal." Shahru pulled a can of coke from the fridge and popped the top. "coke or water?"

Defeated and her mind too heavy to fight it, anyway, Kajol walked over to his forest green couch and sat down. "I'll take water." Fighting the slight chill in his apartment, she pulled her feet up to rest on the couch, her legs bent and arms wrapping around them. What a mess she'd gotten herself into. What a mess she'd gotten Shahru into.
She would fix it, though. Tonight she would give Shahru the answers he deserved, and tomorrow she would come clean with her mother. In any other woman's life, in any other family, this wouldn't be such a big deal. In hers, however, she'd just started World War III and put Shahru right in the line of fire.

"Here you go, Angel. Let me get a fire going, and then we'll talk."

Kajol grabbed the bottled water from his hand. "Geez, your apartment is even colder than mine."

"I don't keep the heat on while I'm gone, and I hadn't made it back here since I left you earlier."

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere." His words were short, curt.

"Do you want me to turn the heat on until the fire is going?"

"No, thanks. I'm not really that cold." And she wasn't. She did feel a chill, one stronger than in her own apartment, but most of her discomfort stemmed from the big explanation she would be giving him in a few minutes. After taking a sip of her water, she set the bottle on the floor not wanting to risk water marks on his beautiful coffee table. Sitting back again she watched as he shoved paper, then small, thin pieces of wood into his fireplace. Even though he had all the supplies for the fire in a wooden bin, it was obvious he didn't use it much. There were no ashes or old wood littering the bottom of his fireplace.
He lit the paper. Snaps and crackles began to sizzle as a red glow shone from where he worked. After a couple minutes passed, Shahru grabbed a couple of logs and put them in the fire one at a time. Then he stood, all six feet some odd inches of glorious masculinity in front of the fire that already started to ooze heat into the small room. He shoved his hands in the pocket of his faded jeans and watched her, not talking, the strength of his gaze taking her power to form words. Slowly, almost like an animal stalking prey, he sauntered over to the couch where she sat. Still, his eyes never left hers, black and smouldering. All of a sudden it felt very warm in the room, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with the fire he'd just built for her.

He stole the breath from her lungs when he reached out one of his hands and ran it along her cheek. The contrast in their skin, their bodies, hard against soft, made the sensation all the more appealing. Unable to help it, she gasped.

"Talk, Angel. I heard you have a fiancé. It shouldn't be my business, but I need to know."