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Confetti and confessions!
Coming home one night, Riya was not expecting to find the man who broke her heart sleeping on her floor! He’s a guest at her roommate’s wedding, so she’s stuck with him 24/7—and the sparks are already flying!
Six years ago Riya fell for Dhruv, whereas he didn’t believe in love. Not then, not now—the other reason he’s in India is to consider an arranged marriage! But as the monsoons start, Riya and Dhruv are forced to confront what drove them apart. Could this wedding fever be...contagious?
Tears welled in Riya’s eyes.
It was ridiculous how susceptible she was to Dhruv, and how easily he could hurt her even without trying. He’d probably be bewildered if he knew that she was upset at the thought of him meeting a lineup of prospective brides, and she couldn’t blame him. He’d made no promises to her, no commitments—only asked for some time together to get to know each other. A request that she was now almost a hundred percent sure she should have refused. So much for trying to act like a sophisticated woman of the world. She was still the stupid lovesick girl she’d been in college, and the quicker she accepted it the better.
This is Shoma Narayanan’s fabulous first book!
We couldn’t be more excited about this uniquely talented author.
Her witty, contemporary writing will take you to a whole new world of romance!
Keep a look out for more titles by Shoma,
coming soon....
Monsoon Wedding Fever
Shoma Narayanan
Shoma Narayanan started reading Harlequin® Romance novels at the age of eleven, borrowing them from neighbors and hiding them inside textbooks so that her parents didn’t find out. At that time the thought of writing one herself never entered her head—she was convinced she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. When she was a little older she decided to become an engineer instead, and took a degree in electronics and telecommunications. Then she thought a career in management was probably a better bet, and went off to do an MBA. That was a decision she never regretted, because she met the man of her dreams in the first year of B-school; fifteen years later they’re married with two adorable kids, whom they’re raising with the same careful attention to detail that they gave their second-year project on organizational behavior.
A couple of years ago Shoma took up writing as a hobby (after successively trying her hand at baking, sewing, knitting, crochet and patchwork), and was amazed at how much she enjoyed it. Now she works grimly at her banking job through the week, and tries to balance writing with household chores during weekends. Her family has been unfailingly supportive of her latest hobby, and are also secretly very, very relieved that they don’t have to eat, wear or display the results.
This is Shoma’s first book!
To my mom, who believed in romance,
and to my dad, who didn’t.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
‘DUBEYJI, UTHO. Wake up!’ Riya hissed at the watchman snoring away behind the locked gates of her apartment building.
It was a Friday, and she’d gone out for dinner with a bunch of colleagues in central Mumbai to celebrate a deal they’d just cracked. She’d not bothered to check if the gate was open when her friends dropped her off, and now she was standing all alone on a deserted and not very safe road in the middle of the night, dressed in form-fitting black and fake designer jewellery. She pulled her scarf around her a little more closely as a pair of young men roared past her on a bike. For a minute she contemplated calling her flatmate—only he had a cousin coming down from Singapore that evening, and was likely to be out partying as well.
The snoring rose to a crescendo as Dubeyji settled himself into a more comfortable spot on his plastic chair. Riya rattled the gate a few times, then picked up a handful of little blue pebbles from one of the fancy flowerpots flanking the entrance. The third pebble did the trick, shaking Dubeyji out of what was probably a most interesting dream starring a bevy of luscious Bhojpuri beauties.
‘Yeh koi time hai, ghar aane ka—madam, is this any time to come home?’ he grumbled as he unlocked the gate.
Dubeyji hadn’t got over his disapproval yet that the multinational firm Riya worked for provided accommodation for both male and female employees. He still liked Riya, though, partly because she looked a bit like his favourite movie star, and partly because she came from his part of the country.
Riya was still giggling to herself when she reached the flat, remembering Dubeyji’s outraged expression when the pebble hit him. It took her a minute to open the door—Gaurav had dutifully left it on the latch. He had, however, neglected to leave a single light on, and the living room was in complete and utter darkness when she finally got in.
‘Dumb idiot,’ she said out loud, and then she struggled to get her strappy high-heeled sandals off in the dark. ‘Damn these shoes!’
Barefoot at last, she began padding across the room—to find herself suddenly tripping and falling down in a heap right onto the warm, hard, very muscular and very male body sprawled across the middle of the floor.
For a wild moment Riya wondered if she was in the wrong flat. Then, as she yelped in alarm and tried to push herself off the man, an amused voice drawled in her ear.
‘Gaurav’s missing flatmate, I presume?’
By then she’d found her footing, and she bounced off in a hurry and snapped a switch on. Bright fluorescent light bathed the room as she glared at the man trying to get free of the scarf that had landed on his face. An extremely appealing-looking man, she thought, her annoyance abating as she took in the perfectly sculpted physique, the rumpled hair, and...hang on...the extremely familiar face. Not to mention the extremely, familiar golden-brown eyes, blinking now as they adjusted to the bright light, and the excruciatingly familiar, eminently kissable lips, and the strong hands, with their long, sensitive fingers...
‘Dhruv Malhotra!’ she wailed, sitting down abruptly on the nearest sofa.
‘Shh...people are sleeping inside,’ he said, his deep voice with its slight gravelly undertone as sexy as ever.
‘But—but I don’t understand,’ Riya stammered. ‘What are you doing here? Are you Gaurav’s cousin?’
Dhruv nodded, standing up from the makeshift bed spread out on the floor.
Riya