Spice and Smoke Read Online Free

the dollar signs bright in his eyes as he described a haunting tale of star-crossed love and a family torn apart by loyalty to the English governing system versus their bond with Mother India.
    “Who else do you have for the picture?” Harsh had asked, which had elicited all kinds of kowtowing about how “Of course you are number one, Harsh”.
    Please. He had not been born yesterday. Joshi had huffed and puffed for several more minutes before finally revealing his big coup: He had signed Avinash Kumar and Trishna Chaudhury for their first joint film in years. Harsh said yes without hesitation.
    He had to wonder about that decision now, watching the press make their way out of the haveli while Trishna chatted up the DP and Rahul Anand, one of the producers. Probably making certain that she would receive top billing and lots of close-up shots. She would get it all, of course. No one had ever denied her anything. No one except him.
    Harsh winced, looking towards the hallway down which Trishna’s husband and Michael Gill had disappeared a few minutes before. He wasn’t stupid. It was clear they’d gone off for a little Dostana action. Boys being boys. But not before Avinash had seen fit to make the boundaries very clear: Trish was off-limits.
    Perhaps he didn’t realize that Harsh had set that boundary for himself ten years ago. Of course, he had stupidly stumbled right over it by taking this role in The Raj . Idiot. Bewakoof. Putting himself right in the path of temptation.
    Trishna Chaudhury was the most beautiful woman in the world. Second only to Aishwarya, and even that was debatable.
    He’d wanted her since she was just a spoiled brat with spectacles and thick braids that smelled of coconut oil, spouting off the most comic lines of A Handful of Stars in one take. She had spent every afternoon in his dressing room, trying her best to conquer his self-control. What she hadn’t known, and what he hadn’t realized until years later, was just how impenetrable that wall he’d put up had been. Utterly convincing. His best performance. Shabbash. Congratulations, Harsh Mathur.
    He was still caught in that bittersweet self-congratulation when Trish finished up her latest rounds and came to stand in front of him. Her blue silk sari hugged her like a second skin, the silk clinging to each curve. Except for the pallu : The cloth over her shoulder had come loose, spilling down one arm as though she were a model in a window showing off the intricate work. Or as though she was a woman on the verge of getting undressed for the night.
    “Harsh. You’re still here?” Her brows drew together, and her lips made a perfect pout. “It’s growing late. Shouldn’t all good boys be asleep?” Shouldn’t all good boys be in bed? That was what she would’ve said when they were younger, when she still tried to flirt and knock holes in his resolve. But now her tone was cool, and her eyes even colder. As pale as ice.
    “I came with Michael. I wanted to make certain he didn’t need a ride back to the hotel.” The next words were out before Harsh could stop them; they were words no one would ever believe capable of issuing from his throat. “Though he may be getting a ride from your husband right now, na ?”
    Trishna’s hand flashed out, and he felt the sting of the slap almost before he saw it. “ Khabardar , Harsh,” she warned. Take caution. Beware. “You go too far.”
    He had to laugh. There was simply no other response, except maybe a flood of regretful tears. “No, Trishna. I think I haven’t gone far enough.”
    As she huffed, turned on one heel and spun away, he traced his fingertips across his cheek, memorizing the imprint of her palm and the sharp pain. Perhaps later, he would spin it into a caress he didn’t deserve. Now, he spun it into a might-have-been…
    The scenario: 1969’s Aradhana . The lovers have stolen away together, married in secret and taken shelter in an abandoned cabin. Shadows thrown from the