Chapter 1: Introduction
Arousing. Passionate. Disruptive.
That's what everyone whispered about Neha. Little did they know, she was equally stirred by the forbidden tempests of pleasure. To the world she was just a Hindu-Muslim widow to a man lost to a terrible car crash; to Aryan, Neha was his reincarnated love, but now she was confronted with the living, breathing form of her late husband, Arfan. He stood in their doorway, her doorway, after being presumed dead for a year.
Neha's body trembled as her husband's shadow fell across the room, a cocktail of surprise and fear clawing at her insides. Arfan, the man she had put a part of herself to rest, was alive. How could she, married now to another, respond to this pounding heartbeat that once belonged to her?
The absurdity of it all, like a cruel joke on Neha's life, was enough to make her angry. Furious, she jabbed an accusing finger at the man. "You.
Dead? How dare you! I've moved on, you son of a -"
She caught herself and stopped just short of spewing more angry profanities. She glanced back at Aryan, who stood behind her, speechless. Aryan's presence reminded her of what they had built these past months, the promises they'd made to each other.
Doubt and guilt consumed Neha, a twisted knot in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes flitted between Arfan and Aryan, desire and loyalty on a devastating collision course.
The three of them formed a confounding tableau, a provocative dance of erotica and emotion that could not be unseen or forgotten. Every beat of her heart thundered in her ears as she wrestled with the weighty circumstances, uncertain how her body would react to the action unfolding before her.
With a smooth, sensuous move, Neha spin the wheel of her own fate, and it landed on the number three. Three bodies, three faiths, one passionate conflagration fueled by all that had been buried and the promise of too much aching for resolution.
Arfan took the first step forward that breached the invisible divide. With each measured step his intense dark eyes pierced through Neha's conflicted heart. She felt his gaze land on her with a gentle thud, as if awakening something deep within. As much as she opposed what was rushing through her veins, Neha couldn't stifle the moans that escaped her lips, nor could she fend off the wild hands that clattered and tore.
Aryan, the devoted Hindu husband, struggled to cope with the turn of events.
Neha in Arfan's arms, his own Neha, was a sight he wouldn't soon forget. He felt a deep, burning anger, and yet he stood rooted to the spot, unable to muster the courage to challenge Arfan physically.
Arfan's arms encircled Neha tightly, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, tasting the remnants of sweat from where she had pressed herself earlier against Aryan. Her skin was moist, inviting his touch, calling to him in ways he had longed for without knowing.
He couldn't tear his gaze away, the way her once faithful eyes shone with the devilish fire of defiance and desire that swirled together like the intoxicating mixtures they kept hidden within their homes.
Neha reached up, her tangled cascade of dark hair tumbling down around her, tugging at Arfan's shirt and pulling him towards her. He let the fabric slip from his body easily, embracing the moment as if he had wished for it all along.