Twelve Hours of Temptation by Shoma Narayanan Page A

list of guided tours that the concierge was thrusting on her. She was wearing a rather demure long-sleeved black dress, but her hair tumbled down her back in loose curls. The only make-up she had on was lip gloss and kohl around her eyes. The kohl emphasised the doe-like beauty of her brown eyes, and her mouth was pink and lush.
    For a few seconds Samir imagined pressing his own lips onto hers. Then he came to his senses with a jerk. He’d followed her out to apologise for his earlier brusqueness at the beach, and he’d intended to say his piece and go back to the party. Standing by and gazing at her like a lust-ridden college kid was so far off the agenda it wasn’t funny.
    Melissa turned just then and caught sight of him, a lovely smile breaking out across her face. At the same moment, Samir noticed that the deceptively demure dress had a plunging neckline, and his already racing pulse-rate responded excitedly.
    ‘I’ve been driving these people crazy,’ she remarked sotto voce as she came up to him. ‘They can’t deal with anyone who doesn’t want to go to the spa or go sightseeing.’
    Samir was about to reply when he realised that Melissa had gone very still, staring at a man who had just entered the lobby.
    The man was dark-skinned and in his late twenties, and he was staring back at Melissa as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, in a few quick steps, he crossed to her and grabbed her wrist, barking out something in Konkani. Samir whirled around, but something in Melissa’s expression stopped him from intervening.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ the man demanded, almost shaking Melissa. ‘And who’s the guy?’
    ‘My boss,’ she said. ‘Let me go, men , you’re making a scene.’
    Her Goan accent had suddenly become more pronounced, and her eyes were flashing with rage. As soon as she said the magic ‘boss’ word, though, the man released her arm, looking embarrassed.
    Melissa sighed.
    ‘Samir, meet my brother Michael,’ she said. Then she elbowed Michael and said a few rapid sentences in Konkani. Probably something like, Stop being a boor and be polite to my scary boss or he’ll sack me , because Michael held out a hand to Samir with a passable imitation of a polite smile.
    ‘Welcome to Goa, men ,’ he said. ‘Are you here for work?’
    ‘No, he’s here to look at the coconut trees,’ Melissa said tartly. ‘Of course we’re here for work. How are Cheryl and the kids?’
    ‘They’re fine,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Justin still talks about you—asks about his Melly Aunty.’
    He didn’t look angry any longer, Samir noted—just upset and confused. Evidently there was a lot wrong here.
    ‘And how’s...’ Melissa didn’t complete the sentence, but Michael understood her.
    ‘Dad’s fine,’ he said. ‘Though his blood pressure’s been on the high side. Come and see him, Melissa. It’s been such a long while.... I can’t believe you’re here in Goa and didn’t even tell me.’
    It was clear that Melissa didn’t want to reply, and Samir came to the rescue. ‘We should be joining the others,’ he said in what he hoped was a suitably authoritative tone. ‘Maybe you could catch up with your brother some time tomorrow, Melissa?’
    Michael looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t get a chance—Melissa gave him a hug and said, ‘He’s right. There’s heaps of things to do—mustn’t dawdle. I’ll call you, Mickey dada . Sorry, Samir.’
    Samir took the cue, and after giving Michael a quick nod turned and strode away towards the hotel lobby. Melissa scurried after him, and after a few minutes he shortened his stride so that she could keep up.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said as they entered the hotel.
    Michael was still standing where they had left him, his expression puzzled and a little hurt, and Melissa was feeling dreadfully guilty. Not guilty enough to go back and have a proper conversation with him, but enough to want to be out of his sight.
    Samir looked