Parineeta
Singh has always known her purpose in life: to help exact revenge on
the invading British and free India. She becomes a maid for General
Carton in order to supply information to her brother’s Indian
revolutionary group. But when her employer is exposed as an American
spy, she agrees to help him escape the British Raj.
She
did not agree to lose her heart. To complete his mission, Carton –
aka undercover operative Warren Khan – must hide both his true
objective and his part-Indian heritage. But once he meets the
captivating Parineeta, who holds the key to both his freedom and
capturing her brother, a suspected anarchist, he finds the subterfuge
more difficult than anticipated. Navigating between the lavish social
circles of the British elite and the dense jungles of 1920s India on
the brink of the country’s revolution, the two must find a way to
protect both their lives and their love.
“How
do you know so much about the jungle, anyway?” He leaned against
one side of the cave, and she watched his face slip into the shadows.
“I thought your entire family worked for the previous general who
lived in that house before me. Surely he didn’t send you out for
tasks in the trees.” The unbidden memories sent a fresh wave of
pain straight to her heart. “When I was younger, I worked as a maid
in the house. But the previous general was… He would instruct me to
scrub the floors from dawn until sundown, when I would finally
receive a break to eat a meal. All his servants were treated in such
a manner.” “Why?” “I do not believe he saw us as people. We
could be worked like dogs. I would often escape into the jungle, and
eventually I no longer worked in the house at all.” “I see.”
Warren reached out to envelope both of her hands into his smooth
ones. She flinched. Yet as her skin grew accustomed to the touch, she
relaxed her hands in his. It alarmed her how much more at ease she
was becoming around him. It was almost as if he provided a source of
comfort, something she couldn’t quite name and didn’t care to. “I
do not understand why anyone would be cruel to you, though.” He
rubbed his thumb in a circular motion over her hand. Shockwaves from
his touch jolted up her arm. Danger. She wrenched one of her hands
from his hold and pivoted on her heel. But his right hand still
gripped hers with firm pressure. Her torso twisted as she kept her
face turned from his. “Then you do not know enough of the world.”
“I think I do.” His voice was low and husky. A chill ran up
Parineeta’s spine and unfamiliar heat pooled in the pit of her
stomach. “I’ve seen and known many women during my life. No
agent’s or colonel’s daughter has ever been more courageous or
intelligent than you.” Parineeta spun her head around. She
wanted—no, she needed—to believe this man. No one had ever said
the honeyed words that left his mouth to her before. They were so
sweet that she could almost taste her grandmother’s syrup. He
squeezed her hand and brought her body ever so closer to his. His
musky scent lingered in the air, and she would have sworn he could
hear her heartbeat. “You called me intelligent in the past. Am I?”
She lifted her chin, reclaiming her pride and throwing off whatever
feeling this man gave her. She would not buckle to her knees before
him. “I am here to learn information from you and nothing more, yet
you seem to draw me into dangerous situations.” Warren lifted his
thumb to graze the top of her cheekbone. She struggled to keep her
breathing under control as she met his gaze. The brown hair she had
grown accustomed to seeing so coiffed and slicked back had fallen
from its former grace and hung loose over his forehead, the ends
brushing the top of his eyes. When he spoke, he sounded distant, as
if in a trance. His eyes remained fixed on hers. “I wish every
woman was like you.” She felt her cheeks flush. No man had ever
spoken to her with such boldness before. A heady rush swept through
her body as he inched closer to her, removing the gap between them as
he inclined his body toward hers. His stubble scratched the side of
her cheek, and his scent bombarded her senses, removing all rational
thought. It was only her and him, in this moment, free and alive and
closer and closer…. His lips brushed against hers, softly at first,
then more insistent. She clutched the collar of his kameez. Could he
hear her heart pounding? His right hand threaded through her hair,
combing through her waves and falling along the sides of her sari.
His other hand pressed into the small of her back, molding her body
against his. Her body naturally reacted in the same way—hungry and
yearning against his lips. She put everything she had into the kiss,
all her years of rejection and feeling unwanted and being unable to
marry due to her skin. Too dark for the British to view her as an
equal, too light for the men in her village to forget who her father
was. She’d never kissed a man before. And this one made her feel
like a flame burning up from the tips of her toes to the top of her
head.
Pema Donyo is the author of historical romance and young adult fiction. She is also a coffee-fueled college student by day and a creative writer by night. She currently lives in sunny Southern California, where any temperature less than 70 degrees is freezing and flip-flops never go out of season. As a sophomore at Claremont McKenna, she’s still working on mastering that delicate balance between finishing homework, meeting publisher deadlines, and… college. Learn more about Pema on her website at https://pemadonyo.wordpress.com or you can find her on Twitter (@PemaDonyo).
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