Seduction

by Starjean

There are things rich, sexy, badass guys get up to. There are also things rich, sexy, badass guys would *like* to get up to. Love, lust, revenge, hatred, and a whole lot of drama.

21. is quickly Fading

c h a p t e r t w e n t y o n e

is quickly FADING.

---

x

"You called?"

Genkei Igarashi looked up at the sound of the smooth voice he knew so well, to find Tora leaning against the door. Setting down his cellphone, the older man motioned to the seat in front of him.

"Sit down."

"I don't believe I will." Tora did not budge. "What do you want, father?"

Genkei's eyes narrowed. "I have no time to deal with your insolence."

"And I." Tora gave him an amiable smile. "Have no time to deal with your need to make Marjani's life a living hellhole."

"You will not speak that way to me." Genkei slammed a fist on to the table. "Whether you agree with me or not has nothing to do with your attendance at the Goodwill Dance - as the Igarashi heir, your presence is required."

"Not arm-in-arm with Kurumi," Tora said coldly.

"Kurumi is like a daughter to me -"

"She should be. She's engaged to your other son, after all."

Genkei's eyes flashed. "You will do what I say."

It would not be a good idea to press Genkei's buttons further. Tora knew that. That didn't mean he couldn't give him a piece of the truth to handle. "Kurumi won't agree to come."

"She came to the dance. She enjoyed being escorted by you."

"Your utter lack of perception amuses me, at times." Tora's words were chosen to offend. "She allowed herself to be escorted by me because she wanted Marjani to notice her."

"He doesn't seem to have noticed her, yet." Genkei's eyes were cold. "He will, however, when she breaks off her engagement with him because of you."

"She won't attend." Tora straightened up. "Not this time."

Genkei's eyes narrowed. Then he lifted his cellphone and punched in Kurumi's number. "Good afternoon... Yes. Fine. She's fine... Mina and I are looking forward to seeing you at the Goodwill Dance... Tora is, too... No? Why? I see... Yes.. Take care." He disconnected the call. And met Tora's smirk across his desk. "What have you said to her?" He demanded.

There was no need to tell Genkei that Marjani and Kurumi had decided to dissolve their engagement on agreeable terms: knowing that the plan he had been working on to agitate Marjani had been for nothing would only serve to infuriate the man. Tora gave a broad-shouldered shrug. "I know her."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Genkei's voice was furious. "I taught you that cool composure. I taught you to mask your feelings. I can see right through it."

"I hope you're not expecting me to put up a defense." Tora's voice was cool. "Because I don't... particularly feel like it."

Genkei's eyes narrowed. "Fine." His voice was almost a hiss. "If that's the way you want it, you will turn up with a date the charity organizations love as much as they love Kurumi."

"Yuki," Tora said lazily.

Genkei's eyes flashed. "She's leaving for London."

"And she won't, if I ask her not to."

"Do you want to get into a fight with her father?"

"I get into one with mine every day. Getting into one with hers shouldn't be a problem."

Genkei slammed a fist into a table. "You will not ruin my business relations for the sake of your childish whims."

Tora hadn't been going to. Toying with his father was too much fun, however. "Amane-san, then," he said lazily.

"She's your mother's age!" Genkei roared.

"If you want someone charities love, my options are obviously limited," Tora smirked.

"Enough." Genkei's voice was sheer ice. "You like to think you're infallible. You aren't." He rose to his feet. "You will turn up, and you will turn up with a date the press will love. If you don't." He swept past Tora. When he spoke again, his voice was as cold as it was serious, and Tora knew he meant every word. "You no longer overlook any part of the Igarashi business for the next two years."

-;-

She... could not muster up the courage.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Sarakshi eyed the crowd surrounding the noticeboard mounted on the wall in front of her. Most days, the noticeboard was visible from a mile off. Not today, though.

Not when it had exam results pinned to it.

"Twentieth." Linda sailed past a gaggle of nervous-looking boys to reach Sarakshi. "I don't think my parents will have anything to complain about." She whipped out a hand-mirror and a tube of lipstick. "Reckon this colour's gonna look good with my skin-tone?"

"You saw my result." Sarakshi took a deep breath and met her eyes. "What is it?"

"I didn't." Linda grin's was devilish. "I checked Sora's for her, though. I should go find her. I wonder which of the broom closets she's hiding in, this time."

Sarakshi stared at her, open-mouthed. "You checked Sora's result but you didn't check mine? How is that fair?"

"I didn't say it was." Linda dropped the lipstick into her bag. "Gotta find Sora. See ya."

"I'm beginning to think I might have rotten taste in friends, after all," Sarakshi muttered. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed and squeezed her way through the crowd and in front of the noticeboard. Here it goes.

She looked up.

Fifth.. fourth... third...

Sarakshi Ishin.

Third. Third. Third. Sarakshi forced her expression into a calm smile (as opposed to the insane grin of joy she wanted to wear) and squeezed herself a path out of the crowd. Then she walked past the corridor with light, even steps.

The moment she turned the corner, she broke into a run.

And staggered to a stop when she realized there was a figure in the doorway up ahead, one leg sprawled out in front of him to ensure people either came to a halt before him or tripped.

"What -" She drew herself to her full height. "What is wrong with you? I could have tripped!"

"I'm sure that would have been hilarious." Tora's drawl and smirk made his presence more than apparent. "Congratulations."

Congratulations? He must have checked the noticeboard. Her eyebrow rose. "I thought you never checked your results."

"I don't." He straightened up in one very graceful and very predator-like movement. "I checked yours."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"How intelligent of you to figure out I want something from you." Hands placed behind his head, he looked right past her. "As it happens, I do want something from you."

"And as it happens, I'm in no mood to talk to you." She was not going to let him ruin her rush of euphoria. "Now, get out of my path before I make you."

He did not move a muscle.

"Igarashi -"

"Have you heard of the Sakura Goodwill Dance?"

The unexpected question caught her off guard. "It takes place around this time, every year." Her eyes narrowed. "Your family funds it."

"Very good." He straightened up. "Seven o' clock, Tuesday. Wear something respectable. I'll pick you up." He turned around and stepped through the door.

Sarakshi's jaw dropped open. "Wait a second." She pushed open the door that had half swung shut and grabbed the back of his shirt. "You think I'm going to go out with you because you ask me to?"

"I think you're going to go out with me because I've told you to. Now, if you could take your hand off my shirt. It's considerably more expensive than yours."

Sarakshi's eyes widened. "There's a limit to being a jerk."

"There isn't. I wrote the book on being a jerk. Your hand, Ishin."

"I don't know what you're up to, Igarashi, but I'm not going to any goodwill dance with you."

"I understand it must be hard for you to keep your hands off me but really, Ishin, you should show more self-control."

She let go of him, as if burned; Tora smirked.

"Git."

"You seem to have learned a new word, besides jerk." He turned around and smiled at her. It was not a nice smile. "How entertaining."

"I'm done over here." Sarakshi swept past him.

His hand caught hers. "Oh no, you aren't." He pulled her against his chest and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Not until I say so," he breathed.

"Let go -" Sarakshi kicked him hard. "Of me."

His grip did not loosen. "You will listen to me."

"I believe the correct phrase is, 'You're deluded,' but I could be mistaken. You might have passed that stage, already."

"You know why you're going to turn up at that dance?" His fingers brushed hair off her neck. "Because if you don't, Linda Williams's parents might just come to know she's dating a certain Marjani Suoh. You know something interesting about the Williams? They don't want their daughter hanging out with suspicious-looking older guys. And you know something interesting about Marjani Suoh? He has the kind of past that's going to ruin his present life if anyone digs into it and finds out the truth. Of course -" His eyes dipped to meet hers. "I might be deluded."

"Marjani can take care of himself." Sarakshi met his gaze, her own cold.

"I wonder if Mr. Suoh would still want to be associated with him if he's a threat to the man's reputation," Tora mused. "You know the part where Mr. Suoh has no idea who Marjani's real father is. Not to mention -" He smiled - "The part where, contrary to what everyone has been told, Marjani isn't adopted but Mrs. Suoh's actual son. It would be quite the scandal. Not that you have anything to be concerned about. Like you said, Marjani can take care of himself. Even if the press is having a field day at the Suohs' expense."

"You're vile." Sarakshi could hear the incredulity in her voice. "You're vile."

"And you." Tora ran a lazy forefinger down the curve of her neck. "Will show up in something respectable."

"You're mistaken if you think you can get to me through him," Sarakshi said coldly. Igarashi would not do that to Marjani; if there was one thing she knew beyond any doubt, it was that. There was something between those two she would never be able to understand, but whatever it was, it was strong enough to ensure that no matter who Igarashi manipulated, no matter who Igarashi hurt, he would never attempt to do something that could cause permanent damage to Marjani. She looked down at the arm wrapped around her waist. ""I understand it must be hard for you to keep your hands off me but really, Igarashi, you should show more self-control."

His eyes widened at the words she had thrown back at him. Then he grinned. He wouldn't have thought it was possible but she had... gotten tougher. "You think I wouldn't." He tipped her chin up. "Is that it? You're naive enough to think I have enough good in me to not ruin what little peace Marjani has in his life?"

"No. I think -" She gave him a sweet smile. "That you realize you couldn't get under Marjani's skin, if you wanted to."

"You're a terrible liar, Ishin."

Her eyes flashed. "And you are terrible all around. Now, will you let go of me or will you wait for me to let the entire school know you're harassing an honour student?"

He... needed time. "You know? I don't believe I'll choose either of those options." He let go of her: surprised, she took a few quick steps backwards. Right where he had wanted her to. His hand closed around her wrist, he kicked open the door of the broom closet behind her and pushed her inside. The door swung shut behind them as he locked her into place. "Because this." He grinned down at her. "Is so much better."

"Wow. Broom closet. That's original." Sarakshi glared up at him as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. "You're an idiot, Igarashi. What do you think will happen now, if I scream?"

"We'll be found out," he said lazily. "I'll be suspended. And you." His eyes met hers. "Will be expelled once I'm done with my part of the story." Her eyes widened. Tora tipped her chin up and smirked. "Doesn't seem like it's in your best interest to scream, does it now?"

"You think this is some sort of joke?" Her throat was drier than she had thought it was possible for it to be. "That if you threaten me with expulsion, I'm going to attend your stupid dance?" She set her chin. "I'm not, Igarashi. So you can go ahead and get me into trouble. Because I will fight it out to the -"

"You have an overactive imagination," he cut across her. "I don't intend to get either of us into trouble." When her eyes narrowed, he smiled. "I do, however, intend to get Marjani into it." He raised his cellphone and punched in a number. "Sandra-san. How nice to talk to you again." His eyes met hers and then, his smile amiable, he switched on the speakerphone so that she could hear the conversation.

"Tora." The woman on the other end of the line had enough of an accent to make her speech somewhat hard to understand. "Is everything alright? Is this about Linda?"

It was Linda's mother, Sarakshi realized. He wouldn't. He wouldn't dare tell her about Marjani. But the conviction she had felt minutes ago was gone. She forced herself to keep a poker face -

"It's nothing serious. I just thought you should know." Tora's eyes flickered towards her. There was panic in her eyes. If she'd left earlier, he would never have been able to pull this off. Now that he had the time he needed, however - she couldn't leave the closet until he allowed her to - this was going to be simple. "Linda has been seeing -" He met her eyes.

"Seeing?" There was sudden warning in Sandra's tone. "Tora, is something wrong?"

Sarakshi placed her hand on the speaker.

"I'll go." She could feel the cold rage in her voice.

"Oh no. You must have misheard me." Tora removed his cellphone from her reach. "I was just asking you to let Linda know there will be a rehearsal tomorrow. I would myself, but I can't reach her on her cellphone. She must have switched it off temporarily."

"I see." Sandra sounded a tad relieved. "Of course. If that's all then."

The woman said something else. Tora responded. Sarakshi was no longer paying attention. She heard the click of a button being pressed. Then he had slipped the cellphone into a pocket

"What was it that you were saying earlier?" His voice was a drawl. "I'm mistaken if I think I can get to you through him?"

"Step aside." Sarakshi could feel her voice shaking with anger. "Now."

"Emotional thing like you?" He did not so much as budge. "Easier to manipulate than an idiot who can't string two words together. Because you care, Ishin. You care so much about the people you love, you can't bear the thought of them getting hurt. You're foolish enough to -"

She slapped him.

He stood there, his eyes wide, his expression frozen, his chest rising and falling with a stunned - in disbelief - sort of quickness.

"I was happy, today." There were tears in her eyes, he realized. "You stole that from me. Like you steal every thing I ever have to be happy about. I might be foolish but at least I'm human. You're not. You will never be. Get out of my path, Igarashi. Now."

He did. He stepped aside without a word.

She did not look at him as she stepped out of the closet and slammed the door behind her.

-;-

The dance would begin in ten minutes. Ten minutes.

Back and the sole of a foot rested against the wall in the shadows of the parking, Tora glanced at his watch.

Nine.

Gleaming headlights passed around the corner.

Eight.

The squeal of tyres meeting hard ground.

Seven.

"Ryotaro! How many times have I told you not to drive so damn fast!"

"Lighten up, darling. "

Six.

There was the soft - almost imperceptible - sound of a two-wheeler coming to a halt and he lifted his gaze off his watch.

She lifted her helmet off her head, tucked it under an arm, and jumped off her bike. One hand pushed pack red bangs as she locked the helmet into place on the handlebar. He could see the patterns that ran up the back of her top. He looked down at the cellphone in his hand.

Disconnected the call and straightened up.

"Well, well, well." His voice was smooth as he emerged from the shadows. "What a pleasant surprise."

Sarakshi turned around to meet his gaze. "As it happens, I don't have any respectable clothing," she said coldly. What had she thought his reaction on seeing her would be? Different? Troubled? "I hope it isn't too much of a disappointment."

Had he expected her to show up? Was he relieved that she had turned up? Tora could not have answered the first question with a convincing yes, or the last with a convincing no. He hadn't. He was. There was a coldness in her voice and eyes that had almost never been there before. "No." His answer was brief and clipped and no warmer than hers, as he took a step out of the parking.

"I see." Voice cold, she followed.

The moment of shock that had crystallized between them the last time the two of them had come to face-to-face - hers at what she had done; his at the tears in her eyes - seemed to stretch between them like an invisible, unfamiliar barrier. She was no longer sure of his reactions; he was no longer sure of hers. Which was more than just some minor problem, Tora thought. What would she do? Give him the cold shoulder all evening? Refuse to talk to anyone? Be as stiff and cold to the guests as she was being to him?

"You must be Sarakshi." Mina Igarashi sailed past a couple of people to approach the two of them. Her smile was radiant. "Tora's told me all about you."

"I'm sure he hasn't. He's un-adorable like that."

She grinned up at his mother, a grin that reached her eyes, and he realized how mistaken he had been.

She wouldn't. She wouldn't give him the cold shoulder, she wouldn't refuse to talk to the people he was associated with, and she wouldn't be stiff towards the guests. Not because she liked him. But because she realized it was important - to him. To his family. To the dance. - to pretend everything was alright. She would never willingly hurt anyone, irrespective of whether the person had hurt her or not.

She was an idiot.

Mina's eyes widened in surprise: it could not have been clearer his mother had not expected the response. Then she burst out into clear laughter.

"My God, aren't you honest." She grinned back at Sarakshi. "I do love your top. I used to dress like that, when I was in my tweens. Oh look, there comes Maki-san. Have fun, alright?" She sailed past him and Sarakshi, leaving silence in her wake.

"Wine?" Tora stopped a waiter sporting a choice of drinks.

"I'm sixteen." Sarakshi looked up at him. He wondered whether the mixture of calm and dryness in her voice was real. Whether it was just another part of the show she would put on because she was too gentle and too - what was the word? Ah, yes - good to ruin something for him, even when she had ample chance.

"Orange juice?" He asked drily.

"Not six," she added.

"But of course." There was something cool - even cold - about his response. He did not look at her as he dismissed the waiter with a curt wave of his hand. "Have you had dinner?"

Sarakshi blinked. "What?"

"It's a simple enough question, Ishin. Have you had dinner?"

She frowned. "No."

"Come with me."

"Excuse me?"

"And here I thought you were intelligent enough to understand simple Japanese sentences. I said -" His eyes met hers. "Come with me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where?"

But of course. "How cute." His gaze dipped to meet hers in a manner that was as mocking as it was cold. "You don't trust me."

"You and the truth." She smiled sweetly. "Now that's a combination I've never heard of before."

He could have said he wouldn't attempt anything he ought not to. He could have said he would keep his distance. He could have, but he was who he was. So he held out a hand instead, aware that if she wished to keep up the facade she had decided to keep up, she would have to take it. "Yes." He smiled, an oh-so-amiable smile. "I do have a creative streak."

"I hate you." Voice a whisper, she placed her hand in his.

"You shouldn't waste so much time thinking about me, should you now?"

His hand closed around hers with an almost savage sense of satisfaction to lead her out of the hall and down a series of corridors. The scent of aromas mixing and matching and contradicting each other met her as he slowed down. She saw a wide arch; through it what looked like a gleaming counter. He walked through it without a word or invitation to her and she hovered back with a frown and an air of uncertainty that made it clear she could not decide whether she felt unsure or suspicious.

He returned minutes later. There was a wrapped-up panini in his hand.

"Eat."

Sarakshi looked down at the white napkin that held the panini. "It's.. a sandwich."

"Yes, Ishin. You are highly intelligent."

The sarcasm in his voice made her eyebrow rise. "I'm sure you wouldn't find it off if someone brought you a sandwich out of the blue, Igarashi, but normal people -"

"I said eat."

Her eyes narrowed. "No."

He came to a halt and turned around. "You can either eat that sandwich or hand it back for me to bin."

Her eyes widened. "You can't bin food. There are people who don't get anything to eat -"

"And I." He met her gaze, his voice smooth. "Am not one of them."

Her eyes widened. "You're evil."

"I believe we established that a long time ago. Now, if you'll return that sandwich."

Their eyes met. His were cold; hers, no less so. For several moments, she did not break the gaze. Then she did. "You have no morals whatsoever," she said as she raised the sandwich to her mouth.

"Does it disturb you that I'm not disturbed by that?" His smirk was cold.

She ignored him. For a few minutes the two of them walked in silence; his face blank, hers displeased. He could hear her munching on the Panini; at first grudgingly, then with a puzzled frown. Her eyes were curious. The expression brought an almost soft light to her face. He had the urge to pull her to him and bite her lower lip -

"Who made this?"

He forced the train of thoughts down. "The sandwich?" He drawled.

"I can't identify the ingredients." She folded the napkin and looked up at him with curious blue eyes. "There was something in there I haven't tasted before."

"Which would be every expensive ingredient under the sun, I presume."

She glared at him. Glared at him at the exact precise moment she realized (her attention had been too absorbed by the sandwich, before that) that it had grown... cold. Eyes round as saucers, Sarakshi looked around and realized she didn't recognize her surroundings. "What the hell are you up to -"

"For once? Be quiet."

"You -" She broke off as she realized he had come to a halt in front of a door. Ignoring her, Tora stepped forward to unlock it. It swung open to reveal what was beyond it.

Her eyes widened.

It was huge; the space inside it. Cold and gigantic and done in gorgeous birch-wood. Soft yellowish lighting illuminated elegant tables, stone arches, stained glass windows, and row upon row of gleaming bottles.

It was a wine-cellar, and a gorgeous one at that.

How could someone go from fierce to enthralled in so short a time and with such total transparency? Tora forced his face into a smooth expression as he stepped inside and pulled up a chair. "Have a seat."

Her gaze met his. "Is this yours?"

He arched an eyebrow. "No, it's Marjani's."

"I should have known. It is classy."

"It's Mina's."

The sudden statement made Sarakshi look up. "Your mother's?" She asked, voice softer than before.

His nod threw hair into his eyes. "She designed it."

There was something about how he had said those words - It's Mina's - that told her the wine cellar was special. That it meant something to him. That it was... a private place, she realized. Something not many people had been - or would ever be - allowed to see. She looked up but his fingers were on the back of the chair and his gaze was not on her. Eyes flickering, Sarakshi stepped inside.

"It's beautiful," she said, voice soft. Then she paused. "And private."

"You talk too much." He motioned to the chair, an almost curt motion. She promptly sat on top of the table, legs dangling off the side, and his mouth curved into a grin. Walking up to a shelf, he ran his gaze over it. Then he picked out a bottle and a corkscrew; uncorking the former, he returned to the table and, the action graceful, poured the wine into a clear glass. He handed the half-full glass to her. "Drink."

Her eyes widened. "It's wine."

"You're sixteen, not six."

The reminder made her eyes narrow. "I'm underage."

"You run a house."

The glass was cool between the curve of her palm. Sarakshi looked down at the light that played into it. What was he attempting to do? The answer hit her in a flash of realization that left her feeling like a fool. "You're trying to get me drunk."

There was a sullen sort of conviction in her voice. The sulkiness in her tone made him have to resist the urge to grin. "Ishin." The way he said her name had to be some kind of criminal offense: it was too smooth. Too silken. Too.. intimate. "If I wanted you drunk, I'm sure even you realize I could have come up with a less-obvious plan."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you."

"Drink the wine."

"Wines have high alcohol content."

And this one doesn't. "If you were attempting to show that you have some knowledge of alcoholic beverages, you just failed spectacularly. Drink the wine."

Did she trust him? No, she didn't. Was she curious? Sarakshi supposed she was. She looked down at the half-filled wineglass. How dangerous could it be? No. That wasn't the question. How far would he go to take advantage of her? Not far enough to get me drunk. Because he would never - and she knew that without a shred of doubt - take advantage of her when she could not fight back.

Frowning, she took a sip.

"Well?"

Sarakshi looked up. "What?" She asked crossly.

"How does it taste?"

She considered the question. "Woodsy." Then - "Is it supposed to smell like wood, too?" She looked up and realized he was grinning. "What?"

"Nothing."

Sarakshi eyed the wine. "You're making me suspicious."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you might be turning into one of those cynical, mistrustful, world-hating old ladies who like to err on the side of caution?"

"So that's why you can't leave me alone for more than two minutes." She gave him a sweet smile. "I always knew that was your type."

"I know you have fantasies, Ishin, but you don't have to make them that apparent."

She choked on the last drop of the beverage. Tora smirked; the action caused her eyes to narrow. "Git," she muttered.

He closed the distance between them in one swift movement. His shadow dwarfed her; he could tell she was aware of the fact because her grip around the wineglass tightened. "Did you say something?" He asked, his voice a breath.

"I said." Sarakshi set down the wineglass with an audible clink and met his gaze, her own cool. "You're right. I do have fantasies. You know, the kind where you happen to have a personality. Sound out-of-the-world, don't they?"

There was enough sarcasm in her voice to drown the dead sea. Wild, little thing, wasn't she. Grinning, Tora leaned down. "You liked it, didn't you?" He murmured against her ear.

Sarakshi blinked. "You with a personality?"

His lips tugged up into a smile she didn't see. "The wine."

Oh. "No." Sarakshi paused. Fine. Perhaps a little. But he didn't need to know that. "I understand your Evil Overlord activities must be tiring, Igarashi, but no. You still aren't allowed to fall asleep on my shoulder."

"You're as terrible at deflection as you are at lying," he breathed against her neck, without raising his head.

What had she expected? That he would believe her? That he would let her steer the conversation into another direction? Sarakshi frowned. "It tasted..." Sweet? No. Not sweet. Wooden and newish and refreshing. The kind of drink that was... her. It wasn't fair that he could know her well enough to predict what kind of wine she would enjoy. "It tasted like wood. Not old wood, though. Newish wood."

There was a moment of total silence.

"Well, it did," Sarakshi insisted, aware she sounded defensive. She felt him smile against her shoulder; the movement sent a shiver down her spine. Her cheeks flamed. "And what do you think you're doing?" She rammed her elbow into his chest. Hard.

Ouch. Tora took a swift step backwards and caught both of her hands before she could attempt to hit him again. "There's no need to get so flustered," he smirked. "I'm sure it tasted like - what was the phrase? Ah, yes - newish wood."

The corners of her lips twitched. "You asked."

His grip on her hands loosened. "Now seems like a good time to get you drunk, without you realizing that was the devilish master-plan all along."

She grinned and jumped off the table. "Come on. Let's get back."

"Scared I meant what I said?"

Sarakshi rolled her eyes as she swept past him. The taste of the wine was still strong in her mouth; it felt like a vivacious mixture of wood and mountains and fresh air. Her hand ran itself along a row of bottles as she passed them; the blend of bottle-green glass on dark wood looked as beautiful now as it had when she had stepped into the cellar. There was an ikebana arrangement - an artificial pond the size of a cooking pan set with gorgeous white flowers and wide green leaves - next to the door; it made her stop in her tracks. How could she have missed it before?

"Did your mother do this?" She asked.

It would not have taken a genius to gauge the wonder in her eyes. How could anyone be so damn transparent? He thought of the half-tears curled under her lashes and for one moment, he was still. Then he did the one thing he knew he shouldn't - the one thing he knew he wouldn't have, had he been holding on to even an iota of rational thinking at the moment - and walked up to the cabinet next to her. He pulled open a drawer and flicked the card he had taken out, towards her. She caught it, reflexively.

"What -"

"It's Mina's card." His voice was almost curt. "I doubt she'd mind if you contact her."

Her eyes widened. Then she nodded and bent down to touch one of the white roses that rose out of the artificial pond.

"They're beautiful."

"You're stalling," he drawled. "Don't tell me you want to get drunk when you're all alone with me, after all."

Her eyebrows rose. "I know you have fantasies, Igarashi, but there's no need to make them that apparent."

He unlocked the cellar door. "Out."

"Ever the gentleman, aren't you?" She said sweetly, as she swept past him.

"I knew it wouldn't be long before you came to see that." Tora gave her an oh-so-amiable smile as he stepped out after her.

Sarakshi had to grin. The corridor widened as the two of them walked, its mouth opening into a larger hall. She had been too distracted to notice said hall - or any component of the path the two of them were retracing - on her way to the cellar. She noticed it now - the stern stone arches, the exotic murals, the delicate flower arrangements. And the roses. Gorgeous white roses that unfurled in breathtaking milk-white petals under the soft shadows of the lighting. Sarakshi bent to touch a petal. "Igarashi..."

"Ishin," he said lazily.

She looked up. There had to be a legal injunction against that smooth, rich, predator-like manner of saying someone's name. "Thanks." She paused. "For the wine."

He froze. Then his expression smoothed and his eyebrow rose a good half-inch. "How much did you have to drink when I wasn't looking?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Are you implying I'm not a nice person, in general?"

"I'm implying you're not a nice person, when you're around me," Tora said drily.

"Reckon that could have something to do with how gentlemanly you are?"

"Ah. I always knew it turned you on."

She grinned. "I've never seen white roses this beautiful before." She knelt down in front of a potted arrangement that wove white blossoms through an intricate knot of red-and-yellow flowers. "Where does she get the -"

"Well, well, well. I was wondering where you might have gone off to."

Sarakshi knew who it was before her gaze snapped up: Genkei Igarashi's voice was too distinct to not be recognizable. Her hand - which had been inspecting the flowers - lowered itself as Genkei took a step forward.

"Father." Tora's voice had taken on a coldness that made her eyes widen. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I have to commend you on your clever thinking." Genkei's smile was not nice. "Convincing her to attend. Solve all your problems nicely, didn't it?"

Convincing her to attend. What did he mean? Sarakshi rose to her feet. "I don't appreciate you talking about me as if I'm not here, Mr. Igarashi." Her voice was cool. "I'm sure you don't want me to address you through your son; I expect the same courtesy."

"Ah." Genkei's smiled the condescending smile he seemed to have perfected over the years. His eyes met Tora's cold ones. "She doesn't know, does she?"

You've known she doesn't all along, you miserable, old pretender. "If you'll excuse us." Tora held out a hand to Sarakshi. "Shall we leave?"

"Of course, the press would love the story." Genkei pressed on.

"I said." Tora's voice was like ice. "If you'll excuse us."

"Igarashi heir escorts poor girl." Genkei's voice was ruthless. "Tells them all we're open-minded people who don't believe in prejudice, doesn't it? Did you know?" He turned to Sarakshi. "He needed a date charities would love. The kind of charities that support your kind."

Charities? Her kind? It was a moment before Sarakshi realized what Genkei meant. Her eyes widened in a flash of shock as the message sank into her. He needed a date charities would love. The kind of charities that support your kind. He'd been using her. Not manipulating her. Using her. Like she was some sort of.. Some sort of cheap commodity he could flaunt at will, to prove he wasn't too narrow-minded to take an interest in people who didn't belong to the same class as he did. She wasn't sure what made her more furious - the fact that he had thought he could use her status as a convenience, or the fact that he would have had her face plastered all over magazines, without her knowledge or permission, to attract some easy fame.

Her gaze met Tora's. "Is this true?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is what true?"

Her eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was cold and steel-like and fierce. "I thought you had more principles." There was a mixture of disbelief and hurt and plain cold anger in her eyes and it seemed to grow larger with each fraction of a second. "I thought you were better than that."

"Oh my." Genkei pulled on a surprised face that even a two year old could have told was fake. "I had no idea he hadn't told you your pictures would be in half a dozen magazines, tomorrow." He met Tora's stone-cold expression. "Igarashi heir shows interest in part-time maid," he said smoothly. "Igarashi heir helps out poor working girl -"

She'd had enough. She'd had enough of Genkei Igarashi and his son. "Move out of my way," Sarakshi said coldly.

"I do apologize on my son's behalf. It was wrong of him not to let you know -"

"I said." Sarakshi get Genkei's gaze, her own cold. "Move out of my way. Now."

Genkei would have taken offense at her tone, if he hadn't been as pleased as he was at his own triumph. He stepped aside. "Of course," he said, his voice mock-soothing.

She did not rise to the bait his tone presented; she swept past both of them with her chin high and her eyes fixed on the path ahead. Tora watched her leave in a whirl of blue top and jeans. He was aware he felt murderous - beyond murderous - and that it took each ounce of control he had ever had not to lunge at Genkei and throttle the man's throat. The moment she had whipped out of sight, his gaze met Genkei.

"You bastard," he said, his voice very, very calm.

Genkei's eyes flashed. "You aren't infallible. I'd let that be a lesson, if I were you."

"I hear Kurumi turned down the offer to come to the ball you told her you and mother would love to see her at. I'd let that be a lesson, if I were you."

Genkei's eyes narrowed. "You don't." His voice was cold. "Want to pick a row with me."

"No, I don't." Voice ice-cold, Tora swept past him. "I have better standards than that."

-;-

It was cold in the garden. Sarakshi felt numb to the weather - surreal almost - as she followed the stone path that went past the pond and led to the garden maze. If she had been in a better mood, she would have stepped into it. Explored it. She was not in a better mood, however.

Sinking into one of the benches that stood outside the maze, she looked down at her hands and swallowed.

She'd thought it was real. That the wine - the business card - the laughter - had been spontaneous. Who he was. Not part of an act. But the hurt and indignation went beyond that to some other corner of her mind she didn't even want to think of. She'd thought he... saw her as an equal. That he wasn't like his father. Not someone who judged people for how much cash they'd hoarded, and not what they were capable of.

That he saw her as competent.

I had no idea he hadn't told you your pictures would be in half a dozen magazines, tomorrow. Igarashi heir shows interest in part-time maid. Igarashi heir helps out poor working girl.

It wasn't his fault: it was hers. She wasn't naive - she was an idiot.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there. She could feel the night growing darker and quieter. The garden stretched out ahead in rolls of greens and blues and reds and somewhere in the distance, there was music. She sat there on the bench, her hands numb with the cold, until the wind picked up and droplets began to patter down to the ground. It was cold and raining and -

"Ishin."

She could feel - not see - his shadow engulfing her. What did he think? That she would talk to him? Of course he did: she had been enough of a fool all along, after all.

She didn't look up at him; her eyes were narrowed and fixed on some spot well past him. Had he expected that? What had he expected? Tora couldn't have said. He was aware that the fact that she might choose to ignore rather than hate him - and it would be so like her, he realized - was like a punch to his stomach. He was also aware that he was in no mood to confront the fact that the prospect of her refusing to talk to him, dented his inward calm.

He knelt down in front of her and set something in her lap with the softest of touches. The sudden weight took Sarakshi by surprise. Her eyes flickered to her lap... and widened. It was a bouquet of white roses. Not just white roses: the white roses she had seen in the part of the house Mina had decorated. Dozens of them, milk-white and stunning, wrapped in unfurling green leaves that sprouted from their stems in sharp contrast. Their petals were fresh - in the semi-darkness, she could see the dewdrops that clung to them.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to do?" She asked coldly.

The fact that she had spoken - broken the silence - left him relieved. Relieved and irked at himself for being relieved. He rose to his feet. "My father." His voice was smooth. "Has a theory."

"That you have no personality?"

The shadow of a grim grin crossed his face. "That I'm not infallible."

"You have five seconds to leave me in peace. If you don't, I leave. Wouldn't want those magazines to run stories -" There was an ironic twist to her lips and tone - "about how your date walked out on you instead, would you?"

"I don't intend to leave until I've said what I wanted to say," Tora said. "You're not naive enough not to have known that, though. I assume the real reason you're still sitting there is because you can't convince yourself to leave."

That wasn't what he had meant to say; he was too proud to admit that to himself - let alone her - however. She rose to her feet. There was something about the action - calm. Too calm to be her - that told her that if she walked out now, she would never talk to him again of her own free will. His hand caught her arm. She whirled around and there was that singular moment in which he saw the look in her eyes - the myriad of looks in them; hurt and anger and pure cold rage - and she knew he'd seen it.

"You have no redeeming qualities." Her voice was as low as it was cold. She swallowed the lump in her throat and met his gaze. "You think every person you come across is just another piece on your damned mental chessboard. You take people's feelings and make a mockery out of them, every chance you get. You take my feelings and make a mockery out of them, every time you get. If even one magazine so much as mentions me tomorrow, Igarashi, so help me I will -"

He pulled her to him. She came against his chest and his arm rose - almost without his realizing it - to wrap itself around her waist. "Shut up," he said.

"Let go of -"

"No." His fingers brushed her hair off her neck. "No magazine is going to mention you. Which said, I don't intend to let go of you until I've said what I want to. Be still. I said -" His voice was cool. "Be still."

He might as well have said that to a wall. She attempted to shove him back. When that didn't work, she punched him. He could have stopped the punch if he had wanted to - he didn't. It hit him square in the eye. Hard.

Harder than she would have wanted to, had she known the punch was actually going to hit its mark.

He saw her eyes widen in shock as she took a stunned step back. "I didn't -" Her breath caught in her throat as his cheekbone began to turn a shade that was anything but natural.

"What are you made of, metal?" Tora asked drily. He'd expected the punch to hurt. He hadn't expected it to hurt this much. Perhaps it was a good thing he had been able to dodge or stop most of her previous attacks.

"I didn't think it would -" Her voice was panicked. He had expected that much: she was too much of a pacifist to actually want to physically injure someone who had never attempted to do the same to her. He had her where he wanted her in three, two, one - "Five minutes," she said. "Get on with it."

"You have time limits on injuries?" He'd needed this ounce of control that allowed him to get back into his stride. To tell himself he was calm. In control. Not relieved that she would not turn around and walk off. "I had no idea you enjoyed being sadistic."

Her eyes narrowed. "Four minutes, fifty seconds. Make that forty-nine."

"Sit."

"Excuse me?"

"My time," Tora said lazily. "My call."

Comprehension dawned across her face. It was not a nice sort of comprehension. "You let me punch you. You let me punch you so that I could -"

"Do you intend to deduct the time you're wasting on unnecessary assumptions, from the time you've given me? Because if that's the case -"

The ice was too broken to go back to it. Her hand clenched in anger. "You should stop wasting the time you're left with," she finished for him. Her lips curved into a smile that was anything but sweet. "Hurt bad, does it?" She asked, motioning to his cheek.

"I always knew you had a sadistic streak in you."

"Four minutes, five seconds."

"Looks like we've come full circle - sit down."

"So I can't punch you again?"

"So I don't feel like I'm talking to a tiny powerhouse of towering anger."

Her eyes widened. "I do not look like a tiny powerhouse of -"

"You do right now," Tora said drily. "And you're wasting my time."

She hated it. The fact that he could maneuver her emotions until he put the most intense of them - anger, shock, humiliation - on pause. That he could make her furious enough to hurl something at him one minute and exasperated and incredulous enough to still hurl something at him, the next. Taking a deep breath, Sarakshi plopped down on to the bench and crossed one leg over the other. "Do go on. Now that I don't look like -" Her voice dripped with sarcasm "- a tiny powerhouse of towering anger, anymore."

Tora glanced at his wristwatch. Three minutes. He had somewhere over three minutes to say what he wanted to. Except that he wasn't sure what that was. Or perhaps he was and just didn't want to admit it to himself. "I should have told you." His voice was quiet. He dropped next to her on to the bench. His gaze traced the hedges in the distance. The entrance to the maze. The dark night sky. "That, however, would have ruined the point."

"Because, of course, my feelings for Marjani are conditional." She could feel the anger - so close to the surface - bubbling up. "If you'd told me, I would never have allowed myself to be manipulated in the face of, I don't know, a phone call to Linda's mother."

"That is not." Tora's voice was ice-cold. "What I meant."

"Then say what you meant. Because I don't have time to unravel your amazing, diabolical worldplay. Or should I say -" Her voice turned saccharine - "You don't have time for me to unravel it."

"Very clever choice of words, I'm sure," he said drily. Then say what you mean. What did he mean? That that would have ruined the point. Not because he wouldn't have been able to manipulate her - he could still have done that. There was no doubt of that, in his mind - but because... Get over it, Igarashi. It's because she wouldn't have given you a chance.

Wasn't that just the problem.

What was he expecting? That it would be a genuine date? That she'd dance with him? Laugh on his arm? Did he want that? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he didn't. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted but whatever it was, it wasn't something he wanted to accept. She calmed him, damn it. There was something calm and content and fire-like and mischievous - all at the same time - about her that was... different. New.

He placed his hands behind his head and rested them against the back of the bench. He'd let her do the talking for him. It was cheap and it was an escape... and he was going to do it because it was far easier and far less complicated. "You're furious because you're going to be on a bunch of magazines," he drawled. "How is that something to be displeased about?"

"Don't." Her eyes narrowed. "Play dumb with me."

"I wouldn't dare." His voice was oh-so-amiable.

Her eyes flickered. "What other people feel is a joke to you, isn't it?" She rose to her feet. "You don't give a damn what someone else goes through, as long as you don't have to feel. You have everything so you think it's fun to treat people as commodities with no will, no mind, no respect of their own. If you're fine with something, it doesn't matter if the people you're using are going to be hurt or hated or -"

"Dance with me."

Her eyes rounded. He could see the surprise in them and he could see it turn into something deeper. The kind of emotion he had never been able to - and never would be able to - express. "No." She took a step back, and her voice was hoarse. "You can't ruin people's lives and then pretend you never did."

"Would it please you if I gave you an apology I didn't mean?" His voice was cold; how cold it was, shocked her. "Would that make you feel better, satisfy your vanity, ensure you you have power over me?"

"I never wan -"

"Because you do. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be. I wouldn't be here if I could let you walk off and have no regrets about it." He held out a hand. "Dance with me."

There was something in his face she had almost never seen before. Vulnerability, she realized. She'd never had trouble speaking her mind and emotions - it took him more than just simple effort to even come close to doing the same. Was it because (and she couldn't have said why she was so certain of this. Just that she was.) he had been raised with the perpetual belief that your emotions were something to be kept in check? Not shown. Not made apparent. She didn't know. She couldn't have said. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she placed her hand in his. His eyes widened in surprise; he hadn't expected her to agree, she realized. Then he pulled her close. "Thank you," he whispered.

She could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers. She could breathe in his scent this close and it was sharp and unique and almost dizzying. Her arm wound itself around him. "You're not forgiven," she said, voice soft.

The shadow of a smile crossed his face. "I didn't ask to be."

"Did you just trick me into thinking you felt some sort of remorse?"

"No. I just tricked you into dancing with me."

Her lips curved into a smile. "You dance well."

He spun her away from himself. "I know," he smirked.

"Have you heard the quote about small minds and great conceit?"

"Have you heard the quote about jealous people and attempting to belittle those they envy?"

"There is no such quote."

Her hair was all loose scarlet waves. He felt it against his chin - soft and ablaze and somewhat damp - as he pulled her to himself. He could smell a tinge of lavender underneath the damp. He lowered his face to it. "There is, now," he smirked against it, his fingers trailing down scarlet strands.

"But of course." She rolled her eyes. Or at least attempted to. His hand cupped the back of her head as she wound her arms around his neck and the sudden pressure caused a shiver to run down her spine. His other hand closed around the curve of her waist with the kind of silken touch that left her cheeks pink and her breath ravaged and her arms tightened around his neck in a futile attempt to distract herself. "What - what will you do after you graduate?" She asked, voice uneven.

She sounded breathless. Tora ran his thumb up the curve of her waist and, when her breath hitched, ran it back down. He could imagine the pulse in the hollow of her throat - quick and jarring and panicked - and the hand cupping her hair tightened. Dipped. The hard fingers grazed soft skin, their touch fleeting as he resisted the urge to push down the straps of her top. Toss the thing off. "What will you do after you're done with your studies?" He asked, his voice calm. Too calm to be in control.

Her eyes flickered. "Does it matter -" Her breath caught as he pulled her closer and raised her face to his.

"It matters," he said, voice rough and eyes dark.

"Res -"

He spun her away from himself and pulled her back towards herself. She met his grip in a breathless whirl of clothes. "- Taurant," she completed. "Something retro. Vintage 60's."

Her voice was even again. Calm and ablaze and full of a soft kind of resolution. He wanted to, he realized. He wanted to know what made her who she was. He wanted to know her hopes and aims and dreams. Every single one of them. He could picture the kind of restaurant she would open - all of the elegance and none of the aloofness that was part of the decor he enjoyed. His hand closed around hers as he led her into a step. "With a menu you have complete control over, I suppose," he said.

"With a menu I have a good amount of control over." She leaned back and looked up at him with half a rueful smile. "You can't do everything all on your own. You need others."

"Unless, of course, you can do everything all on your own," he said.

"Everyone would love to be able to do everything single-handed." She paused to look up at him. "That's not how life works, though. We can manipulate people into doing our bidding, or we can treat them as equals and ask them for help. Either way, we need them."

His gaze met hers. "Like your life simplified, don't you?" He drawled.

"If I liked my life simplified, I wouldn't be dancing with you," she pointed out.

He spun her around and caught her shoulders. "Do you love him?"

Her eyes widened. "Who?"

If he had had so much as a modicum of sense, he would have left the topic alone. Tora knew that. He didn't want to, however. He couldn't. He had to know. She smelled of rain and grass and the scent of wet fabric and lavender. His finger traced the path of raindrop down her cheekbone, leaving behind a pair of widened blue eyes in its wake. "Marjani," he said, voice rough. "Do you love him?"

She pulled back from him, not much, just a little, angling her chin to look up into his face. It was lowered to meet her gaze; she could trace the hard line of his jaw. "Yes." Her voice was soft, a breath; hair shook around her face as she nodded. "I love him."

How much? To what extent? He almost asked. Almost. Then the music floating outside rose before plunging into an ending and his hand closing around her waist without a word, he dipped her low. Her hair hung beneath her, a blaze in the darkness. He could see the water that trailed down her neck and he resisted the urge to lean down and brush his lips against the hollow of her throat. Taste it. He straightened up and stepped back. Let go of her.

"Thank you." She smiled at him, a gracious sort of smile. The kind of smile she'd have given anyone - even a total stranger - after a dance, he thought.

"You're welcome." Voice cool, he stepped back with perfect grace.

"Have you ever been to the centre?"

Tora's gaze followed hers to the hedges that formed the exterior of the maze that marked the garden's centre, and his left eyebrow rose. "It's my house. I grew up here."

Sarakshi flushed. "I forgot."

"Intelligent little thing, aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed. Then she gave him a sweet smile. "Honour student," she said, voice all sugar.

"Third," he threw back at her.

"Which, of course, has nothing to do with a certain someone who refuses to leave me alone," she said drily.

"You're blaming Marjani?" Tora asked.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Then she laughed. "The nerve of you." She swept past him to the entrance of the maze, her manner mock offended. One foot placed on the path that led inside, she turned around to look at him. "Can I go in?" She asked, her voice half-curious, half-hopeful.

He would build a damn maze if it could bring that light to her eyes again. That frank expression that wasn't planned or contrived. Trace it and take it and make it his. "Considering that you can't go back in there -" Voice cool, he looked back at the house - "In the state you're in, you might as well." He walked up to her. She had thought he would stop; to her surprise, he walked right past her. "See you at the centre."

See you at the centre? Her eyebrows knitted together. "Isn't that cheating?"

He had already disappeared.

-;-

The private race-course was private. Which meant, Marjani thought with gritted teeth, that it was not supposed to harbour a moving vehicle other than his when he had made it clear that it wasn't supposed to. Especially a moving vehicle that was trailing him. Had been, in fact, for the past five minutes. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he pulled his bike to a sharp halt.

"Stop." His voice was cold. "Following me."

The bike that had been trailing him came to a stop several feet behind him. "I thought I was doing a good job at being quiet." There was a grin in the rider's voice.

Marjani forced his voice to sound calm. "The last thing you were attempting, was to be quiet." He swung a leg off the bike and straightened up. "Who let you in?"

"Ya shouldn't hire young men." The rider's helmet came off to reveal a sparkling cascade of blonde hair. "They are so..." She leaned forward on the bike, her voice a rasp. "Gullible."

"You seduced my guards." Marjani could hear how dry his voice had gone.

It was not a question; it was a statement. Linda jumped off the bike that was the race-course's property. "I didn't seduce them. I just... made promises I don't intend to keep." She smiled, an oh-so-brilliant smile. "Nice place ya have here. I like the.." Her eyes rose from his chest to his face. "... Trees."

"I want you off my race-course -" He walked up to her, grabbed a fistful of the front of her top and pulled her to him. If she didn't listen to him when he was civilized to her, he wouldn't be civilized to her. "- In five minutes."

"Well, if ya're gonna grab my shirt and pull me all close, I'm gonna get the wrong idea, aren't I?"

His grip around her shirt tightened. He took a step towards her, his leg pinning her against the bike with effortless and ruthless ease. "I said." His voice was as cold as his grip and he saw her lips part and her eyes widen as he pressed her into the vehicle with the kind of pressure that was not applied without a ruthless show of power. "I want you off my race-course."

"No." There was a breathless sort of determination to her voice. "Ya know what they say about not getting everything ya want."

His eyebrow rose a good half-inch. "You're wasting your time." His voice wasn't curt - just cool. "I couldn't care less what you want and -" His gaze turned cold - "I couldn't care less what you wear."

"You're lying," Linda said lazily.

His eyes flickered. That... was new. It had been a long, long time since someone had had the nerve to call him a liar to his face. He leaned against his bike and studied her face - she returned the look with a gaze that was all frank interest. "You're being too optimistic," he said.

"Don't kid me, Suoh. You can't change who you are. You're a guy. And I -" She met his gaze - "Am beautiful."

"And wasting your time."

"As opposed to, I don't know, not taking what I want because I'm too honourable to?"

"You don't." His voice was soft. Soft and the kind of dangerous that made her cheeks flush and her heartbeat quicken. "Want to force me into deciding I won't tolerate you."

"Dangerous." Her lips curved into a devilish grin. "I like that."

"That's the sole thing you do like about me," Marjani said coldly. "You're a thrill-seeker. The sense of danger attracts you. Get over it, Williams. You're too naive, too inexperienced, and too young."

"That is your new strategy?" Placing her hands in the pockets of her shorts, she leaned against the bike she had snagged from the race-course. "Pretend I'm shallow? Tell me there's an age-limit on desire?"

"I said neither of those things." His face was as deadpan as his voice.

"That's exactly what you said."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"You're mistaken." Her voice was like steel. She straightened up and met his gaze with one that was almost challenging. "You're miserable. You're miserable and you revel in it. You pretend you're grateful to Mr. Suoh for everything he's ever done for you and you aren't, because if you were, you wouldn't call him Mr. Suoh, you would call him father. You tell yourself you're in love with Sarakshi but you don't make a single effort to make her realize there could be something explosive and amazing and plain fantastic there, because you're messed up enough to believe you aren't good enough for her. That thing you wear around your wrist? It came off that one time we did the whole torturous, out-of-control kiss thing. And you know what?" She grabbed the hemline of her top and tossed the thing over her head. "I don't give a damn. I don't give a damn, because I still want you."

She knew. She'd known for weeks and he hadn't had a damn clue. Something like an iron hand clenched inside him. He looked up, his gaze cold, and their eyes met. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were narrowed in something that was almost anger and the air between them was thick and full of a glacial kind of heat. The kind of heat that can freeze and burn and electrocute at the same time. Shocked. Furious. Scorching.

Linda was aware she had said too much - crossed a line she ought to have steered cleared off because it was the kind of line you can't go back from - and aware she didn't regret it. She forced her gaze to rise and meet his. His eyes were like shutters - and she refused to break the gaze. "You and I, we have something," she said, softly. "An understanding."

There was a pause that might have lasted a second or a week. It was impossible to tell. His eyes were dark and devoid of emotion. Then he nodded. His jacket came off as he dropped it around her shoulders in a shrug of black leather.

"That doesn't give you the excuse to toss off your clothes," he said drily.

"Tossing off clothes? That's just leverage."

He dropped on to the ground, one leg sprawled in front of him. "What do you want to do, Williams?"

She sat down next to him and leaned her head against her bike.

"Talk," she grinned.

-;-

The maze was grand in a trimmed kind of manner that made one curious. Curious to know what came next. Rain seeped into its hedged walls and pooled within pools of darkness that the overhanging lights could not blot out. Sarakshi had lost herself in the tangle of hedges and rosebushes a gigantic number of times in the past fifteen minutes but she could not have minded less. The sight and scent - wet mud and cool grass - calmed her.

Leaves blew in the wind; she passed them as she turned a corner, hair flying out behind her in a red streak. There was a burning white light in the distance and it was surrounded by a gaggle of smaller lights. It took her a few moments to realize what she was nearing was a tall lamp. The lights surrounding it?

Fireflies.

Eyes wide, she took a step towards the middle of the maze -

"Close your mouth, Ishin. You look highly unattractive."

Sarakshi half-jumped at the sound. Tora was leaning against the hedge, hands folded behind his head in the shadows. "Congratulations," he drawled. "You managed to take half an hour to find a place you should have been able to spot in five minutes."

"Have you ever considered a career as a lawyer?" Sarakshi asked drily. "Screwing people up - just the thing for you."

"You, of course, would know."

Her eyes narrowed. Then one of the fireflies whizzed past her and her frown disappeared. He couldn't have missed the change in her face if he had wanted to: it was too instantaneous, too real, to not be conspicuous.

"You like firelies." It was not a question; it was a statement.

"They're tiny. And full of light." Her eyes followed the path of one tiny, full of light creature. "They make me curious."

His eyes flickered towards the fireflies. There was a pause. Then -

"They're insects," he said drily.

The corners of her mouth twitched.

"What?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

"You're so... factual." She shook her head in a I-can't-phrase-it sort of manner. "Here -" Stepping up to him, she took his arm. Tora froze (Women did not touch him until he allowed them to. Not as if it were the most normal thing on the planet to do. Not without expecting some form of retaliation.) but she seemed not to have noticed as she pulled him towards the centre of the maze. The fireflies drifted as the two of them approached, a mist of orange-gold light around the white lamp. "Look at it. It's beautiful."

The sole reason it was there, was that it was beautiful enough to be part of the Igarashi household. Her perception of it went farther than that, though. He understood that without her having to put it into words. (Not that - he believed - she could have put it into words.) He looked at the scene that unfurled in front of him. What if he couldn't own it? No. That wasn't how she looked at it. She looked at it with the eyes of someone who didn't want to own it. Someone who found it beautiful without having to enslave or hoard or flaunt it. Someone who didn't look for a reason in the beauty.

He looked down at the hand curled around his arm.

"They're still insects," he drawled.

She blinked. "Wow."

"You have a thing for lost causes, don't you? Marjani. Me. Yourself."

"I'm not a lost cause!"

"So you're agreeing you have a thing for me?" Tora asked lazily.

"I'm agreeing you're a lost cause," she said sweetly.

There was something about her - the clear mischief in her eyes; the soft curve of her mouth - that made him smile. Her eyes flickered. She opened her mouth... and then she seemed to change her mind and closed it. What had she been thinking? His free hand grabbing her other arm, he pulled her - hard - against himself.

"How embarrassing is it?" He breathed.

Her eyes widened. "I have no idea what you're talking ab -"

His lips dropped to her neck. "You're a terrible liar."

"And an excellent judoka."

He smiled against her neck. "Are you threatening me?"

She kicked him. She had a habit of not holding back her punches - the kick hurt. He could ignore that for now, however. For now. "Has it occurred to you that I might be a masochist?" He asked, his grip on her tightening.

"You're sodden. If I catch a cold -"

"How embarrassing is it?" He breathed against her neck.

She could feel his wet shirt against hers. The rise and fall of his chest was calm; there was a sureness to it that made her look up into his face. He hadn't been expecting that: in the moment his expression smoothed into a smirk, she caught the darkness in his eyes and the completely natural confidence in his hold on her. The raw emotion left her stunned. "You look beautiful when you smile," she said, voice gentle. Her hand closed around his to detach it from her waist; he let her remove it without a word. She straightened up and smiled, a rueful sort of smile. "We should go."

"Who was he?"

She turned around. "Who was who?" She asked, the confusion in her eyes slipping into her voice.

He leaned back against the hedge. When he spoke, his gaze was fixed on the hedge opposite him and his voice was a cold drawl. "Your boyfriend."

"I wonder what kind of place keeps a record for that," she said drily.

"I didn't have to check records." He smiled, an oh-so-amiable smile.

"You know what?" Her eyes met his. "I'm not going to ask you to explain how you know. Because that is exactly what you want me to do."

"Getting wiser, aren't you?" He straightened up. The fireflies scattered into a network of overlapping yellows and oranges as he passed them. Falling in step besides her, he motioned towards the path.

"Not thanks to your company, I'm sure," she muttered as she began to walk.

"Your deflection skills, on the other hand," he said lazily. "Are still what they used to be: non-existent."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't see a reason to tell you about my personal life."

"Or lack thereof," Tora said smoothly.

"You." She paused. "Are unbelievable."

"I'd like to know who could bring himself to put up with you." There was a maddening smirk in his voice. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"The fact that you'd speak something that isn't at least half a lie? Yes, Igarashi. Yes, it is."

He grinned. "Humour me. It's a long walk back. We can do it my way or we can do it the... troublesome way."

"You do realize that your way and the troublesome way are one and the same, don't you?"

"If I wanted -"

"We broke up over a year ago. You're not going to get food for manipulation, even if I tell you. There's nothing there you can use for emotional blackmail."

Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he stopped. There was a frown on her face and it occurred to him that she had never even considered the possibility that he might want to know for a reason that didn't involve making her miserable. "I'm sure I could find something," he said, voice cool.

"He was an arts student." She gave half a shrug. "Older. Fantastic with colours. Bit of a genius."

"Boring," Tora drawled.

Her eyebrows rose. "Peaceful."

"But you broke up with him."

"He moved. We drifted apart. We're still good friends."

"You two didn't break up with him because he moved. You two broke up because he bored you."

She turned around to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "And here I thought you were smart."

"You'd rather deny than accept it. Interesting."

"I'm not -"

He stepped in front of her in one smooth move. "I'm the last person you should be trying to fool. You want to be challenged. You need to be challenged." She was far too herself to not want to explore. Experiment. Grow. "Nine chances out of ten, he was a competent little fool who knew all about what he wanted from life and nothing about what you did."

"I'm sure we're all refreshed by your unique point of view." She shot him a dirty look.

He smirked in response. She chose to ignore him as she wound her way around a path that would lead to a dead-end. He knew that and he made no effort to stop her. Or himself. There was a dizzying sort of warmth there - being around her - and it didn't come from the curve of her shoulder or the scarlet hair trailing past her back - it came from the softness of her mouth and the alight, curious look in her eyes and the strength of her confidence in herself and the sound of her laughter. The silence stretched and she seemed to realize it was unusual; her face tilted to look up at him.

"What are you thinking?" She asked, voice curious.

No one - no one - asked him that for the sake of wanting to know. "I'm thinking of pushing you into the nearest wall," Tora drawled.

She muttered something under her breath. It sounded like which, I imagine, is what you think about anything that walks. His hands captured her arms and pinned her, flush, against the wall. "You sound disgruntled," he said, voice a caress.

She raised her gaze and met his, glare for his grin. "Because you disgruntle me."

His lips pulled into an amused smirk. "Because I get more action than you?"

"Because you treat people like commodities." The image of the redhead in the music room flashed into her mind; her eyes flashed. "You don't give a damn about their emotions. That girl -" The wise thing to do would have been to make sure she never brought that up. The reminder left her filled with a sea of cold anger, however. "You used her. She's in love with you -"

"I'm flattered that you believe I'm an incorrigible villain, Ishin, but -" His voice had gotten cold. Colder than hers. "She is quite well aware that I'm not in love with her."

"That's the worst part of it." Sarakshi could feel her voice growing quieter with each word. "She knows that just as well as you know that she's in love with you. So you use her because you can. Because she'd do anything for you -"

He could feel it inside of him. The tension that he seemed to have been locked and soldered for months. He forced his expression into a smirk. "Interesting," he drawled. "What I do in private should be none of your business. Yet you make it a point to ensure that it is. Could it be that my gaggle of women makes you... jealous?"

Her eyes widened. "Don't be ridiculous."

His fingers raised a lock of scarlet hair to her cheek. He moved in closer - close enough so that she could feel the heat radiating off him in the dark damp. "It bothers you," he whispered. "It bothers you and it isn't just because I treat them as expendable. Because if it were that, you wouldn't react how you do react to me."

"I don't -"

"I challenge you," he drawled. "You like that. You like knowing someone isn't afraid to give you a hard time. You like knowing someone gives you a hard time because he believes you can rise up to the challenge." His mouth dropped to her ear. "And I make you nervous."

There was something in the drawl - the cool accent; the skilful words - that was too smooth. Too practiced. There was a sense of suppressed tension, a curt sort of tension, beneath them. Her eyes narrowed. "Deflecting what I say isn't going to make you any more of a gentleman -"

"Because I kiss a girl who wants me to? Ah yes. Your logic is impeccable."

"You know she lets you because she hopes she might have a chance. So you take her emotions and everything else she's more than willing to give you, even though you have no chance of ever returning any of it, because that's the vindictive person you are -"

"Because that's the vindictive person you make me."

It felt like a box of scorching heat had exploded between them: Sarakshi could feel her pupils expand in surprise. Their eyes met and the ice in his gaze made her flinch.

"In the case you haven't noticed." His voice was cold. "I want you. And I -" He jerked her chin up in one curt movement and forced her to meet his eyes "- always take what I want. If I do you a favour and don't force you into giving me what I do want from you, that doesn't mean I want it any less. That doesn't mean I don't notice how your body reacts to me. That doesn't mean I don't realize what that means. So unless you're willing to let me have what I want, you should cut the goody-two shoes act. Because I'm doing nothing other than compensating for it with someone who's perfectly willing and happy to do what I ask of her."

She could feel the hard muscles that his shirt sleeves moulded to. The strength of them - not the strength. The actual, even if unconscious, show of that strength - left her stunned.

"Back off," she whispered. "Back off, Igarashi. You're miserable and you just need someone to blame for it." She pushed him off her. "You want me to believe you wouldn't have been womanizing if I hadn't been who I am?" Of course his gaggle of women bothered her. Of course his gaggle of women irked her. Because it was wrong. "Your father is a cold-hearted bastard who raised you without an ounce of affection and everything materialistic you ever wanted. You know that's not how life is supposed to work but just because that's how it's worked for you, you refuse to give a damn about others. You refuse to treat anyone else as a human being. You refuse to treat me as a human being. It's about you and your cold, hard facts. It's always about you and your cold, hard facts because you're too shallow to look past them for so much as a single second. You have to manipulate and purchase people. Because you don't think there will ever be another way. You've never loved anyone so you think no one else can ever love you, either."

He let go of her as if burned. The rain seeped into the ground and into her clothes and down his muscled forearm. She raised her face to his. "I used to think you were like Marjani. Tough but not foul. But you aren't. You're no different from your father - mean-spirited and manipulative and incapable of good. You never were."

She turned around and walked off.

-;-

The scent of wet mud was thick in the air. Sarakshi almost didn't notice it as she trudged herself a path to the entrance of the maze. She hadn't realized how cold and wet she was: she realized it now.

It didn't matter.

What had she done? What the hell had she done? It had been true to an extent. Beyond that it had just been harsh and uncharacteristic of her. He bit where it hurt. I bit back. It was an excuse, perhaps even an excuse that justified her behaviour but in the end, it was nothing but an excuse. If she was going to speak to hurt - if she was going to be cruel - what difference did that leave between her and him?

And he would react.

Tora Igarashi did not react often; he acted. But when he did react? He made sure you wished that you'd never been born. The shadow of a sprawling tree drowned her in total darkness as she sat down. Seconds trickled into minutes. She heard the music inside the hall grow louder. Slower. Faster. What would he tell those people? He could tell anything and he would be believed. It was easy revenge. Which was just the reason that, had circumstances been normal, she would have been certain beyond a shred of doubt that Tora would never go for it.

Circumstances weren't normal, however.

"Ishin-san."

Her eyes rose to see Maki's figure standing over her. "Maki-kun?" She could feel the surprise in her voice. Taste it on her tongue. "I had no idea -"

"Please. There's no need to stand." Maki's close-eyed smile was as gentle - as nice - as fake as ever. "Is everything alright?"

"Ye -"

You're a terrible liar, Ishin.

"- Yes." She smiled up at him. "I was just going to leave -"

"No, you weren't."

Her eyes flickered. Then she nodded. "No, I wasn't." She picked up her bag and rose to her feet. "Goodnight, Maki-kun."

"Is it Tora?"

She turned around. The wind was a patchwork of falling and unfalling and dried and drying leaves around them. "Good night, Kanade."

His eyes widened. Then his lips tugged up into a smile. "Tora doesn't look at people. He looks through them. He sees their ambitions and desires and motives. He sees their weaknesses and the things he can use to his advantage. But he looks at you and not through you. He sees you where he sees no one else. It takes someone who's been around him to know."

"I should get home." Her heart felt like it was caught between her ribs - it was an unpleasant sensation. Sarakshi reached for a hair-tier to pull her hair into a ponytail. Her bangs escaped it to hide her forehead as she turned around to leave.

"There were no reporters allowed inside, today," Maki said.

The statement turned her to stone. Caused her insides to flush cold. She turned around and, when she did, there was a fierce kind of cold in her gaze. "You expect me to believe that?"

"No." There was no rise or fall in Maki's tone - it was still smooth, still polite. "But considering what making sure no reporters were allowed to attend the fundraiser cost him, I expect you to hear me out."

"He has enough money for cost not to have to be a problem -"

"I don't know what you said to him but if it makes you guilty enough to pretend I meant financial cost when you can tell I didn't, it must have been quite something."

Her eyes widened. "Why are you doing this?" She whispered.

"Because I owe him."

Because I owe him. The same thing that Marjani had said. Her lips twisted into an ironic smile. "I've heard that said before."

"More people owe Tora than you would realize."

"Did he tell you to do this? Like he told you to lure me into his office on the pretext of -"

"No." Maki's voice was still as polite as ever. "He left." When her eyes flickered in a show of surprise - it was clear she hadn't expected him to say that - he smiled. "He had to meet Yuki. She's leaving."

"Of course." She had forgotten that. "It makes sense. They're good friends."

"There's no such thing as good friends with Tora. You're either friends with him or you aren't. But yes. Yuki and he are... friends."

She looked up at him - the fixed expression - the fake smile - and there was something in there that made her want to reach up and touch his cheek. "And are you friends with him?"

His eyes opened as if he had never considered the question. "I wouldn't say so." His voice was still polite. "I should get going. I just thought you ought to know. There were no reporters allowed inside the house, today. I should know because -" The close-eyed smile was back - "I made the calls that hired the fake reporters and told the real ones we didn't need their services tonight."

She believed him. He didn't know why, but he knew that she believed him - he could see it in the clear chaos in her eyes.

"Does Mr. Igarashi know?"

"He does now. Understandably, Tora had to..." There was a pause in which she realized he was attempting not to phrase the trouble - and she could imagine the trouble. Genkei Igarashi was not a nice man. - that had caused for Tora. "Leave for the airport early. Shall I drop you home, Ishin-san?"

"No." She hitched her handbag over her shoulder. You're just like your father. Mean-spirited and manipulative and incapable of good. Her heart seemed to have leaped into her throat. She had to force herself to sound calm. "Goodnight, Kanade."

"Goodnight, Ishin-san."

She turned to walk off. Then she turned back. Maki was looking in the distance with eyes that were half-closed. She could see the alertness - the vagueness - in them. "Kanade?"

He turned to look at her with half a smile. "Ishin-san?"

"He does." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "He does see you as a friend. He always has."

His eyes widened but she did not wait for his response; she was out of his range of sight and in the shadows within minutes.

-;-

The path to her door was bathed in soft late-night light. The kind of light that is a hazy mixture of yellow lampposts and fluorescent bulbs the neighbours have forgotten to switch off and old deep darkness. Sarakshi stepped up to her apartment door to unlock it - she never left it locked until she knew she would be out late - and her eyes widened.

There was a bouquet of white roses lying on her doormat.

The bouquet of white roses Igarashi had given her earlier.

She bent down to touch it. It was still fresh: she could inhale its scent even now. She'd left it on the bench outside the maze. Forgotten all about it. She picked it up and dropped it on to the table once she stepped into her apartment.

Then she said,

"You didn't have to check up on me."

"What makes you think I'm here because I was concerned?"

His voice was cold enough to cause her to flinch. She turned around as he stepped out of the shadows. With no lights switched on it should have been too dark to tell who the person standing outside her door was. It was, too: she could not, after all, see more than a figure. But there was something about the figure - the elegance in his posture; the grace with which he stood - that made it clear it could be no one else. He filled up the door without even trying and she realized, with a sudden, almost startling sense of realization, that that did not feel unfamiliar. Her feet felt numb as she switched on the lights in the lounge. The illumination threw him into sharp relief - the dark eyes, the warm coat, the windswept hair.

What makes you think I was concerned?

Think? There was nothing to think and everything to know. He had checked up on her because it was late. Because she had been upset. Because he was too much of a patronizing jerk to ever defend himself. She wanted to grab his collar with both hands and shake him hard. Knock some sense into him.

She took off her overcoat; it huddled into her arms as she walked up to the coat-hanger.

"Because I know you."

"You were right."

His voice made her freeze; she turned around, the overcoat she had just taken off still gathered in her arms, the wind whipping her hair behind her.

"It is always the cold, hard facts." His voice was devoid of emotion. "Because you know what? The cold, hard facts don't get to walk off."

Her eyes widened. "I shouldn't have -"How did you put into words what you couldn't put into words? Tell someone you hadn't meant to demean the people that person loved? Belittle their childhood? Their life? It was useless. She'd never been good with words. "Spoken like that. I had no right to."

"You meant what you said. You shouldn't have regrets, commoner." His voice was still cold. Cold enough to cause her to want to flinch. "Good night, Ishin."

He was leaving. In a sense, he already had. Her eyes rose from the overcoat to look at the doormat he no longer stood on.

"Igarashi," she said.

He did not turn back; her eyes widened at the realization that he wouldn't. She'd never thought there might be a time when he would ignore her and she would wish otherwise. The idea felt like panic. Like something that shouldn't be. "Igarashi."

The door swung half-close as he walked past the railing.

"Tora," she said, quietly.

He stilled. There was something furious and pleading in her voice at the same time and, as he turned around, it occurred to him that if the little chit of a girl knew even half the things he wanted to do to her at this moment, she would not be standing there, her arms crossed against her chest and her eyes wide, both details a direct contradiction to each other.

"What do you want?" He asked, his voice cold.

"I…" It was awkward to have to bridge the distance between the two of them. She took a step towards him and, for a moment, she did not have the words. "I didn't mean what I said earlier," she said, voice quiet.

"The part where you insulted my father, or the part where you compared me to Marjani Suoh?" There was amusement in his voice, the kind of amusement that made you want to take a step back and, the first moment that you could, run for your life in the opposite direction. The tone made her want to wince.

"The part where I insulted you," she said, arms crossed against her chest. Knowing she was in the wrong, and having to admit it to Tora Igarashi, did not make her feel too overjoyed.

"I see." His grin was cold. "Apparently, the comparison to Marjani Suoh still stands." The comparison to Marjani Suoh. The reality of it made him want to crush something to pieces with his bare hands. If she wanted Marjani as much as Marjani wanted her, he would never - and he knew that without ever having to tell himself this - stand in their path. Was he jealous? Damn it, he was. "He is… what is it? Ah yes, he pleases you more than I do."

"That is." She could feel her insides flush cold. "Quite enough, Igarashi."

"Perhaps you should stick to my first name. You see, the name Igarashi is still far above you."

It was the one thing he could have said, right then, that could have thrown her resolve into pieces and exploded her temper into flames. "This is." Her voice was cold. "Why you will never be better than Marjani."

Something like a satisfied smirk crossed his features. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?" He could hear how nonchalant he sounded as if it did not matter to him either way. "That I could never measure up to Marjani? How far have you two gotten, anyway? Has he… taken you yet?"

Her eyes widened. "You're vile," she whispered.

"Then why." His voice was cold and full of anger. Her hair spilled over her shirt like scarlet fire and it was no longer about domination or control: it was about something he wanted so damn much, the mere thought of it made him break every rule he had ever set down for himself. "Are you wasting your time on me?"

She looked up at him, into his face, and what she saw there, left her stunned. Desire. Hunger. Need. Torture. The answer he wanted and didn't have. He was, she thought, beautiful. Beautiful and terrible but, mostly, beautiful. Her hand rose as if to cup his cheek but he was too tall and, at some point between desperation and insanity, she placed it on the top of his shirt. "I keep trying to find in the good in you," she whispered.

He stepped back and her eyes widened. Dark in the darkness. "But of course." His insides felt cold but his voice was calm. "You've been attempting to mould me into the perfect little anti-hero I never was."

"That was not what I –"

"That was exactly what you meant." His hand was on the doorknob and, as he stepped outside into the dim light, Sarakshi realized that, when she had whispered what she had whispered, she might just have said the one thing he had been afraid to hear.

---

x

If anyone is still reading - *hidesfromeveryone* - I am so sorry for the huuuuge time lapse between the last chapter and this one. I've been undergoing treatment for a disease. Constant double vision + college = Me not able to write.

Thank you for all the reviews. I want to respond to all of them but I know if I started typing up replies, it would take forever. And at this point, I just want to get this chapter out there. So I'm sorry for the lack of replies. But. Youguysarethebest. And I'm so glad to be able to write for such fantastic people. :3 Things have been amazingly hard these past two months and your words have been part of the support system that's kept me going.

Thank you for being there. =)

P.S: Did I mention I stole a quote from TVD for this chapter? No? *mentions it now*

...

Clickety?

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