Blurb:
What if the one you completely love is the one you simply can't!
Twenty-six-year-old Eila Sood moves to America to mend fences with her estranged older sister, Sheela. Eila and the rest of the family in India had cut off ties with Sheela after she married Steve Jacobs, 'out of caste, and out of color'.
Elia soon realizes that Sheela's marriage is on the rocks. To help pay Sheela's household bills, Eila takes a second job at an afternoon strip club. When she crosses paths with the owner, the handsome Brett Wright or 'blue-eyed ogre' as Elia calls him, he both infuriates and fascinates her. Brett turns out to be her reluctant and unquestionably sarcastic knight in shining armor.
As Eila and Brett spend more time together their desire for each other builds. However, when Brett discovers the true reason for Eila's refusal he storms out of her life, accusing her of being a prejudiced coward.
Will Eila find the courage to break stereotypes and embrace her love? Will Brett find solace in the arms of his ex-girlfriend Cate?
Will Sheela and Steve divorce? All of these questions and more are answered in best selling author Varsha Dixit's latest, steamy love story.
Twenty-six-year-old Eila Sood moves to America to mend fences with her estranged older sister, Sheela. Eila and the rest of the family in India had cut off ties with Sheela after she married Steve Jacobs, 'out of caste, and out of color'.
Elia soon realizes that Sheela's marriage is on the rocks. To help pay Sheela's household bills, Eila takes a second job at an afternoon strip club. When she crosses paths with the owner, the handsome Brett Wright or 'blue-eyed ogre' as Elia calls him, he both infuriates and fascinates her. Brett turns out to be her reluctant and unquestionably sarcastic knight in shining armor.
As Eila and Brett spend more time together their desire for each other builds. However, when Brett discovers the true reason for Eila's refusal he storms out of her life, accusing her of being a prejudiced coward.
Will Eila find the courage to break stereotypes and embrace her love? Will Brett find solace in the arms of his ex-girlfriend Cate?
Will Sheela and Steve divorce? All of these questions and more are answered in best selling author Varsha Dixit's latest, steamy love story.
Read Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Tips and Trips
Cursing at her inadvertent reflexes, Eila dropped her hand. An Asian
boy of around ten with light brown hair, an over-turned-bowl haircut and pale skin stood behind the man. There was a rolling bag that contained action figures next to him.
“Don’t stop in the middle. Stop on the side,” the boy said in a high- pitched voice, ringing with the sure conviction and innocence of a child.
Eila choked back a laugh. The man turned his head of raven hair to give her an incinerating glare. “Divine justice,” Eila softly taunted. Before he could respond, she grabbed her bags and spun around, smartly walking away from the uncivil stranger. She resumed her search for the H1 visa line.
Damn! Eila noticed the line for H1 visa. It resembled a canned pack of sardines. She glanced about. The number of people lined up under the sign “American Passport” was the shortest. Should I? A contemplating Eila, chewing the inside of her cheek, stood still. Her wrist was beginning to chafe. Her shoulder ached from the weight of her bag. And she was alone. Dumping ethical in favor of exigent, Eila decided she would.
Keeping her passport hidden in her hand, Eila headed straight for the line that she did not belong to.
A bespectacled African American man, in a dark blue uniform and with thinning salt and pepper hair officiously removed the thick rope to let her in. Giving him her most winsome smile, Eila took her place behind a family in which the adults were clearly losing control of their truant children, who were still in diapers.
Nervous, Eila fiddled with her luggage. She shifted back a step or two, forgetting Newton’s law about action and equal and opposite reaction. She backed into another person. The disgruntled groan caused her to cringe. “I’m so sorry,” she uttered, hastily pivoting.
This was not to be Eila’s finest moment. The laptop bag slung over her shoulder further jabbed the Hispanic man behind her in his chest.
“Jesús!” he burst out. Stumbling backward, he bumped into the person behind him, someone wearing a slightly wrinkled sports jacket.
The Hispanic man recovered his balance with help from behind. “I should have known!” a contemptuous voice barked.
Eila’s eyes traveled up the front of the jacket and the pastel blue shirt, past the chin with a cleft and grim mouth. Wearily, she met the condemning, arctic gaze of the blue-eyed ogre.
Ignoring the ogre, Eila focused on the stocky Hispanic man. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”
“Of course it was!”
Eila ignored the ogre’s caustic retort.
“Oww!” the Hispanic man moaned. Eila saw fresh discomfort
dance on his face.
“I’m sorry! What?” Eila asked with confusion riding her features. “Lady! Your bag is on my foot!” he said between clamped lips.
Eila turned an ugly shade of red. Her carry-on that weighed a ton
had come loose in the confusion and landed on his foot.
“Crap! I’m so sorry! So sorry!” Biting her lower lip, mortified Eila
pulled the bag strap, trying to move it. She heard a definitive snap. Horrified, Eila watched the strap swing loosely in her hands. Shit, shit, shit! This can’t be happening.
“Please move, miss! You’re next.”
Eila glanced at the uniformed man ushering her forward. Humiliated, she stuttered, “I b-broke my bag...”
“Move!” The impatient grunt came from the blue-eyed ogre. He stepped around the Hispanic man.
Eila felt some movement near her foot. Glancing down, she spied a tan loafer come under her bag and give it a hefty shove. The bag slid neatly, stopping a few inches short of the red line, where Eila was to wait before being called by the immigration officer. Manners prompted Eila to mutter grudgingly, “Thank you for...”
“Save it!” With an imperious brush of his hand, the blue-eyed ogre cut her off. “Most of us have somewhere to be.” With that rebuke, he went back to standing behind the Hispanic man.
“Jerk!” Eila took a place next to her bag. If the almighty is listening, my bag and the ogre should self-combust this very instant.
“Next!” The imperious call came from an African-American immigration officer sporting a highlighted stiff bob and long lavender nails. Eila shoved the bag with her foot. It didn’t even quiver. Dang! Double dumb dang!
The tan shoe again came to her rescue and kicked the bag, which obligingly went sliding to the counter where she was to go. Remembering the man’s earlier response, Eila’s gratitude on her lips ended just as it began.
Eila stopped in front of the four-feet-high counter and extended her paperwork and passport to the immigration officer. The officer took Eila’s passport and then waved it. “You are in the wrong line!”
Eila began to feel hot under the collar of her hoodie. “Sorry, I got confused.”
“Please read the sign above my head!” the immigration officer demanded loudly, pointing to the sign. From peripheral vision Eila saw quite a few heads turn to glance at her. Eila knew the glances were unkind. People who hold up lines are pretty high up on the list of most disliked people, the first several spots being taken by the kinds who blow up buildings.
Eila gulped. Her earlier great idea was beginning to wilt under the woman’s baleful look and the Homeland Security badge pinned to the front of her sweater. Given the present environment, the badge was scarier than all weapons.
“I’m really sorry! I didn’t realize I was in the wrong line,” Eila nervously lied.
Crossing her arms over her chest with an air of finality, the immigration lady responded, “Well, you do now. Go back to...”
Eila’s newly discovered nemesis broke in. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I his right arm for added emphasis.
As he swung his arm, Eila noticed the stub of a boarding passing in his hand. It proclaimed First Class. Eila lost all of her already frayed patience.
Unlike the other approximately six billion people in the world, the angrier Eila got, the calmer she appeared. Sounding like a saint with a serene smile and neutral voice, she said, “I would step to one side, ‘here or there’,” Eila gestured with a tilt of her head, “if I knew where I had to go. Also I had my back to you. You have two eyes stuck to the front of your face. Why don’t you use them? You should have seen me.”
The ogre’s eyes narrowed to two sparking, azure chips of ice in his chiseled face. He opened his mouth to say something even harsher but he never got a chance. Jerking forward, he nearly tumbled on top of Eila. Alarmed, eyes wide, Eila jerked back. Reflexively she stretched out a hand to help, but the man caught himself in time and straightened. Before turning around to see what or who had bumped into him, he gave Eila’s still outstretched palm an acidic look.
Chapter 2: Tips and Trips
Cursing at her inadvertent reflexes, Eila dropped her hand. An Asian
boy of around ten with light brown hair, an over-turned-bowl haircut and pale skin stood behind the man. There was a rolling bag that contained action figures next to him.
“Don’t stop in the middle. Stop on the side,” the boy said in a high- pitched voice, ringing with the sure conviction and innocence of a child.
Eila choked back a laugh. The man turned his head of raven hair to
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"Varsha, a best selling author of four highly successful books, thinks of herself as a dreamer who thinks deep but writes light. A true 'feel good' junkie seeking quick fixes, Varsha loves a good laugh, good movie and a good book, in that order.A voracious reader of murder and grotesque mysteries, she did sit down to pen a book on serial killer but finding it impossible to maim or hurt anyone, even on paper, she penned a romantic story instead. Even though creativity is gender free,Varsha feels blessed and enriched to be a woman.Currently, with her family, Varsha resides in CA, USA."
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