Page 28 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

Bowing her head, Deepa relaxed into it. She was already nearly boneless from Roz’s earlier ministrations, and she had always enjoyed having her hair brushed, as she enjoyed being fussed over in general. One of her earliest memories involved her mother braiding ribbons into her hair, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about when Roz touched her.

Roz was sitting close enough for Deepa to feel the heat from her knees on either side of her hips, not quite touching, but with an electric charge zipping back and forth between their bodies that somehow created even more unspoken tension than an actual touch. With careful attention, Roz finger-combed her hair, easing out the few tangles without pulling.

When Deepa’s hair was completely smooth and Roz could run her fingers through from top to bottom without getting caught, it was time to switch to the brush, but Roz was in no hurry. Instead, she continued using her hands, fingertips skating over Deepa’s scalp before landing with more confidence. Blunt nails scratched their way across her head, starting at the crown and moving in ever-widening circles.

Eyes shut, Deepa hummed, communicating her pleasure as a cat communicated with purrs. Behind her, Roz shifted closer so her knees finally connected with Deepa’s hips. The shock that passed between them was instant and powerful, sending a delicious shiver up Deepa’s spine to the back of her neck, where it joined the tingling sensation Roz inspired on her scalp.

“I used to have long hair when I was a little girl,” Roz said quietly, her tone conversational. “Never kept it as nice as yours.”

Deepa struggled to find her voice, resurfacing from her haze of pleasure. “When did you cut it?”

“When I was twelve. My mum got sick of brushing it out for me, and I was old enough to know I didn’t want to deal with it. Too much work, keeping it from getting tangled. Yours, though. Your hair’s a thing of beauty. You must be proud of it.”

“I’ve never cut it.”

“I love it long. Makes you stand out from all the rest, with their trendy bobs and whatnot.”

“You said you were going to brush it for me. Have you got distracted?” Deepa teased.

“Just enjoying the process, love.”

Roz lifted the brush and Deepa almost told her to never mind it and keep using her fingers, but she bit her lip, smiling to herself as she folded her hands in her lap. The brush was soft against her hair, an altogether different sensation from before. It felt like being petted: slow, steady drags from top to bottom.

“I feel like I’m playing servant to a princess,” Roz murmured.

Deepa cast her a glance from over her shoulder. “Do you like that?”

Catching her gaze, Roz offered her a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“My friends say there are certain women who like to find beautiful girls to spoil. Is that true?”

“I guess it must be.”

“What do you get out of it?” Deepa asked curiously. “Men, I understand. They want a trophy wife or a mistress to parade around, while the girls get status and security in exchange for sex. Is it the same between women?”

“Sure, sometimes.” Roz shrugged. “Me, I just like feeling useful. Making someone happy, being able to provide and protect. I like a girl who’ll let me look after her.”

“As much as I enjoy being spoiled, I still appreciate my independence. Is that a problem?”

“Hell, no. But letting me brush your hair or carry your bags or buy your drinks doesn't make you any less independent, does it?”

Deepa smiled. “No, it doesn’t. But what am I doing for you in return?”

“You’re letting me,” Roz said simply.

“I have something to tell you,” Deepa said, softly confidential. “If you’re truly looking for a princess to spoil, then you should know this. Despite what they say of me, my father is not a great maharaja.”

“Is he not? And here I was taking everything I heard at face value.”

“My mother is a housekeeper. Everything I have, I got for myself, and everything I do is to ensure that one day, she and I can live comfortably.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Perhaps you could meet her sometime.”

Roz smiled gently. “I’d like that. Must be a hell of a woman, to raise someone as clever and driven as you. You two are close?”

“She's my whole family. She left my father when she found us a chance to come to England. He was…well, I suppose he was typical of men anywhere. Self-centred and entitled.” Deepa looked down at her hands, the burgundy gloss painting her nails. “It makes her sad to watch me run through men the way I do. She doesn’t want me to settle for an inadequate husband, but she wants me to find someone.”

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