She turned to look over her shoulder; Garuda was gone. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What’s a Brahminy kite doing in California?” His words came out so forcefully that he swayed on the narrow ledge.

Without thinking about it, Esha reached out and grabbed his hand, keeping him from falling back and down three floors.

He held on to her, finding his balance. “Thank you.” His hold on her hand tightened before he let her go. Then he grabbed the railing and hopped over it, landing on her balcony.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you look so scared?”

“I don’t . . .” She, Esha Raje, was standing close to a man—a man she had never seen before—and there was no noise in her head. She stepped closer to him.

He stepped back. “What are you doing?” he asked this time, looking more confused than scared.

She reached out and touched him. Pressed her hand right into his chest.

“Okay,” he said, dark eyes studying her. “What are we doing exactly?”

She leaned closer and closed her eyes. Nothing.

“Who are you?” There was wonder in her voice. She brought her other hand to his chest, touching him with both hands now and taking a careful breath.

“Okay,” he said again, obviously unsure of what to do with the situation he found himself in. “Are you smelling me?”

A laugh burst from her, spurting spittle onto his shirt. It was white and plain and looked like it had been worn a million times. He also wore gray-green pants that came down to his calves and were covered in pockets. “Why would you think I’m smelling you?” A strange and completely unfamiliar feeling was coursing through her.

She didn’t have the answer.

She needed to ask. She had no idea what he was feeling. Except from what showed in his eyes, she had no idea what was going on in his head.

No idea.

“Because you made a face.” He closed his eyes and pushed his face into the space between them and sniffed.

He was right. It did look like he was smelling her.

She had the uncontrollable urge to laugh again. “I wasn’t smelling you. But you smell fabulous,” she said.

He smelled like the woods. The ones on the estate she liked to walk in.

“I wasn’t smelling you either,” he said firmly, as though it was important for him to understand what was going on but he was used to figuring things out in as much time as they took. “You smell fabulous too.”

“I do?” No one had ever told her she smelled good. No one had ever told her anything about herself.

“I’m Sid,” he said, thick arched brows still drawn together. “India Dashwood’s brother. I didn’t mean to intrude.”