Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (11 page)

That kiss and last night's gaffe still made her a bit stiff with him.
The answer is important to you
, he'd jibed, which made it clear he knew she'd been hanging out for the admission from him that he found her attractive.

Despite all the logic, she knew she was mad enough to want it, to want him to look at her again with that gold-flecked gaze, as he had after that kiss.

How could she be so contrary? Hadn't she herself told him to cut out the hanky-panky?

And see how readily he'd agreed.

What else would he do? He was right. Being physical was not on the menu. She wasn't the type to indulge in casual affairs. It hurt that it hadn't even taken a handful of meetings for him to pick up on that. Did she appear so unsophisticated, then?

Oh God, she nearly groaned at her own confused thoughts. Did she want a man to desire her for what she looked like? Or did she want him to love her for who she was? And, anyway, Zaheer wasn't even a candidate.

The dancing broke up and Zaheer was veered away by someone.

Last night he'd kissed her and she hadn't worn a shred of make-up then. In fact she'd been totally disadvantaged in her old clothes and piled up hair. Had he been turned off because of that?

She was being silly. The man had promised to be honourable, maybe out of respect for the elders or her stepfather's strict concern. Whatever. She should be thankful he'd decided to keep his distance. She couldn't
want
to get involved with a rake, could she? Of course not.

It was just silly hero-worship to follow him with her gaze. Easy and indolent, yet with that arrogant tilt of his head, he was smiling charmingly at his companion, catching her gaze on the off-chance as he glanced up, so that she had to pretend to be looking elsewhere.

* * *

‘Have you enjoyed yourself?' Zaheer directed a quizzical look at her.

In the air-conditioned limo going home with him, Vishakha felt all too conscious of his nearness. She'd spent the afternoon being close to him. Everyone had pushed her again to dance with Zaheer. And he'd gone a step further under the encouragement and caught her round the waist for a ballroom swirl and twist modified to a quickened version to time with the bangra beat. To the ‘ooh'ing gratification of their audience. Her cousins had cheered and hooted as he'd twirled her round expertly, leaving her breathless and clutching him dizzily. The feel of hard muscles had been imprinted on her fingers ever since. So had the feel of the steely proprietorial arm imprinted on her waist, holding her at his side the rest of the time.

‘Great party, huh?'

Vishakha couldn't disagree with that. ‘Mostly because of you. You're a thorough entertainer. You enjoy being the centre of attention, don't you?'

‘Doesn't everyone?' he replied. The limo purred through the afternoon traffic but it might have been a dark night. Cloaked inside the temperature control and noise-resistant glass, the world was shut out. ‘I used to love being on stage. As a kid, I used to play all sorts of tricks on teachers, act the clown in the classroom, just to get the claps. My teacher gave me a part in the school play to get rid of me. But I loved it. It felt good to get up there and do my thing. And soon they were seeking me out to have me on the stage. Partly because I was the only one who didn't forget his lines.' The mocking air dropped from him as he smiled reminiscently. ‘Couldn't remember the textbooks but I never forgot my dialogues.'

She found herself thinking of a young Zaheer. With a thatch of dark hair with brown highlights and those keen eyes. She realized she was smiling at the image and straightened her mouth. It was happening. She was in danger of being under his spell. How foolish that would be.

He was still smiling at her in a sharing way, maybe wanting to hear her childhood exploits. But she couldn't tell him, feeling as vulnerable as she did already. Suffering from an overdose of Zaheer Saxena. First the arm stealing around her waist like a snake when they had danced, then the way she'd collapsed against his chest, dizzy with the fast moves. His face had come so close she could see even his pupils and the gold and the green of his irises, rimmed by a darker ring. The thick, straight eyelashes. The direct piercing gaze.

The limo was suddenly suffocating. She caught a glimpse of dark chest hair in his undone
achkan
neckline and was surprised. Because wasn't his appearance always so custom-made? Metro-slicked and style-coated. The dance had run up some sweat and his hair clung slightly to his scalp, a lock falling on his forehead, the musk of his perfume mingling with his scent.

The air-conditioning seemed to be working less efficiently than ever.

‘Are you OK?' Was there a touch of humour underlying the tone? He tried to catch her shoulder to turn her towards him and she jerked away.

‘Will you quit trying to get physical? You took enough advantage all afternoon.'

‘Hel-lo!' He snapped fingers in her face. ‘We're supposed to be engaged, remember? Your relatives would be more suspicious if I hadn't laid a hand on you. If it bugs you so much, I'll hold you at an arm's length in future. It's not as though I'm bitten by the craze to touch you.'

* * *

As soon as he'd said it, Zaheer grimaced. If only that was true. Invisible sparks seemed to be arching between them. As though static ran all around her and he only had to step near to her to be zapped by electricity. It was taking repeated reminders to himself to step back. The feel of silken skin under his hands as they danced, the soft tremulous lips, dark eyes wide as though waiting for him to lead them both down the path to exploration…all played irresistibly like sweet music in his memory, setting his pulse speeding.

‘Not that you seemed to mind it a while ago,' he couldn't help adding.

‘You flatter yourself.'

‘And you keep trying your luck. I've run out of patience wanting to teach you a lesson…' His hands curled around her upper arms. ‘You've been waiting for me to do this all day.'

Well, he would rather be punished after the deed than before it.

* * *

She gazed into his eyes, dark in the shadow, and stopped breathing.

He suspended movement for an instant, just looked down at her. She could see the details of his face, the line of his thick short lashes, the smooth skin, clean-cut features, the full sensuous lower lip slightly moist. Her lungs expanded painfully. She hovered at the verge, knowing she should do something to stop it. Stop
him
. Yet, even as the thought formed, an insidious, horribly familiar curiosity overtook her, startling her so much that sound died in her throat.

He was bending close. Closer.

Vishakha froze in shock. At his audacity. And her own. Because, despite everything, she was giving in to that surge of curiosity. That dangerous desire to know what would happen if she gave in to the feelings he evoked just being there. To taste again the brief glimpse of passion. That whorl of excitement she could even now feel uncurling inside.

Dammit, she had been taken unawares the last time. She couldn't want him to kiss her again.

She didn't want him to.

She did.

The world shrank to just him, those lips, sensuous and warm, capturing hers. Sending sudden heat spilling along her nerves. Pounding in her veins. Every muscle tightened and her arms flexed to hold him closer. His hands moved to spread over her back and sparks raced over her skin.

An arc of current went zinging through her system. Her eyes closed automatically and she finally gave in to the sensation. His lips were warm and velvety, his body contact transferring heat to hers. Reality went spinning out of her grasp, her senses soaked in the excitement he had triggered. His mouth slid against hers, parting and closing in, each contact deepening the surge of passion till she was drowning helplessly in desire. Her hands bunched into the silk he wore and she wanted only to hold onto him, to have him go on kissing her for ever, aware only of the sensations he was igniting deep inside her. The world hazed as she focused only on following his lead, receiving what he'd deluged her with.

Abruptly he broke the contact, his gaze finding hers in the split second before rude reality intruded. She saw his eyes dark with feeling but, before she could identify what it was, he'd backed off completely.

His eyebrows drew together. ‘I don't like to kiss lipstick,' he informed her, taking a tissue from the nearby holder and wiping it across his mouth.

Hurt slashed into her at the abrupt gesture. And anger. Just who did he think he was?

‘I don't like to kiss inflated egos,' she shot back and took another tissue and wiped it across
her
lips, her action immediate and instinctive.

The small gesture felt good. But in a place deep inside her she was all too aware of how she'd betrayed her need to experience that kiss. Her desire for him, even though he'd hurt her just now, was an alien sensation still sweeping through her. Alien, but achingly sweet. A raw recognition of what he could make her feel. It sent a shockwave through her that she wanted to instinctively resist because it indicated a growing vulnerability—vulnerability to him—that was impossible for her to accept.

Then while she scowled fiercely across at him, challenging his rejection, she saw his mouth twist in a rueful smile.

‘But God, I have to hand it to you.' He leaned back and considered her. Man in control now. Not the briefly glimpsed passion ridden stranger. ‘You sure can kiss!'

She could? It wasn't as though she had had much practice. Besides a few sloppy ones indulged in the giddy high of her graduation night, she'd just kissed Munish. And kissing Munish…well, she might as well have saved herself the bother. Of course then she hadn't known it could be like this!

She could feel his eyes on her. She considered him too. Surreptitiously, when his gaze veered from hers. Pondering on the quality of that kiss. Surely what she had felt was way out of proportion to what had actually happened? It must be something to do with the energy fluctuations in the car. Or the excitement from being at her own ring ceremony spilling over.

Or maybe…she tried to be honest in her analysis…maybe she'd just been curious to know what it was like to kiss a celebrity. Got hung up on the buzz of it. Yes, that was plausible. Not particularly savoury. But certainly more digestible than the thought that she could actually be attracted to this man for real.

Damage control. That was what she needed. Instead of gazing at him like a moonstruck teenager, she needed to show him she wasn't as affected as…Well, as she felt.

‘I'm warning you, this is the last time you cross the line.' That sounded sufficiently stalwart.

‘Once can be a mistake, the second only deliberate perjury.' His mouth twisted even as a devilish glint lit in his eyes.

‘Then why did you do it?' she flared. ‘You broke your promise.'

He shrugged. ‘You broke it first. You forgot to say no.'

* * *

As was often done after the ring ceremony, every small detail was dissected and discussed by all the participants. Then the photos came and naturally had to be pored over. She was supposed to have said goodbye to Zaheer ages ago. But relatives wouldn't let go of him and her parents were busy getting to know his aunt. His mother's younger brother also seemed in no hurry to leave.

When they finally made noises about leaving, she signalled Zaheer to meet her outside.

‘Your CCTV relatives are looking out everywhere to keep up under surveillance,' he told her in a low voice. ‘Let's go out the back.'

‘Your aunt gave me these.' Safely in the porch, lit only by moonlight, she held out two heavy gold bangles. ‘As
shagun
.'

‘So?'

‘So, don't be dense. I can't keep them. It's bad enough keeping this.' She held out her hand, light falling on her ring, the large sparkling diamond surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds that winked and dazzled in turn. ‘Thanks for the beautiful ring by the way. I know this is a necessary part, but—'

‘They are a necessary part too. Don't be silly. We have to keep it as real as possible. It would look funny if someone asked to see and you didn't have them.'

He was right about that. She subsided, not comfortable but not wanting to argue either. The question that had been lingering at the back of her mind came to her again. ‘Did you have any problem getting your parents' approval? Considering they haven't even seen me yet.'

‘I'm not the traditional dutiful son, sweetheart. They don't expect too much from me.'

‘But even if they couldn't make it here, at least you could have introduced me to them over the phone. Or by video call. Wouldn't they at least want that?'

A quick frown drew his eyebrows together, his features tightening in displeasure. ‘Why are you so bothered? Just remember it's a pretend engagement. Convenient to you and to me. You don't need to meet my parents.' There was a definite edge she hadn't heard in his tone before. His features looked even more chiselled as his facial muscles became tight with sudden tension.

‘Have you even told them? You haven't, have you?' she concluded suddenly. ‘What about when they hear the truth?'

His hands rolled into fists in an instinctive defensive manoeuvre at her verbal attack. Truth? He hadn't wanted his father here. That was the truth. What would Vishakha say if she knew his parents had landed at Mumbai this very evening? He'd withheld the fact even from his
mama
and
mami.
As for his mum…Damn it, he should have told his mum, but he'd curbed the impulse because, like the dutiful wife she was, she'd be sure to pass on the news to his father. He breathed in deeply. When the time was appropriate, he'd tell her. It wasn't as though this was real. He could do without the hollow feeling in his gut that being with his parents always brought on. His mother trying hard to behave as though they were a family, his father not trying at all. Scattered and disjointed, because wasn't the truth that they weren't a real family at all?