Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (15 page)

The symbolism washed over her in an exciting, liberating wave of exultation. Desire swirled and clouded her brain.

But then her nerve failed her. She began to break the lip-lock. Was stopped. Held by him. The puny tie had indeed been no deterrent to his intention as he broke his hand free and cupped her jaw, holding her immobile to make the contact last.

A vortex of sensation opened to her, sucking her in. Heat climbed. Raw anticipation took over. Want. Desire.

Disbelief.

She drew away. Breathless. Hot. Dishevelled to the core, her heart knocking against her ribs.

What had just happened? How had she allowed it?

She'd never been one to go with the flow. But he had unleashed dammed waters, left them gushing over her reason.

‘How did that feel?' The deep guttural tone reverberated inside her.

As though she had hurtled down a mountain with him? Was that close enough?

And it had been just a kiss.

It made no sense. And it was frightening.

‘You look beautiful. Glowing and vibrant.' His words shivered over her skin.

‘Let's not get carried away,' she whispered, extricating herself with an effort, finding it required a truckload of will to move away from him.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite and stilled. Glowing, he'd said. Beautiful. She didn't believe him. But the striking image staring back
was
just that. She looked flushed, eyes wide and dark. Hair like a dark cloud around her radiant face. An aliveness lay like a patina, lending an eye-catching quality to her features.

He hadn't lied.

Maybe she needed Zaheer more than she needed a make-up artist. She almost giggled at the thought. Oh Lord! If his kisses could be patented, women could save thousands of rupees per year and the cosmetic industry would go bankrupt.

She closed her eyes briefly, still feeling the thud of her heart. She'd allowed herself to go so far. Or rather he'd showed her a taste of that freedom.

Addictive. Alluring.

Dangerous.

In the face of his experience, she was like a leaf, liable to be blown away. How could she have been caught up in the magic he evoked? So deeply that she'd forgotten reason?

The deep voice sounded behind her. ‘To hugely understate the facts, we find each other physically attractive. If you don't believe in love, what's wrong with having an affair?' The tempting words hit her ears like honey. For an instant she became suspended in the delicious mesh of sensations his suggestion evoked.

Having never known temptation, it had always been easy to stick to the path she had decided for herself. Now the earth was shifting beneath her feet. She had been ditched. She was deceiving her mom. What next awaited her?

An affair with a hotshot? A playboy who offered no strings. By his own admission, he had hated even a pretend engagement. That was all he needed her for. Once his ex-girlfriend was convinced and his film looked to be settled, they would part ways.

‘No, Zaheer. I can't.'

‘Vishakha—'

‘No, don't say anything.' Whatever he offered, she was probably crazy enough to want to consider it.

‘Say to hell with playing by the rules. Does it matter what everyone needs? Does it matter more than your own wishes?'

His words sent a heady rush of excitement spinning through her.

‘What do you want, Vishakha?' He continued inexorably, ‘
You
. If you didn't have to care about the wedding and the people? If you didn't have to care about saving your pride?'

That was a dodgy line of thinking. He was so close, a threat in itself. Where had the laid-back man of the morning gone? She didn't want this ruthless crusader. This dark intent. It wasn't right because it could change the dynamics between them. Change the focus for
her.

Damn smart question…

‘Say it to yourself once.' The command seemed designed to break through her barriers.

‘I have to go…' She shook herself out of his grip and went to the door. ‘Someone might need me.' The blatant lie out, she ran because she was afraid…She ran away from what he was showing her because going down that road was far, far riskier than diving freefall.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HROUGHOUT THE WEDDING
ceremony, the memory of his kiss kept surging to the forefront of her mind. The remedy was not to look at him at all. Or at least only once or twice. Maybe half a dozen times while not busy concentrating on the rituals. OK, she sighed, giving up, actually she could look away only when she was conscious he was going to turn his head and spot her scrutiny. Unlike her traditional attire, he had chosen to wear a suit, unrelieved black with a satin grey shirt and grey and green tie. She wore a
lehanga
again, a swirly type this time, teamed with a
choli
that tied at the back with strings.

The day. The date. His voice. His touch. It all swirled in her mind. To think she had accepted his dare like she had…

She didn't want to think about it. She shouldn't.

Saira looked charming in the pink
lehanga
she had chosen to wear along with the exquisite diamond set, the
maang tika
in the centre of her forehead adding a touch of the resplendent.

The event of
jaimala
, the bride and groom garlanding each other, was over and after dinner the cousins got together, planning to steal the groom's shoes, a ritual that would be profitable as the groom's side would pay to get them back.

The
phere
passed in a whirl of joking and laughter. The relatives started kidding that the bride would get tired taking the seven rounds of the fire or the
lehanga
might be singed. It seemed at two a.m. that was the only way everyone could keep awake.

As the bride's sister, she was to take Saira to get changed for the going away. She took her to her room then got busy with her mother, calling her to sort through the innumerable gifts and
shagan
which had to be allocated to the respective people they were meant for.

By the time she got back, Saira was ready, dressed in a yellow
zardosi
sari.

‘You look gorgeous.' Vishakha's smile was tempered with the awareness of the friction between them but the occasion demanded they should bury their differences so she tried to act normal.

Saira and she had never been bosom buddies but they had got along quite well before this had happened. She'd always protected her rather headstrong younger sister from her strict father. Now the situation between them showed no sign of resolving, despite her efforts. While she tried to sound natural, Saira's unsmiling expression showed her unsettled mood.

When she moved to adjust her gold necklace, which had gone askew, Saira turned away sharply.

‘What do you want?' she demanded, her tone aggressive enough to make Vishakha step back. ‘Maybe I should say—what more do you want? I hope you're satisfied in snatching the spotlight.'

‘Saira!' Shock ran through her.

Dark eyes blazed. ‘You had to bring Zaheer Saxena here, didn't you, to become the focus of everyone's attention? Well, you can have the last laugh. You've spoiled my wedding.'

‘Spoilt your wedding?'
Wasn't it the other way around?

She didn't want to lose her cool and her heart began to beat fast as her control lurched.

‘You wanted to put on the heroic act for everyone by being the sacrificial sister. That has always been your speciality, hasn't it? To act as papa-mummy's pet? Even as a kid, you always made me look bad. Because you're so amenable and brilliant and high-achieving, aren't you?'

‘That's absurd, Saira. Surely you don't mean all this?'

‘Don't I?' Her sister went on, fired up, ‘I know it's all an act, Vishakha. You're not that good inside. Or why would you treat Munish so shabbily? You ignored him, refused his dates just so you could do some more work. Then, on top of it all, that evening you sent him to pick me up when I called you.'

‘You didn't want Papa to know that you were at the pub.' The day Saira referred to, she'd had to do Neeta's duty as well as her own at work, and had once again been forced to let Munish down. Then Saira's call had come, her voice sounding slurred. Unable to leave an emergency patient, she had turned to Munish for help, the person she had thought she could trust since he was her prospective husband.

She didn't want to talk about it now. She didn't want to see Saira like this. Accusing her. After all she'd done for her, practically begging Papa to let this marriage go ahead when he didn't believe in marrying for love. Why did it always come to this? Stepping aside for Saira? It had been self-imposed but now she was beginning to question her own choices.

‘So you sent Munish for me,' Saira was saying with burning indignation. ‘Why? Because he was redundant? And you were busy impressing everyone with what a good doctor you are?'

‘How could I not do my job? You're being ridiculous!'

‘Am I? Couldn't you take one—just one—evening off for him? He was so slumped about it,' Saira ranted. ‘I knew that day you didn't deserve him. All your conniving ways can't make you deserve him or be my real sister. Or my father's daughter!'

Vishakha flinched. The hurt of the exclusion hit hard. Saira didn't mean it; she must be upset by the strain of the wedding…she was too young…All at once, she ran out of excuses for her sister. She had tried to keep an even keel, smoothing over the frequent squalls in her family storm, but nothing had stopped the deluge. Saira's sharp words hurt probably more than even she knew, slicing inside Vishakha to create a feeling of failure, dangerously hollow.

‘I don't need to listen to this,' broke from her. She pressed her hands to her temples. Somehow she pushed out of there, running away because this couldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. Except in a bad dream.

* * *

She ran down the stairs to stand outside the house, breathing shallow and fast in the cool air. The accusations swirled in her brain, sucking her into a pit of deeply buried hurt.

I knew…you didn't deserve him.
That was what Saira really felt about her. It didn't bear thinking about.

Because that was the question that inhabited her nerves like a virus, now burning her like a sudden exacerbation of infection.

Dammit, it
wasn't
like Saira had said. She hadn't skipped her dates with Munish on purpose. She hadn't exactly crossed seven seas to get to him either, a streak of honesty forced her to admit. Afraid of being poor company again, she'd taken what looked like the sensible option and told him the date was off. God, how had she ever thought she could marry him?

At home, Saira had kept up the banter and provided a buffer between Munish and her. When they were alone, she had to search for topics to converse on with him. On their later dates she had felt something was wrong, but it became clear only now. Had he even then been attracted to Saira? Had she, Vishakha, been stupid to hope he would come to love her once they were married?

She slowed and stopped. She didn't want to catch anyone's attention. Soon there would be a crowd here for Saira's going away. Already the hired band could be heard practising tunes for
bidai.
She turned and headed back inside, just wanting to be alone. The lounge was deserted; everyone had gone to see the fireworks. She pushed through to the sitting room and came to an abrupt stop.

‘Looking for me?' He was the last person she wanted to see when she felt like this. Raw. Vulnerable. Wanting to shield her pain. He was much harder to deceive than anyone else—

one man who knew all her secrets—and she wanted no one to view her wounds right now.

‘You aren't outside?' Her voice came out strangled. His shirt gleamed in the dim light as he straightened.

‘No, I like it in here. Nice decor.'

A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat, quickly suppressed. That was all she needed to discuss right now. Decor!

But it was neutral ground, and on second thoughts, she seized on it. ‘Don't you love the mural? Mom had it done professionally.' She gestured to the huge Ganesha mural occupying most of one wall. With only the decorative lighting on, the darkness offered solace and she sank into a seat. She had an urge to rub her temples as the throbbing increased.

‘You're doing it again.' His quiet words broke the silence.

‘What?' She stiffened.

‘Pretending things are OK.'

‘It's none of your business.'

‘I just vetoed that.'

She sighed. ‘It's nothing.'

‘The most dangerous phrase from a woman.'

Mutinously, she kept silent. Reason dictated she should leave, find sanctuary elsewhere. But even his company was preferable to wetting her pillow, which was likely if she was alone. Pride told her she shouldn't cry about a sister who hadn't the shame to consider all the childhood companionship behind them, who had sentenced her without seeking any explanation.

‘Do you know you shouldn't keep things inside? It makes you hasty and reckless.' His voice was quiet. ‘You care too much and then you just stop. Say to hell with it all. I've been there. That day when I shared my past with you, I finally began to get some sort of perspective on it all and it began to not feel like something of a skull in the office drawer.'

He was trying to get her to open up. ‘Zaheer, just let me be. I need to be alone.'

She couldn't put it into words. The hollow sense of failure she felt went too, too deep. How could she share it? It was a wound that was still oozing.

‘Whatever it is, don't look like that,' came in a deep growl from his throat, ‘or I'll be tempted to wring the neck of whoever it was that upset you.' A large hand snaked out and caught her wrist, to pull her resisting form out of the sofa and next to him. She sat stiffly, her back straight.