Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (16 page)

‘It's nothing.'

‘Liar,' he said softly. ‘How many times do I have to catch you out before you learn not to do it?'

‘You're perceptive.'

‘And you're very complimentary all of a sudden, which makes me suspicious.'

‘I must go. I have to—'

‘…do nothing.' He commanded, ‘So do it here.'

The arms which he put around her to draw her close felt irresistibly warm and strong and she gave in to the urge to take comfort, relaxing marginally. The ready tightness in his biceps eased slightly. Her forehead rested against the side of his neck. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, her temple. A shuddering breath left her. She wanted to cling to the contact. As though touching him could make her demons go away. Her hands moved up his chest to his nape. She wanted to be safe. Anaesthetized against the pain. A low sound of need formed in her throat. Somehow his lips were on hers and she was clinging to the heat as if it was her anchor in a world cast adrift. She didn't want to stop. She wanted more. Her fingers slid on the satiny fabric clothing him, then boldly moved to unbutton his shirt, feeling the crisp contact of dark hair against her palm, and beneath it the smooth skin overlying hard muscles.

He was coiled, tense, muscles corded. ‘Vishakha!' The growl was low and incendiary, making fire leap in unknown places. His mouth trailed a path down the vulnerable line of her neck and she leaned back slightly to give him better access, feeling her breath stop as it hovered at the hollow where her pulse beat. Her skin burned under the contact and she felt excitement coil low in her stomach, a gasp leaving her as the acknowledgement hit that she wanted more—much more.

His fingers trailed down the delicate strings on her back, sensitizing the skin in between. She arched towards him, her eyelids closing in submission, but in a moment he had gone rock-still. Her eyes opened to look into dark glittering emerald.

‘I was offering comfort, not escape.'

The guttural denial dropped between them like an ice wall.

Heat crawled under her skin, of another kind. The heat of shame. He was right. That was what she'd been trying to do. Run away from the pain in her heart, trying to make the tide of his furious desire wash away the sludge of her torn emotions. She drew back, her lips trembling with the effort to hold back her tears, her throat aching. She had to leave here, get away.

‘Where are you going?'

She'd stood up almost automatically, in too much of a daze to offer an excuse. ‘I have to go.' Her brain couldn't even function enough to manufacture an explanation. How could she have embarrassed herself like this? She'd practically thrown herself at him. And Zaheer…She winced. He was the playboy who lived in the moment. To think he had had to stop her…

‘Stop it.' His voice was quiet but no less commanding for that. ‘Where would you run now…just to suppress it all? You can't tell me, because you obviously don't trust me. You can't tell your mom because she might worry. You must smile for your sister and the others because you have to have your pride. So…who is allowed behind the shield, Vishakha? Who can see your tears?'

The soft words were too close. Physically and emotionally. She couldn't look at him, though she knew he had come to stand behind her. She couldn't even maintain a calm face. Swallow the stone lodged in her throat.

She struggled to get her hand out of his grip, but he wouldn't let go and with a frustrated cry she slumped against him, her shoulders bowing as the tears, whose absence he'd taunted, escaped. The disappointment of her broken engagement, the self-doubts it had engendered, the weight of her pretence, everything mingled in the release. It was only in the privacy of her bathroom she ever let go and breaking down in front of him should have been devastating. Only it wasn't. Warm arms held her close, making her feel protected, and somehow made those stupid tears rain down faster than ever, hiccupping into sobs.

‘Vishakha, shush.' Did he sound faintly shocked? ‘What happened? If it's that bitch you have for a sister…'

‘It isn't her fault.' She wiped her eyes though they filled again. It seemed the dam once broken wouldn't be repaired. ‘It's mine. I should have realized sooner how this would end up.' Between hiccups, she told him about the incident just now with Saira.

He swore, words that made her ears go red. ‘She's easing her own conscience by blaming you. And there you were, so hell-bent on attending her wedding…'

‘I had to. She's my sister. Then I had to be here for Mom. She was already so anxious about me.' She wiped her eyes. ‘She might have decided to miss it too, if I did. And Papa is already against Saira enough to perhaps have cut her off from the family. Or Papa could have chosen to take Saira's side, because she's his daughter, after all. And then it would have caused a rift between our parents. The whole family would break apart. I had to do it. Thanks so much to you, because you helped a lot.'

‘You don't owe me any thanks. I have my own axe to grind.' His mouth compressed briefly. ‘Vishakha, you can't take the weight of everyone's potential behaviour on yourself. The situation isn't your responsibility. Saira created it and she has to face the repercussions.'

He remembered what Vishakha had told him about her mom always showing preference to Saira and said disgustedly, ‘Between your mother and you, she's already been spoilt enough.'

‘I've always tried to make her happy…' Her voice trailed off and Zaheer completed the rest of the picture in his mind. Vishakha, after a bad childhood experience of a runaway father, not wanting to lose the secure family she had found and making every sacrifice she could to keep them together. Supporting her mother's efforts to keep her stepdaughter happy by accepting a second place in the family picture. It made him so angry he could bash all their heads together, especially her mom's. To put the onus of holding her marriage together on a young child…

It explained so many things about her. The ready acceptance of the arranged marriage, which had puzzled him, witnessing her otherwise independent nature. Why she'd never indulged her romantic side, the touch-me-not air she'd cultivated because of her strict stepfather, whose approval she'd sought, probably above all else. Why she kept her emotions tightly bunched. Why she'd lied rather than tell him about what had been troubling her that very first day they'd met.

It all gathered into a giant ball of protectiveness that seemed to rise inside and almost choke him. He had to rein it in, the instinct to take her away from these undeserving people and protect her. Cherish her.

Crazy. He always knew he had a soft edge for women in trouble. It came from his feelings for his mum. He'd always melted at a woman's tears until he learnt they came in another variety. Crocodile.

Crazy or not, he wasn't ready to let go of the woman sobbing in his arms.

‘You've done enough.'

His voice was gruff and Vishakha found the hoarse edge strangely soothing. She sniffed a last time and attempted to pull herself together.

‘God, I didn't mean to drag you into my family's affairs…'

‘You didn't. I dived in myself, so quit looking so muddled. We'd better go get some sleep now, though. It's past four in the morning.'

‘It's the time for
bidai.
' She stepped back hurriedly.

‘Where do you think you're going?'

‘Saira is going away. I have to be there.'

He sighed, with an effort unclenching his hands, which had rolled up in instinctive reaction to her alarm.

‘No, you aren't. Forget about her.'

‘I can't.'

‘You look like you've been crying your eyes out.'

She sighed. ‘Well, I have. Sorry for all this.'

‘Don't be. You needed that.'

She had. And she needed him, moving into her space till she was almost leaning against him.

‘I must go, Zaheer. It doesn't matter about crying. Everyone cries at weddings. It's perfectly natural.'

He moved further in, his hand about her waist, pulling her in, their bodies touching.

‘I'm not having you going out there and presenting a teary face. I want you to smile. Look radiant. I'm going to make sure that you smile all through that.' He sounded very positive about it.

‘I always cry at weddings. And it's my sister's, so no one will be bothered.' Her eyes stung with dried tears as she blinked.

‘When she sees you with your lipstick rubbed off, she'll forget
she's
supposed to cry at her going away.'

Lipstick rubbed off. That steamy kiss…She said hurriedly, ‘I'm running late. What are Mom and Papa going to think?'

But she wasn't thinking of her parents. She was thinking of the danger he presented to her senses, which were overwhelmed by his nearness. Hard, muscular chest too close, strong thighs brushing against hers, causing heat to invade her lower body.
Not now. Not when she was still feeling so vulnerable to him.

She took a hitching breath and she saw his eyes darken with satisfaction at the effect he had wrought. His hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her tighter into his arms till she was pressed to him shoulder to thigh. Weakness shivered through her as she felt the strength of his embrace. The steel-hard muscles. Her fingers curled onto his corded arms in mute protest.

‘They'll be too relieved their daughter is happy. And you're going to be happy, sweetheart.'

His mouth descended to hers. Velvet warmth engulfed her. Heat shot into her blood. The hands lifted to push against his chest curled into the fabric and she was caught in the tide of passion he'd evoked. Hot male lips dominated hers and she gave in, swept up in the sensual slide of the contact. Thrilling excitement rose as he deepened the kiss and boldly tasted her. But the shock that went to her core was pleasure, not surprise.

When he lifted his head she was unashamedly plastered to him and staring bemusedly up into darkened eyes. Embarrassment sent a heatwave under her skin. How could she have forgotten herself like this? Zaheer was a playboy, used to trading kisses like handshakes, but she…

‘Now you won't be worrying about the
bidai
,' he noted in satisfaction.

* * *

Back at his hotel room, unable to sleep, Zaheer stepped onto the balcony. What was he hoping for? The night air to cool him off?

The desperate way she'd clung to him teased him again and again. Why had he stopped? He had known what she needed. The explosive desire between them was enough to de-stress a tautly stretched wire, let alone an angst-filled female mind. For one moment his impulse had been to bring her here, to let the passion between them sweep all her troubles from her mind.

Was he crazy? She'd come to him for an escape from her confrontation with her sister. The wave of protectiveness that filled him had made him override that desire in order to comfort her verbally. He might not have many scruples but there had been enough left to let her go.

Then there had been that unexpected impulse to take her away from it all.
Cherish her
, the unlikely term popping into his mind.

The Scotch the Sehgals had served him must have gone to his head.

He knew nothing about appeasing female sensibilities, he reminded himself. He didn't cater to their demands of flowers and perfume. He didn't remember birthdays and he didn't celebrate them. All he provided for women was the expectation of being in the limelight, for however long their relationship lasted, and mutual physical gratification. And that was that. No misunderstandings created by red roses.

But for once he'd kissed a woman, not out of lust but to make her feel…cherished.

There was that damned word again.

His fingers tightened on the cool rail. His body castigated him for the decision that was a double-edged sword cutting both ways. His mind was caught up in turmoil. To think that just this evening he'd considered that a simple affair with her was the perfect solution.

Instinct told him an affair with Vishakha would never be ‘simple'.

A non sequitur of a situation.

That kiss she'd given him after tying him up. Like a wallop to the solar plexus, her response had made his reason shatter. He'd needed an iron will to step away. The physical awareness that thrummed through him made him wish he'd succumbed to his wild impulses and brought her back to his place.

He walked inside to the wardrobe to rummage for his swimming trunks. What could a man do but swim at a time like this?

Hopefully, he could cool his heated body…and his fried brain.

* * *

Vishakha changed position again and resisted the urge to hit her pillow. Sleep wasn't coming although it was five o'clock in the morning and she'd stayed awake the whole night.

Too many thoughts occupied her mind, churning like an ice cream maker. Zaheer. The tide of desire he'd made her feel still sent shivers along her nerves.

Then there were other thoughts.

About Munish and Saira. She knew Munish hadn't been happy that she'd been so absorbed in her work, but to think that she'd come across as selfish because of her preoccupation…It shook her to realize that.

Had she been wrong to consider her work so important to her? Being the quieter one of two siblings, she'd always kept a little in the background. As a child, Saira had ridden in the front of the car with Mom. In school, Vishakha had carried Saira's tiffin every day and spent the recess with her and not her own friends, making sure her kid sister ate properly. Her mom had a soft spot for the motherless girl and Vishakha had sensed that and never made a fuss about all the attention that was given to Saira. Then, when she was older, she had devoted her time and energy to her career. Her work was her one enjoyment. It made up for not being the centre of attention in every family gathering.

Munish hadn't been able to understand her commitment and love for her job. But then she had never made time for him either. She was forced to admit she'd felt no urgency to be with him. She had never been on tenterhooks for their dates. The difference only struck her now when she'd realized the tizzy she'd been in to see Zaheer at the wedding. For even a glimpse of him.