Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (2 page)

‘Do you always act so preachy or is it a special session just for me?' he asked in an undertone, still smiling for the camera.

‘It's for anyone who hasn't the faintest idea about showing concern for others,' she came back, sotto voce.

‘I guess I should have broken something when they winched me down from the chopper to make it convincing.' He winked at her between shots.

‘Your sense of humour is about as good as your punctuality,' she snapped.

‘But your looks are better than your temper,' he drawled.

‘You need someone better to write your lines.'

‘Ah, and you need—' he cocked a dark eyebrow ‘—a crane to lift the chip on your shoulder.'

She glared at him, stymied for an instant. The chip…yes, she did have a chip.

She'd thought she'd left it home.

A cluster formed around Zaheer and several voices clamoured for his attention, microphones waving in the air. The media closed in on the actor for comments. Left alone, her thoughts turned towards her own troubles again.

The misery she'd been battling for the last week tightened on her heart. Damn it, she didn't want to think of it. Her mind kept wallowing in the might-have-beens. She'd thought the buzz of this visit to Mumbai, the glitter of being at this glamorous event would lighten her angst. But it closed in on her with the irresistible force of monsoon clouds blocking out the bright Indian summer sun.

She saw the scene that had happened in her home with all the flair and drama of the daily TV soaps. Her mum, sobbing with her head bowed. Munish and Saira, both of them avoiding her gaze, yet standing defiant with stiff shoulders. She hadn't wanted to come between them. Saira was her baby sister, for God's sake. How could she still go through with the wedding when Saira confessed she loved Munish with all her heart and wanted to marry him herself? But how could she forget their actions? The uncaring way they'd abused her trust and trampled over her feelings?

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing the lead ball in her stomach to go away. She shouldn't hurt like this. She shouldn't think of all the planning that had gone into her wedding.

It had only been an arranged match, fixed by their respective parents. She hadn't loved Munish. But she'd dreamed of settling down with a person for whom she could feel mutual respect and liking. She'd thought he'd felt the same, but obviously she'd been wrong. Munish had wanted something more than what she was. Her lively, ‘more fun' sister, Saira.

And why not? Everyone preferred Saira to her. So why not Munish too?

‘Vishakha.'

The gentle murmur brought her back to the present. To Zaheer Saxena. She became aware that the media people had dispersed, perhaps sent away by him. She found herself looking into his eyes. They were suddenly intent, the mockery gone. He bent closer, frowning in what looked like concern. ‘Are you all right?' She felt the warmth wafting off him, his broad shoulders closing in on her as he stepped nearer.

She averted her face. ‘I'm fine.' The last thing she wanted was for him to witness her emotional distress.

‘You do look peaky.' Obviously she hadn't been fast enough to escape his observation.

‘How complimentary of you,' she snapped before she could stop herself.
Damn
, she didn't want him thinking she was looking for compliments from him!

He chuckled, ‘How prickly you are. I didn't mean to sound unflattering. You look perfect. Beautiful.' His gaze skimmed her again and a slow trail of warmth curled in its wake, making her tense. ‘I expect it's just the strain of the show. Give me your hand,' he commanded.

‘What for?'

‘So I can bite it!' Even white teeth gleamed as he bared them teasingly. Stemming her impatience, Vishakha presented it to him.

‘For instant relief from tension, you should press a little on the middle finger,' he continued.

‘Excuse me?' Was he serious?

‘Relax! I said press it, not raise it. I wouldn't ask you to make a rude gesture,' he said.

‘I'm so grateful!'

The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I doubt a girl like you would do it anyway. Bet you've never ever said
to hell with it
about anything in your life. Have you?'

Hadn't she? She'd left her sister and her family right in the thick of the marriage preparations. Given in to the need to get away from it all. She should be home, showing her support of Saira and Munish's mutual love. Instead she had acted on an impulse to run away, take a breather, patch up her tattered pride.

‘You'd be surprised.' She couldn't prevent the slight tinge of acid from showing in her tone.

‘Will I?'

The quick glance of the hazel eyes, so direct and keen, embarrassed her and she quickly changed the topic. ‘So what's with the middle finger?'

His glance continued to rest on her face and she felt heat touch her cheeks. Thank God, her dusky skin meant she didn't blush.

‘It's acupressure. See.' He took her hand and pressed directly below her nail on her longest finger. She felt a jolt run up to her elbow.

‘Feel anything?'

Yeah, but she couldn't be sure if it was what he meant because the jolts were coming from every point he touched now!

‘What am I supposed to feel?' She glanced at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at her?

‘It slows down your heartbeat. And brings down blood pressure. The signs of nervous tension.'

Well, it wasn't working. Her heartbeat definitely hadn't slowed down. Far from it. He seemed to have established some kind of nerve control over her pulse rate through his touch. Abruptly, Vishakha withdrew her hand. ‘I don't believe in these things.'

‘Then you're a first. Mostly it helps instantaneously.'

So he went around holding hands and pressing fingers for girls on his film sets? She could imagine them lining up for the therapy! And just where else did his ‘acupressure' work?

‘Do you want to know?' The low, deep rumble of a murmur playing on her vibration receptors brought her out of her thoughts to the comprehension that he'd picked up all too correctly on them. The suggestive inflection of his tone caused heat to run under her skin once again, the wicked glint in his eyes mesmerizing her for an instant before she fought free of its effect. She didn't want him to think he had her bowled over like his dozens of fans.

‘A girl like me?' She threw his words back at him. ‘By the way, what exactly do you mean by that?'

He shrugged, showing off sinewy shoulders. ‘Stuck-up. Starchy. Clinging to trivialities.'

He didn't believe in pulling punches, did he? ‘There's no need to be insulting or to act like I'm in the wrong. You were aware of the whole schedule of this event. Or weren't you? These things get arranged months in advance, but you still didn't bother to turn up on time. Of course, you think you're entitled to do anything, being a celebrity.'

‘Well, it has its advantages.' He raised his brows at her near gasp. ‘What? Did you expect me to deny that?' He grinned, totally unconcerned, his famous, oddly endearing cheek clefts showing up.

Frustration made her breathe in a quickened rhythm. For a moment they looked at each other, locked in a silent exchange of vibes—provoked and seething on her side, mocking but unruffled on his. He spread his hands in a peace-making gesture. ‘Hey, don't get uptight again. It only makes me want to push your boundaries and see how uppity I can make you.'

Gold flecks showed in the warm hazel eyes. Somehow they sent some errant signals to her system, which had her pulse jumping in response. She inhaled, finding her lungs devoid of air. The action brought the scent of his cologne to her nostrils, a combination of musk and spices. Evocative. Earthy. She could see the smooth texture of his skin, its healthy golden glow accentuating well formed bones. Inviting her to trace it? A tremor ran through her at the thought and she dragged away her gaze to find it focused on the pulse beating a steady rhythm at his throat. Suddenly more conscious of him than she was comfortable with, she found her gaze moving to those packed biceps, the sturdy pectorals delineated by his tee. Awareness zinged through her, stunning her and leaving her slightly disoriented. Of course he was attractive, she knew that. But attractive to
her
? She didn't swoon over him with her friends. So why this reaction to him? And why now?

She swallowed, willing herself not to show her wayward reaction. How funny he would find it. One moment ranting at him to awaken his conscience. The next…

Pull yourself together, girl. You aren't going to go goo-goo eyed over him now.

She straightened her shoulders, flicking him as cold a look as she could manage in the circumstances. ‘That's your excuse for doing anything you like?'

‘What makes you think I need an excuse?'

Temporarily out of an answer, she clamped her mouth shut. He even had the nerve to chuckle gently at her obvious frustration at not being able to bite back at him.

* * *

Zaheer looked down at the face averted from him, the full lips almost trembling in agitation. This was better. He could deal with defiance much better than the vulnerability he'd briefly glimpsed in her face. He'd surprised himself. From getting irritated over her stuffy lecture, how had he gone to waving a white flag? Something to do with those dark eyes gazing at him, wounded like a doe's.

Hell, that was so fanciful and imaginative he should be writing scripts instead of acting them.

When he had entered the hall just minutes ago, his mind had been on his future schedule rather than the present moment. Then, while he shook hands with the brand owners, his eyes had homed in on her. Clad in a midnight-blue gown with a strappy halter-neck that left her slender shoulders bare and gleaming. Dark eyes shooting sparks at him. Purely antagonistic vibes had emanated from her, even from across the hall, for some obscure reason causing a tightening of his abs and sending a quickening excitement racing through his blood. Too bad he didn't even have the time to check her out properly, he'd mused, looking away.

Then they were on stage and he'd spoken to her, but her opening words had thrown him like a racing car gone off-track. He'd met her gaze and felt a shaft of electricity burn through him at the simmering feeling in the eyes turned full-beam on him.

Then she'd let loose her tirade. As though he wasn't a guest who was late at a promotional event but one of her emergency team being tardy in the ICU! The intention he'd had of excusing himself had gone out for a walk the moment she'd put on that prim pursed-mouth expression and turned those glaring big eyes on him.
Moral crime
indeed! His old secondary school principal would have killed to have her on the staff.

Now Zaheer looked down on her, noting the still rapid inhalations of her breath. She looked angry, upset. Desirable. At another time he might be tempted to unravel the reasons why.

But he had already procrastinated enough. He had a late meeting scheduled with a scriptwriter. He should be making a move now, doing a last round of handshakes. Instead, he was looking at the downcast lashes and the elongated shadows they made on her cheeks, instinct moving him to prod softly, ‘Lost your tongue, honey? Nothing more to say?'

He waited for the pepper shower.

She didn't disappoint him, her flashing gaze coming up instantly. ‘You mean it matters to you? You seem to have decided your course without regarding anyone's feelings. There was the small matter of a date here, besides the promotional publicity for you, remember? Very conveniently, you seem to have forgotten that.'

He'd provoked her, he had to admit that. His eyebrows drew together. ‘No one can be held responsible for circumstantial delay but, for your information, it has been on my mind that you've been let down. I've spoken to the sponsors. You'll be compensated.'

‘With your autographed stuff, the manager has told me. Is that what you call sticking to your promise?'

His eyes narrowed. Her dagger looks might get things done where she was in charge but if she thought she'd have him scraping his knees kneeling to her in apology, she was definitely making a mistake!

That look of faraway absorption earlier had surprised him. Those nut-brown eyes looking abstractedly into the distance. Some past pain flitting over her expression for a scant second, too transient for him to be sure it wasn't a trick of the light. Not that he set store by it. Women always looked so tragic, even when all they were thinking of was that the nail polish they had just bought didn't go with their dress after all.

He must have been mistaken. She'd been all rolled-up sleeves to argue him out of breath. Hard to believe this woman with that whiplash for a tongue, a facsimile of the fearsome deity Durga, could ever be vulnerable.

He said patiently, ‘No, I call it unavoidable.'

Fuming, she faced him. ‘Anything for your expediency! And why can't you stay? Because you have to be at another PR event? No. Don't bother answering that. I understand you're a busy star and your time is worth millions.'

He exhaled, striving for patience.

Still, in spite of the irritation, he couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration for her. She was so completely unafraid to speak her mind. Very few of his acquaintances, and none of the female ones, would have the directness to accost him that way.

She was right, of course, if not in manner, in spirit. He
had
been terribly late. His hosts had been gracious—rather, they had been totally understanding, though he suspected that was in part because they were relieved too, in no small measure, not to have their occasion completely cancelled.

But he had known that he'd overstepped the bounds. He'd known it even before the last scene of his film shoot in Rajasthan had been wrapped up and he was streaking in the rented Audi away from the set. A little proactive thinking and a bit of cooperation from the Mumbai city officials—more than a bit, really, since the hotel didn't have a helipad—and he had made it after all. He hadn't got where he had by losing people's goodwill and not living up to their expectations. Even when he was doing it for free.