Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (6 page)

‘Hmm, he does hero-worship me a bit since I rescued him from being a druggie.'

‘You did?' Vishakha's brows rose, her surprise patently obvious.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. ‘Yeah, you do want to hang me by a bad name, don't you, but I've been resisting your attempts. Just because I was delayed that day…'

Delayed.
A small bell trilled somewhere in her mind. That was what he'd said then. Had she misunderstood? Worse. Leapt to the conclusion that he had been late for his own selfish purposes? Could he have been genuinely detained somewhere? She looked at him, searching for the answers to her silent questions, finding herself spellbound by something in the green depths of his eyes.

Then she tore her gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes. Much as she wanted to prolong this time near him and satisfy her curiosity as well, she couldn't escape the horde of suffering people outside the door.

He seemed to sense her change of mood. ‘When can we talk?'

The quick query sent excitement thudding through her. She tried to tone it down. He was probably worried she would give him bad press. The way they had parted must have made him suspicious of her babbling to the media. Didn't a PR team handle such matters though, for people like him?

‘As you see, I'm going to be very busy for a while.' She gestured beyond the door. ‘It might take me anything from half an hour to an hour at least to examine this group.'

‘I'll wait.'

He would? Surely it had to be something important. Pertaining to his career? She admonished her errantly skidding heart. For God's sake, why would a drop-dead gorgeous star like him single her out?

Not that she was admitting, even to herself, that he was gorgeous.

Come on, Vishakha. You aren't going to add lying to your failings, are you?

* * *

The time Vishakha had predicted stretched to one and a half hours as more crying and scared mites poured in, dark thin faces with slender bodies, the young ones carried balanced on their mother's hip. Seated in what she had termed her office, a box of a room with hard wooden furniture, Zaheer remembered the feel of the thin limb beneath his hand as Vishakha had pierced the child's vein. How helpless the poor kid had been.

The look on Vishakha's face, scared and determined at the same time, tugged at some unknown soft corner in his chest. For an instant he'd been swamped by the impulse to hold her in his arms and wipe away that fear. Hold her safe.

Dressed in a simple green
churidar
with a modest knee-length tunic and her thick white apron over it, she didn't qualify as the next hot female to catch his fancy. Yet those nut-brown eyes had held him bound for the scant moments he had been seated before her. Was it curiosity for the unknown? She was totally out of his league and he was itching to find out what she was made of.

He glanced at his watch, inching to the two-hour mark since he had been waiting, and nearly groaned as he glanced out and caught sight of a small group of individuals coming in.

And he had been known to refuse lucrative film offers because he lacked dates.

Dr Vishakha was certainly hard to corner. After she'd dismissed his PA, for a moment he'd considered turning back. But, dammit, that evening still rankled with him and he needed to ease his conscience. Plus he intended to warn her about the gossip column piece in case the reporter tried to follow it up with her. She wouldn't be hard to trace through the contest. Hell, he had done it himself.

So he'd followed her to this rundown area with decrepit buildings and parks left to waste. This one had a better coat of paint but he'd still been surprised to see the board,
Sambhavana Anathalaya
, outside the gate. He had heard of dedicated doctors doing volunteer work and he couldn't help feeling a stab of admiration for her. She hadn't even taken a break before getting here.

The women he was used to seeing spent their time in spas and beauty salons. She was a different kettle of fish altogether.

The whole Vishakha episode was like introducing a new colour to his life. And it plunged him further into a situation unlike anything he was used to.

She had been all starchy disapproval when she'd laid eyes on him, so obviously the second opinion he had formed of her had been wrong. But she had pushed him for the date, so what else was he supposed to think?

Why had she compelled him to take her on that ill-fated date? A woman so obviously unimpressed by his celluloid image? Someone like her was a novelty in his life and he couldn't help being intrigued. He wanted to know what exactly had transpired that evening and what had motivated her to act as she had. And he fully intended to find out.

Even if it took the time he had in short supply.

Never one to be cooped up, he walked out of the office. The corridor split and led the way to an open yard. Small kids played there and he paused to watch.

* * *

Vishakha sent the patient, her last one for the day, for an ultrasound. An unexpected rush meant that her duty hours had extended as usual beyond the official ones. Espying the black SUV outside, she got up. She'd seen Zaheer take off in the car and assumed he'd got tired of waiting and left. Was he back again?

Her small office was empty. Drawn by the giggling sounds of the kids, she hurried to the compound. A sight awaited her and unexpected laughter bubbled up inside her. Because the cool, hip playboy stood assaulted by tiny tots and older kids alike. They tugged at him, pulling probably thousands of rupees' worth of T-shirt out of shape to draw his attention. One of the smaller ones sat merrily riding his shoulders.

‘Toffee!' demanded a slip of a girl with pigtails.

‘
Jhoola
!' shrieked two skinny boys, pulling on his elbows. The others formed a tight circle, jabbering excitedly, ‘
Phir se karo na.
How did you lift Karan and Rashim upside down?'

He offered the little girl a bag of candy and she took a fistful, smiling angelically up at him.

‘OK, one at a time.' His disciplinary action went to the winds as the chattering became a heated discussion of who'd go first. Vishakha giggled at his useless attempts to placate them. The self-possessed hotshot was definitely at a disadvantage—and it was a sight she wasn't beyond enjoying.

His eyes met hers and he shrugged helplessly, caught in the deluge of more tugs. The more energetic ones began to shove and shout.

‘Hey, break it up.' He separated the dissidents. ‘Go arm-wrestle the way I told you and who wins gets to go first. OK? Done.' He high fived with them and made his way to Vishakha, crackles sounding as he stepped over the multitude of gold and red candy wrappers littering the yard.

‘You could have come over to help instead of watching
tamasha
, doctor
saab
,' he said severely.

‘And miss the sight of you bombarded by all those kids? Not on your life.' She grinned, unrepentant. ‘Your hair's all mussed.'

‘Chocolate is a great ice breaker.' He smiled, those sexy clefts deepening in his cheeks. ‘First they wouldn't come near me, then they saw the sweets and shyness went out of the…er…lawn.'

‘I won, I won, please Zaheer,
jhoola
,' came a chorus from two three-foot torpedoes streaking towards them and with an, ‘Excuse me,' he obligingly took the two wriggling boys, one under each arm and moved back to give them a whirl that probably beat a machine run merry-go-round, the air filled with shrill squeals and unrestrained chuckles.

Vishakha's smile stilled as she saw the look of open enjoyment on his and the kids' faces. To think that Zaheer Saxena, of all people, would spend his thousand-bucks-a-minute time here, and none of it for the benefit of cameras, was close to impossible. Two more kids went up next, hoisted comfortably and a shiver went over her at the trusting way the kids clung to him.

Of course no one was immune to that charm.

It was surface only. Superficial. Designed to ensnare.

But right now it was honest. Pure. Straight from the heart to make the little faces crinkle with smiles.

She'd been ready to laugh at him when she'd thought the kids had overpowered him. But now a different emotion took its place. This soft melting feeling growing in her heart—surely it won't do? she thought, aghast. Had she finally been keeled over by the hotshot too? What a sobering thought.

He swung a little girl up in the air and whooshed her back down again, his gaze finding Vishakha as he straightened. He quieted the children and the matrons came over to lead them back inside.

‘Sorry I was late.' Vishakha tried to break the aura that had snared her to the spot.

‘Being late is inexcusable, don'tcha know?' He smiled meaningfully in response. She caught his drift but couldn't bring herself to snap at him. Where had all the resentment she felt disappeared?

‘OK. I guess I did come on rather strongly back there at the event.' She returned his smile. ‘I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.'

‘Wow, this deserves to be celebrated.'

She didn't mind his small dig, saying ruefully, ‘If it does, all I can offer you is tea and biscuits.'

‘You aren't finished here yet?' he asked.

She told him about her patient she'd sent for the ultrasound. She was waiting for the results.

‘The nurse told me you get off at seven officially. It's going on for eight now.'

She spread her hands. ‘Can't very well turn the patients away. Mostly we are a referral but, once in a while, like the case you saw, we get some tough emergency. In any event, they have to be seen to.'

‘OK then, tea sounds fine.'

Had she just asked him to stay for tea? How had that happened?

The idea of a cosy talk with him made her hesitate. She should ask him now why he was here. But, before she could, he spoke. ‘It's some job you're doing here.' His laconic comment was belied by the warmth in his gaze.

Suddenly nervous, she said offhandedly, ‘Someone has to do it.'

‘Do they?'

His dry tone seemed to underline how ungracious she had sounded. She attempted to placate him. ‘Mom is always saying I don't know how to take compliments. I should say thanks. Sorry I gave the impression I didn't appreciate what you said.'

‘Like you gave me the wrong impression that day at the promo?'

A little off balance by his smooth change of topic, she could only manage a stupid, ‘Huh?'

‘Why did you flirt with me that time?'

‘You've come a long way just to find that out,' she snapped, stung by his bringing up the evening she was desperate to forget.

‘Actually, I came to apologize for your interrupted date and in particular for the way I came on to you in the car.'

CHAPTER FOUR

D
ID HE REALLY
mean that? She hadn't thought he, of all people, could apologize and mean it. In the limo, he'd muscled over to her just because she'd given him the mistaken impression she'd enjoy a closer association with him. It had been too much to swallow at the time. But, considering the kind of fast society he lived in, maybe it wasn't so out of the way for him to presume that fluttering eyelashes automatically led to kissing. People didn't go ‘mwah, mwah' smooch smooch in her world the way she'd seen them at the Dream Date promo.

Of course that didn't completely excuse him in her book.

Shankar brought them cane chairs. Seated, Zaheer resumed, ‘At first I was subjected to sizzling disapproval. Then you insisted on us going on that date. I felt some doubt that you liked me but—' he leaned back and shrugged coolly ‘—maybe it was the way you appeared, killer dress, make-up and all, looking like a woman of the world.' His gaze swept over her hair, now tied in a loose knot at her nape, the folds of her tunic draping her body. She could almost visualize the contrast he must be seeing. She'd been almost of his world then. Elegant. Svelte. Now, seeing her here in her clinical, no-nonsense attire, he was obviously struck with the difference.
Her
world didn't require glamour. Serviceable was the key word here, not like his sophisticated ladies.

Now why should that rankle?

‘Just because I'm dressed in a certain way, it gives you the right to make assumptions about me?'

‘Not assumptions. It was a judgement call. There's a difference. It's assessing and drawing conclusions based on what you've experienced enough times.' He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. ‘We all dress and appear in a certain way depending on what we are.'

‘So if I like to wear
churidars
or jeans usually, I can't wear a nice dress to an event without sending the wrong message to a man?'

‘I'd say your wearing that dress said a lot about your state of mind that night. It wasn't just an attractive dress, but a very sexy one…' he murmured. ‘No, a woman like I'm finding you to be wouldn't wear it, Vishakha. Unless she wanted to prove a particular point.'

He was uncanny. Too perceptive. It made her uncomfortable, leaving her with a hollow, vulnerable sensation in her stomach.

His words swam in her consciousness. Was it true? Had she wanted to prove something to herself? Was that why, even with muscles stiff from the unaccustomed pose, she'd still spent two hours in the salon, allowing the make-up artist a free hand. She couldn't lie to herself. She knew why she'd chosen that dress. She'd wanted to prove she could look sophisticated, sexy and smart.
Captivating.
That Munish hadn't preferred Saira because she was the bubblier, effervescent,
fun
type that she, Vishakha, immersed in her hospital and her patients, could never be.

Even the attempt to step out of her comfort zone had backfired on her. She had left for her hotel in a huff after their date had ended early. He must have laughed out loud at her gaucheness.

He must be close to laughing now.