You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction (2 page)

Pale arms beneath black net sleeves posed a visual antonym. Even her figure had become more defined. Waist cinched in by her fitted dress, slim shapely legs with the cerise-painted toenails peeping through the cut top of her footwear. Stilettos, bold declaration of a bid to attract attention, more than did their bit.

‘Finished already?’ By the time his gaze tracked back up, she was waiting for him, a dare in the arched eyebrow. ‘For all you claim I’m not your type, you’ve been pretty thorough at checking me out.’

‘You ought to be pleased at the compliment,’ he retorted. Despite himself, his mouth quirked in amusement.

‘Oh really?’ Her full lips compressed together for a moment, before she challenged, ‘Maybe you’d like to know what it feels like to be ogled.’

Deliberately she leaned back and tilted her head to a provocative angle that exposed the vulnerable line of her neck. She let her gaze mesh with his and hold it, then her lashes dropped bit by bit as she scanned him.

This was a first for him. Not the occasion of a woman giving him the once-over. But being so delectably, aggressively detailed about it. When her gaze came back up, the climb was even slower, adding to the surge of blood quickening in his veins.

Her eyes met his, dark and fiery, and for a second he
was caught in a maze of churning emotion and laser-sharp heat. Then anger returned and she was all bristly red coal.

‘Did that feel like a compliment?’ she demanded. But her voice was tinged with a betraying huskiness that sent another reactive surge of heat climbing inside his body.

‘No. Far from it,’ he said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. ‘It felt like a visual rubdown.’ Against his will, he found himself enjoying the repartee. Then recollection returned.
Earth to Rihaan. Report back, please.
He straightened, brushing an imaginary bit of fluff from his jacket sleeve. ‘You might care to know, though, you’re wasting your time practising that flirtatiousness on me. Keep the quota reserved for those who are more appreciative of it. In other words, stop trying so hard to get a rise out of me.’

But, for all that denial, the flaring emotion in her gaze wasn’t easy to dismiss. Something dangerous lurked there, almost a lure…

The instinct to take her up on the unspoken challenge was building and threatening to get out of hand. Except that it wouldn’t be permitted to, he told himself. How could he have allowed who she was to slip from his mind? Her being here, giving in to her own enjoyment once again, said louder than words that she had no thought for those who loved and worried about her.

‘You think you’re so smart…’

He cut in swiftly, ‘Stop doing to death the tired clichés and get going.’

‘I’ll come with you but only because of who you are to my brother-in-law. Don’t think you’ve won.’ His lips twitched again. He couldn’t think she’d be proud of these childish retorts in the morning.

Rihaan marched her to the elevator. Or at least he would have if she hadn’t stumbled. He winced. How bad it would be to twist your ankle on those steep heels. On
that thought, he caught her firmly around the waist as he led her inside. The scent of wild flowers filled his lungs.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. But he was the one who was sorry for letting his barriers down enough for a mere scent to affect him.

Mission Madam Trouble
, he typed on a mental monitor.
Objective
: Peace of mind for Vishakha
bhabhisa. Translates to
: Pain in the backside for me.
Fallout
: Fifty pages of to-be-done script put on hold.
Status
: Job underway but overlaid by unexpected androgen squandering.
Plan
: Ignore setbacks induced by visceral urges.

Conclusion
: Just get her home and out of my head.

The elevator doors swished open. She attempted to coordinate her exit, tottering precariously on her heels. With an impatient movement he ignored her puny efforts and leaned down to pick her up.

‘No!’ She had caught the elevator operator’s amused glance, and looked ready to fight free of his hold.

‘Don’t make more of a scene than you already are,’ Rihaan warned.

‘Someone up there must hate me,’ she wailed. Airborne and dependent, she was forced to hang onto him.

‘Not every girl gets such a grand exit,’ he pointed out. He proceeded to the glass double doors, the doorman there too well-schooled to betray any reaction as he held it open.

Not that Rihaan was going to let on with even a blink that he didn’t go hauling tipsy ladies around in his arms every day of the week.

Soon, he had Saira bundled in his sports car and the sleek vehicle was weaving in and out of the Mumbai traffic.

He drew up as the traffic lights changed and glanced across at the woman beside him. The boring party he had expected had certainly become more interesting. In the closed interior of the car, he was even more aware of her
scent and it evoked memories of her deliciously thorough perusal of him back at the bar. But, as he’d told himself, it was best for him to keep his distance. For the last few years he had seen her off and on. Seen being the operative word. He didn’t intend to change the status quo.

As she felt his gaze she straightened to sit stiffly, staring rigidly forward. Deliberately he fixed his glance on the road, angry that he’d allowed himself to become distracted by her yet again.

‘The least you could have done was remember your sister is pregnant and spare her any added anxiety.’ He shouldn’t argue with a blitzed person but the air streaming from the open window seemed to have sobered her up somewhat because she spoke more clearly now.

‘It wasn’t my intention—’

‘Well, it wasn’t
not
your intention either.’ Was his annoyance all for her? If he were honest, no. A lot was directed at his own reaction to her…

‘I’m not answerable to you!’ Black eyes snapped at him like wolverine jaws.

‘Maybe that’s exactly what you need. Someone to keep tabs on you.’ Anger gave way to mockery.

‘And you’re offering yourself for the job?’

Not a bad idea.
The thought irritated him intensely. The car gave a growl corresponding with his mood as he pressed the pedal and it sprang forward.

‘Oh, please…’ She touched a hand to her temple, pressing her fingers there.

‘Does your head hurt?’ A guilty pang smote him immediately at the telltale gesture.

‘A little. You needn’t bother about it.’ Her voice was slightly husky, slightly high, and it strummed across his nerves.

He had an impulse to comfort her. To suppress it, he
said contrarily, ‘Come morning, you’ll know there are consequences to fun.’

‘Not for me, there aren’t.’ She spoke tartly. ‘I don’t suffer from hangovers.’

‘Everyone does.’ He could remember the wild escapades he had had as a youth with his friends. Later he had to do an about turn and keep his young cousins in line.

She shook her head. ‘Not me.’

‘Doesn’t mean you need to play havoc with your health. At least you shouldn’t.’ He looked at the road again. Hell, he hadn’t meant to sound that stuffy.

The road stretched ahead with only light traffic as they entered the residential area.

‘You shouldn’t rely on drink to find entertainment,’ he added.

‘It wasn’t for entertainment. It was for… escape,’ she said too softly.

Escape. Surely he hadn’t heard right? He found himself battling the urge to draw the car to the kerb and ask her exactly what she meant.

What did he expect? Surely not a revelation of her virtuous nature? A sudden gust of anger tightened his gut. How could she be so insouciant about everything?

He could act nonchalant and let it go… but somehow adrenaline shot through him, forcing him to confront her.

‘Don’t pretend you’re the injured party. I know your history,’ he bit out. ‘The man you married was first Vishakha
bhabhi’
s fiancé, wasn’t he? You sabotaged her happiness to build your own. But you couldn’t even sustain that. Talk about a short commitment span. Don’t pretend you’ve been any sort of innocent pawn. I know your sort.’

He could practically feel the fiery burn of resentment flashing from dark
nagin
eyes.

The eyes of a sinuous female serpent.

He drove down the driveway and swept around the
curve to park, hitting the brakes sharply so that they both bounced back against the seats on stopping.

‘I know you,’ he said with finality, turning to face her. ‘Just remember that before asking for my signature in your sympathy club visitors’ book.’

She turned to him, her breath quickening in anger. ‘You may know about my past but don’t make the mistake of saying you know
me
, Khehra. Dates don’t make history. And, as for the sympathy, even if I needed it, I wouldn’t make the mistake of begging from a rock.’ She got out and immediately stumbled in her hurry to get away from him. She gasped in pain.

He jerked into action.
‘Venda wai giya ho kai!
Have you lost your mind—rushing about on those!’ He was out and having a look at her injury as she stood holding onto the car door, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The ankle already showed redness about it. He bent down before she could object and unlaced the black criss-cross bands of her high heels and, ignoring her gasp, he swung her up into his arms again.

‘You don’t—’

‘That ankle isn’t going to take your weight right now. Where is your room?’

‘You don’t need to take me there.’

‘Someone will have to.’ He was already inside and making his way to the stairs. Judging the likely location, he climbed up.

As he did, he resisted the urge to draw air deep in his lungs. Not because of the muscular exertion. She hardly weighed anything. In fact she felt soft and delicate in his arms. So impossibly fragile that her very femininity was calling out and evoking an answering flood of male hormones in his body, setting his heartbeat hammering like the thud of horses’ hooves on dry ground.

Only the expression in the eyes fixed on him was anything
but soft. The belligerent brilliance made his anger seep away, even causing a quiet chuckle to escape.

‘Oh, this is really amusing, isn’t it?’ she whispered fiercely, obviously incensed. ‘I guess it gives you a kick to see me helpless.’

‘Any woman would think it romantic.’ He kidded her, ‘Your arms are wound around my neck, I’m manfully bearing the burden of roughly fifty kilos. What could be more mushy? I thought you must be enjoying it.’ His mouth quirked in mockery.

‘Fifty kilos would hardly matter to you,’ she muttered. ‘However, I’m sorry to wrinkle your suit.’

‘The suit is the least of my worries,’ he dismissed. ‘Which one?’ he asked of the closed doors.

She indicated the door and he adjusted her weight to find the handle.

Inside, he put her on the bed. ‘You’re lucky. It escaped serious injury.’ He examined the ankle, which showed only slight redness. ‘How’s your headache?’

‘I’m fine.’

She didn’t look fine, so pale that she almost matched the white embroidered coverlet, her hair showing blacker in contrast.

‘Only your tongue that’s the problem then.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ll get the maid to keep an eye on you in case you get sick or something.’

‘I told you—’

‘Yes. But claiming you don’t get hangovers won’t hold one off for ever.’ Gentle amusement crept into his voice.

She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples. ‘You’re sabotaging me. I don’t usually feel this bad after a few cocktails. Damn, everything’s spinning.’

She submitted to being held. He felt her forehead. Hot. He moved his palm, trying to cool it, feeling the smooth skin, the vulnerable line engraved between her eyebrows.

‘Lie down.’ Slowly he eased her back. In a gesture of comfort, he smoothed the strands back from the curve of her cheek. Dark lashes made shadows against pale skin. This close, he could see a bluish tinge above her cheekbones, evidence of sleepless nights.

Escape
, she had said. Had she meant it? What demons chased her to give in to the need for alcohol? What demons did she want to chase away? So young, so vulnerable.

Vulnerable? He frowned and withdrew the hand still caressing her cheek.

‘I’m sleepy, not unconscious. Don’t try anything funny,’ she muttered.

‘Oh, for God’s sake—’ But Rihaan couldn’t hold back a smile at her sleepy expression, oddly endearing and so innocent.

All that was a mirage, surely he knew that. Her shocking past—the way she had usurped her sister’s fiancé, only to ditch him—he found that hard to understand, let alone forgive.

Being part of an affluent society, he shouldn’t be sentimental enough to take loyalty as a matter of course. The word ‘family’ didn’t automatically guarantee sanctity of feeling. Who knew that better than him?

The thought had crept up on him. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to think of the way blood ties could be unravelled, like frayed rope rubbed against rock.

Didn’t want to think of the way he had become an empty shell. Devoid of human warmth. Dealing with a rejection that hit harder than he ever had expected it to.

He knew as a result of that he tended to keep people at a distance. But Zaheer and Vishakha had somehow found the inner person and drawn him out. They had shown him again the feeling of knowing someone cared.

His gaze wandered to the woman now breathing evenly.
Shaking off his thoughts, he pulled the duvet over her and then made his way downstairs.

Thoughts like these were better dismissed swiftly. They lured him to the door behind which memories were tangled like so many snakes coiled up. Waiting to snare him. He so needed to keep that door closed.

Zaheer and Vishakha were back, he saw as he came into the living room.

‘…get you a sandwich?’ Zaheer was asking Vishakha.

‘I’m really not hungry.’

‘Because you’re losing your appetite worrying so much,’ Zaheer said. He caught sight of Rihaan. ‘You’re still here? I thought you left early to hit the keyboard.’

Zaheer knew of his writoholic habits. ‘I was…’ putting Saira to bed. What would that sound like? He’d have to tell them about her being drunk. And how would Vishakha feel about it? She already looked tired. So he changed it to, ‘…saying goodnight to Saira.’