You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction (7 page)

Saira observed the closed look on his face. How different he’d looked a moment ago. Younger, more vital somehow. Briefly, she wondered how it would be if she’d known him
before
? Before Munish had come into her life. Would he still treat her with that guarded distance if she didn’t have the history she had? Or would she see that other side of him? The sunny, broad smile that seemed to relax him and made her feel like smiling too.

Why was she getting these reckless thoughts?

‘Let me.’ He took over and began to wash and rinse the glasses, lean brown hands working methodically. The lines of the T-shirt he wore stretched, moulding his shoulders, outlining a muscled torso, a trim waist. For all that he had
a desk job, he kept himself fit. The cargo pants fitted his waist well as he moved lithely…

He worked competently, glancing towards her briefly as he rinsed. Maybe it was just watching a man handle kitchenware. There was something intensely beguiling about it as he dried and systematically put the glasses away.

‘You’re indulging in the sexual equivalent of browsing.’ The deep rumble sent a shiver over her skin. She felt trapped—trapped by her awareness of him.

And he’d picked up on it. The acknowledgement threatened to be the game changer for them.

She wet suddenly dry lips. ‘Maybe I’m finding a man in the kitchen a turn-on. I never had the occasion to see one.’

She should learn to curb her runaway tongue. If the words were meant to dispel the awareness he had stirred between them, they failed. There was a moment of electric tension as his gaze met hers. She tried desperately to grasp at something to dispel it.

‘Like enough to try out?’ Lazily spoken, the mocking words floated to her. They stole the breath from her lungs.

T
URNING AWAY TO
stir the onions in the pan, Saira shrugged and tried for a lighter teasing tone. ‘You aren’t as innocent as you pretend to be, are you?’
Breathe. Exhale. Heartbeat, slow down right now.

‘Me, pretend to be innocent!’ Rihaan laughed. ‘When did that happen?’

‘Stringent then,’ she answered back. He could laugh. As though he hadn’t practically propositioned her a minute ago. ‘Straitlaced, if you prefer. The way you were at the bar. Disapproving of my going off alone. Don’t drink… don’t enjoy… all that stuff.’

‘Having lived under a strict code of conduct all my life, I’d be the last person to prevent anyone from letting their hair down,’ he murmured.

‘So you weren’t so pampered after all?’

He shrugged. ‘Let’s just say there were lines of discipline I was expected to maintain. And if I didn’t there were consequences.’

‘Your parents used to be the domineering type?’

‘My father, certainly.’

She made a sound of sympathy. ‘Maybe it’s a vestige of your childhood. You can’t let go of those disciplinary measures. You know what, you need to unwind. I think you should dance.’

Rihaan looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. ‘I should?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Now your freaky side is showing.’

‘No, really. Dance is freedom. It’s like swimming in the natural waters. You know, unrestricted by the pool boundaries.’ She began to enjoy herself, getting ready to take him off his stride. He acted so stuffy. Just think, she was actually doing him good being here. The man who didn’t even shower without thinking of writing. He needed to be distracted from his fixations. She continued, ‘I don’t mean social dancing. Dance for yourself. Alone or wherever. It gets you in the swing. Makes you accept yourself.’

She thought of the times she had locked her room and filled it with music. The moments of freedom neither Munish nor his mom could take from her. Social dancing was very well but within those walls she had danced for herself, openly, not in the mincing steps ladies of status were allowed.

‘That’s a strange idea. Going crazy and then admiring yourself,’ Rihaan said.

The dry tone made her laugh, ‘You’re right at that. It is crazy but when do we have time to be crazy? When was the last time you did something silly—like, say, dancing in the kitchen?’ Impulsively, she reached for her phone and put on some music.

A peppy beat began to thrum in the air. ‘Come on.’ She began to move, side to side, in step with the beat, turning round and raising her arms up to execute a sideways hip thrust. Moving forward and back. She smiled at him, open and exuberant, her body moving in tandem with the steps.

Rihaan found it hard to tear his gaze from her. He swallowed. It was just dance. Why did his senses react as though he had never seen anything more sensual? His hormones seemed to have gone haywire.

‘Come on. Join me,’ she insisted. Her mouth curved, eyes impish, ‘Are you afraid to loosen up with me?’ She came close and trailed her fingers down the bulge of his biceps. ‘Afraid you’ll like it too much?’ she taunted, whirling away.

Oh no. Not that dare again! He’d had enough of refusing it. ‘Afraid that
you’ll
like it too much!’ He reached forward and caught her wrist, jerking her to him, a dangerous glitter in his eyes.

Ah, she wanted dance, she’d get dance.

He found the curve of that supple waist. One hand crept up her ribcage, stroking up her side. Her soft gasp gave away her astonishment, sending satisfaction surging through him. He traced a path to her inner arm, and ended grasping her hand, palm to palm, extending their arms together, and began to move her with the beat. Forward. Back. Turn around. Whirling her outward, hauling her up close. The startled look in her eyes was sweet reparation. Aggressively, he bent forward to push her till she arched back, levering at the base of her spine. Cradled in his clasped hands, she swayed in a half-circle and came up again as the beat deepened to earthy.

Her eyes met his and he saw an answering challenge light in them. She put her hands against his chest, did a slow twist down, bending at her knees, coming up again, her pout showing, eyes smoky as she placed her hands one above another, climbing up his torso. Her eyes locked with his. His pulse drummed. With a tantalizing half smile she moved away, taking a twirl to come back to him, smiling.

Damn, it wasn’t just enjoyment he wanted to give to her right now. It should be stamped on her memory. A dance she would never forget.

He caught her with her back against him, his hand on her stomach as he spread his other hand against her midriff, feeling her rapid intake of breath as their
bodies came into dangerously close contact. Blood coursed faster through his veins at the sound of her inhalation. She was drawn against him, plastered, till they were moving in tandem. Sensually rocking, as he took her through one movement then the next, still clamped against him. The friction became a delicious torture, inflaming him as blood surged southward in his body. It became a moot point who he was teaching a lesson to. Another outward spin and she responded to his cue, moving light as a butterfly. He caught her again to him, now front to front, leaning forward till her breasts pushed against his chest. Soft and crushing into him. Their hands extended again, palms opposed as his face came close to hers. So close he could sense the wild flowers, inhale them, feel the scent of her fill his lungs, excluding everything else.

‘Saira!’ Somehow his hands were in her hair and she was gazing back at him, eyes huge pools of sensuality he wanted to drown in, lips moist and full, his ultimate destination. It seemed everything in him was centred on them, but paradoxically every sense was alive. He could feel the delicate indentation of her spine as his hand spread over her back, he could see the tap of her pulse at the vulnerable line of her neck.

Saira felt her heartbeat fill her ears. Drumming out everything else. Warmth exuded from his body. The wall of muscle pressing against her felt deliciously hard. The exertion of the dance, the exhilaration of his deliberate sensual manipulation had her heart beating in a staccato rhythm that sent blood pounding in dangerous zones. The underlying challenging intent provided an excitement she couldn’t get enough of. The look in his wine-dark eyes intoxicated her senses, held her spellbound. He bent his head and her eyes closed, her world shrinking to this moment. His lips. His kiss.

A kiss that was silk and sweetness combined. Lushness
of anticipation mixed with the heady potency of his sensual exploration. Honey and warmth gave way to a fiery stimulation of senses that made her body strain against his. The world was blocked out as all her senses concentrated only on the intent of giving in to this. This onslaught of pleasure that flooded her veins and flowed through every cell of her body.

She desired him, she acknowledged as her fingers curled into the solid muscle of his shoulders, her body seeking to reduce even more the distance between them. Yes. She closed her eyes and gave in as he deepened the kiss. With the acknowledgement came exultation that she was free. Free to feel. To indulge and revel in the exploration of capable hands roving her body, drawing her still closer against him. Free from the past that had frozen every feeling.

They broke for air then he possessed her mouth again and sensation trembled through her. Never had it been so powerful, so encompassing. She moaned as need intensified.

This was wrong.

Wrong.
Reason set up a clamour. It might have been a gong sounding out, resounding in a brain incapable of listening to good sense.

She drew back. The shock she felt was visible on his face. Shock and disbelief. Somehow it hurt her more than anything he could have said. So he couldn’t believe he had kissed her.

Kissed
seemed to be an understatement.

Her phone music was playing a popular Bollywood Punjabi number. The kitchen tap was still running.

‘Oh God.’ He went over to close the tap. Mortification swept over her.

‘Please… don’t apologise.’ She couldn’t bear that. His shocked reaction told her all she needed to know about his
thoughts regarding their kiss. She had challenged him and he had responded in a testosterone-fuelled reaction. She’d be a fool to read more into this. Fool to think it had been anywhere as mind-blowing for him as it had been for her.

‘You needn’t apologise,’ she reiterated.

‘I wasn’t going to. Why should I apologise anyway?’ He stood, feet apart, a distinctly masculine stance that rubbed her already vulnerable senses the wrong way.

‘It was just a kiss,’ she said desperately. Was that reassurance for him? Or for herself?

‘Did I say it broke the meteorite boom record?’ he said moodily. Nastily.

‘It wasn’t bad, so don’t pretend it was.’ She bristled.

‘Don’t push me any more, Saira,’ he warned. ‘Already this has gone far enough. We need to keep things in balance.’

‘Oh, right.’ She watched, fascinated, as his jaw clamped tight and a muscle bulged at the angle of it. Her tone had been less than conciliatory. His obvious effort to keep control made her feel ashamed. However tempted she was, she probably shouldn’t bug him. What if it came to his asking her how it had felt?

As though he wouldn’t know already, the way she’d all but thrown herself on him.

‘I’ll finish up the cooking. You go write your story then,’ she said.

His stance became even more aggressive. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘If you think I’m going to take that run away option and act like I’m trying to save face, you can think again. It may not have been very wise but I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.’ His jaw practically thrust out at her, set stubbornly.

Stupid jerk. All she needed was some time to clear her head. She gave him a frustrated look. ‘Right. Then stay
here, add the rice and stir and switch off the fire after five minutes. I’m going to change for dinner.’

She scooted out. Keeping her chin up so he wouldn’t guess she was really scrambling to get away. He could look as scowl-y as he wished. She needed to clear her head-space. He had effortlessly wrangled his way into it and she had to push him back out.

She felt like crawling into a cave and hiding. Of course she wouldn’t hide. Physical need had made her digress a little. Surely she could take it in her stride?

But she only had to close her eyes to feel again the beat of the music, the heat and hardness of his body moving to the rhythmic notes, the deep knowledge in the dark sherry eyes. More intoxicating than wine. More potent than anything she had felt passion to be.

She had known it before. The chemistry between Munish and her had been undeniable. The pity was, it had only lasted until things began to go wrong. That was how unreliable attraction was. It could fizzle out in a minute, leaving you with nothing but the acrid burn of the residue.

In his study, Rihaan paced soundlessly on the carpet, frustration riding high. She was coming too close and he was letting her. He’d never talked to anyone like that about his upbringing. Or even mentioned his family. Why was he doing it now?

And to her? Whatever sympathy he might feel for her ruined marriage, surely it wasn’t enough to exonerate her of hurting and deceiving her sister. Where did he go, thinking that?

Saira had accused him of painting her black in his mind, but how else did you define total indifference towards someone who cared for you? Impossible to squeeze out any sympathy for what he considered to be a betrayal of the family. As his people had spurned him without compunction,
she had turned her back on her sister, a declaration that loyalty to family ties had no sanctity in her book.

Yet his mind was sneakily insisting she couldn’t have been totally at fault. So lively, so open… that he had found himself letting his guard down. No, he didn’t need the added complication of sharing his past with her.

Just the attraction she exerted was intense enough. He had known that since he’d enjoyed the way she had checked him out. And today it had gone too far. The way he had felt his heart pound in a knee-jerk response to her sensual movements to the music. The way his gaze had hooked to her moistened lips. Even now he was imagining the taste of them beneath his, feeling an ache for more, much more, possessing his body.

Was he mad? He didn’t give a hoot for her beyond taking her out of the path of two people he did actually care for. This was what it was all about. Not catering to his illogically reactive libido.

Easy to read himself a lecture.

If only it was as easy to quiet the raw surge of desire overtaking his reason.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Saira tried to control the huge sense of let-down she felt. The
biryani
wasn’t the mouth-watering fare she usually made, though the aroma was distinctive. Her fault for not attending to it properly. Which made her remember exactly why she hadn’t.

It wasn’t till the quietness began to wear out her nerves that she realised subconsciously she had been hoping for—for what? His friendliness? That irresistible smile?

What did he think of himself? He could orchestrate his moods and everyone was supposed to jump accordingly?

Yet she couldn’t think of anything to break the monosyllabic and infrequent requests to pass this or hand that. Why had they even chosen to eat together? It was really
insulting to food to eat it without enjoying the company. Mainly because your appetite left you. Because your stomach churned.

Yes, their kiss had been a game-changer for them. But who had initiated it? He shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about it if he didn’t want to take things any further, she thought crossly.

Take things further? Oh hell, what was she thinking? She didn’t want
anything
with this man, let alone
further.

‘No, let me take these.’ More monochrome sentences as he took the dishes. She stared morosely into space then looked up in surprise as he re-entered the dining area with two plates.

‘Ice cream?’ Doubtful pleasure stained her voice.

‘You provided food. So I provide the dessert.’ He half-smiled. ‘Granted, I haven’t actually made it…’