Bollywood Fiancé for a Day Read online

  ‘Saira had run away from home. Would it have been any use if I’d objected and insisted on Munish going through with our wedding? They are in love, while I was merely a choice approved by his parents. Besides…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She changed her mind and added, keeping her tone light, ‘Just that he’s bound to be happier now. I was boring him to death.’

  ‘Sure you don’t mean scolding him to death?’ His mouth curved.

  She elbowed him a second time and added pointedly, ‘No. He wasn’t so brash that he needed to be kept in line.’

  ‘So how exactly, in your opinion, were you boring the idiot?’

  ‘I had to disappoint him quite a few times when I turned down his dates to attend to patients.’ She wasn’t happy about that. She knew she had been wrong not to pay him more attention but she’d thought they’d have time enough during their marriage to be together.

  She had been content to have things that way, her work undisturbed by undue excitement. Unlike Neeta, who had rushed around trying to find more time for her fiancé, who later became her husband.

  She frowned. What girl wanted a dull, staid life? Had she been really content? Or just adjusting to the circumstances?

  ‘Would you oblige your father a second time too?’ he asked idly, as though following her thoughts.

  ‘Well, that’s hardly likely while I’m engaged to you.’ She still didn’t believe how cool he had been about the forever clause of their engagement. ‘Maybe eventually I will find someone more suitable.’

  ‘Your non-romantic dream,’ he teased. ‘So, what does this prince not-so-charming look like in your mind?’

  Quite a bit like you, was on the tip of her tongue. She found herself confessing, ‘Well, looks-wise, it won’t hurt if he’s like you.’ She slanted him a look beneath her lashes. Oopsie! Was she flirting with him? Talk about taking a chance!

  ‘Wow, you kill me, babe. Almost. So you don’t want him to be like me in any other respect?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re not so bad in the charm department.’ She smiled mischievously, daring further.

  ‘What about the kissing? How’s my skill rating in that?’ he teased.

  Her smile froze. Walking side by side, their hands had brushed and he’d taken hers in a loose warm grip. Suddenly her hand held inside the large cocoon of his didn’t feel so innocuous any more. Gently and without being obvious, she tried to withdraw it but his tightened, trapping it inside.

  Jolts began to travel up from the feel of his touch, her heart beginning to beat uncomfortably. She had been bantering with him, but didn’t he know she couldn’t be that open and casual about the kissing? How could she when the mere thought of it made her insides melt and heat travel under her skin?

  Was he remembering the same as her? Wanting to test it again and see if it measured up to each of their memory…?

  Then he let go and she could breathe again.

  ‘I just remembered there’s a cookery book I want to buy.’ She indicated a shop on the corner up ahead, British Book Depot.

  ‘I didn’t know you were interested in cooking.’ To her relief, he didn’t pick up on her tension.

  She pulled a face. ‘I’m interested all right. I love food. But if you mean can I cook? Not right now. It’s on my to-do list if I get enough time on my hands. Meanwhile I don’t want to miss the latest Sanjeev Kapoor book that Mrs Kakkar’s been holding for me.’

  Inside the old world ambience of the floor-to-ceiling lined bookstore, she was able to relax once more, inhaling the distinctive scent of paper. To her surprise, he spent quite a time looking and even selected a few books.

  Curious, she glanced at his little collection. Sudoku. Crosswords. Mathematical puzzles.

  ‘Like to keep the old brain busy, do you?’ she observed.

  ‘Don’t you know, Doc? The brain needs exercising too.’

  ‘Right.’ Privately, she didn’t think he needed to be any sharper. It was difficult enough to keep up with him just as he was.

  She’d always thought he was all celluloid persona and hot air and discovering he was a multifaceted person was uncomfortably surprising.

  She browsed and returned to see him listening closely, obviously interested as Mrs Kakkar told him about the shop, which had been established by her father-in-law.

  ‘You can see why this shop has its name; in the years before the Independence it was patronized by a strongly British clientele. This shop was opened in 1936, you know. We have changed, though, to accommodate the demands of the times. But places like this still hold a bit of history…’ reminisced Mrs Kakkar.

  Vishakha had a fondness for the shop and was ridiculously pleased to see him share her own interest in the times gone past. As her gaze halted at the chiselled strong features once again, a bell clanged away in her mind.

  Careful, Vishakha, don’t get carried away by that deadly charisma of his.

  Her body’s defences had already proved weak against it.

  She needed immunization right away.

  * * *

  They were drawn eventually to one of the famous snack shops. They lingered over chaat, chatting. He told her about his experiences. Skydiving. Riding dirt bikes. While she could see it was in character with the reckless glint in his eyes and the careless air he wore, she still shook her head in disapproval as he described surfing at a spot remote from any medical aid.

  ‘I don’t really get it. Why? I’m not weak-stomached. I mean, I’m used to the sight of blood and I’ve had my share of emergency duties, but things like those dirt bike speed jumps and taking off midair in the car—’ she shook her head again ‘—they make me queasy.’

  ‘Someone has to do it.’

  ‘Just for entertainment? Aren’t there better ways?’

  ‘You’re serious about your work too,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m not risking my neck for it.’

  ‘But you have no time for fun. You spend all your free time on some project.’

  ‘You have been talking to my mom!’ She frowned, not sure she was comfortable with the idea.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he invited.

  She shrugged. ‘It isn’t a project, exactly. Things are still in the planning stage. We’re trying to set up a psychiatric therapy centre for kids at the orphanage as well as other kids with behavioural and mental problems.’

  She told him more about the aims of the proposed centre and the kind of cases it was meant to cover. She’d been trying to reach out to her other batchmates to spread awareness and on her phone she showed him the plans for the conference they were organizing, where they were hoping to give the proposal wider coverage.

  * * *

  Zaheer’s gaze drank in the animation on her face.

  The flavour of the chaat, a must-have, according to Vishakha, sweet spicy sourness tickling the tongue to ‘lick’, as the name of the snack went, mounted with flour crispies, lentil patties with a dash of beaten curd and tamarind chutney, remained in his mouth.

  Also the flavour of the condensed milk sweet kulfi imbued with pistachio and saffron, served with transparent and bland falooda noodles dipped in rose syrup.

  And, most overpowering of all, the flavour of the afternoon spent with her.

  Vishakha dropped a bit of melting kulfi on her plate and swiped it with her finger and, before he knew it, he was licking it off for her, enjoying the darkening look in her wide eyes. The moment hung suspended between them. He knew by the deep hitching breath she drew in that her pulse hammered just like his, loud enough to drown out the warning his mind belatedly sounded.

  The moment was broken because one of her numberless aunts phoned and asked them to go to Aminabad to get last-minute requests.

  And now here he was, browsing through the shoulder-brushing crowded market for achaar—apparently turmeric pickle like this wasn’t found in Delhi. Wouldn’t he have better spent his time going over his script or discussing the ad deal his publicist had called him about?

&nb
sp; She bought him a chikankari kurta, insisting that since she was wearing the ring and the bangles as opposed to him, just the ring, he should allow her to buy him something.

  He turned over the pure white cotton with the typical Luckhnavi embroidery in his hands. He’d probably not wear it. But the way she’d been concentrating on selecting her choice, making the salesman sweat with multiple trips to the shelves, he’d been hard put to refuse.

  He was shocked to realize he’d enjoyed himself today, doing the completely ordinary things. He frowned. He didn’t do platonic friendships with women. She was either co-worker or co-pillower. With Vishakha, he’d shared things he’d never be caught dead mouthing to anyone.

  Even if he’d wanted it from her, ‘friendship’ was too tepid a word to use. The blood-pounding desire that had buttonholed him since the moment she’d challenged him to keep the date with her on that first day negated it. As did the sensual want which now kept his eyes on her while she haggled with the shopkeeper about the price of half a dozen pink dupattas. It brought to his notice totally irrelevant things like how she flushed with pleasure on succeeding in getting the price she wanted. Coalesced into a gripping knot when she looked up to share her win and her gaze met his. And wasn’t helped by the suggestive intensifying of her gaze which threatened to make his resolution slip from his grip.

  The moment was broken when she asked him for change to pay the man. She rolled her eyes as he drew out his credit card and smiled impishly over the absence of cash, delighted to find him at a disadvantage.

  An hour later he turned the car in the driveway. ‘Wasn’t that great?’ She gave him an exhilarated smile.

  He had to park behind a train of cars already lined up. ‘Munish’s relatives have come for the chunni,’ she surmised. ‘Let’s go to my room. We can take the outside stairs.’ She smiled, eyes sparkling naughtily, as she got out of the car. ‘Race you?’

  ‘You’re on.’

  But once at the top he stood scanning the corridor with its multiple doors leading off it. She beat him, skating past to open the right one with a cheek-to-cheek grin. ‘You lose. Now you have to pay up.’

  He followed her inside, kicking the door shut. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘So what’s the prize?’

  ‘A kiss.’

  She inhaled slightly but held his gaze, her chin coming up, striving hard to keep her tone neutral as she tried logic. ‘That’s not just mine to have.’

  ‘It is when you take it.’

  ‘Me…?’

  ‘Mmm, you.’ With a slow smile, he pulled the scarf from around her neck. ‘Tie my hands up with this. If I’m bound and helpless, who’s in charge? You.’

  * * *

  The material slithered and brushed silkily against her skin as he tugged it away.

  Maybe she knew exactly why he was doing this. A bubbly effervescence seemed to take over her at his wicked challenge.

  ‘I like the idea of Mr Arrogant helpless.’ Was that her with the breathy whisper, smiling coquettishly and catching the other end of the cloth? Her breath caught in anticipation and she flicked it against his face, a giggle escaping at his surprised expression.

  He made her feel naughty and slightly decadent.

  She walked her fingers up his chest to his collarbone, gripping the sinewy shoulders. ‘Helpless and tied,’ she added, shoving him into the nearby chair. When it came to tying him, her fingers were all thumbs. Oh God, what had happened to all the Girl Guide training in knots she’d had?

  ‘You need to do better than that,’ he scoffed.

  ‘Do I?’ She let her hair brush against his ear as she bent close. Near enough to see the dark rings circling those brilliant irises.

  Was she really being this daring, teasing him, letting the barest brush of her lips touch his? Feeling his inhalation and clutching those shoulders in case her knees gave way as feeling seesawed through her.

  ‘Better?’ She could hear the smile in her own voice and saw sinful humour shimmer in the green gaze.

  ‘Not really. You need practice.’ The husky whisper was a sensual brush against her skin.

  Oh, did she?

  She swooped down and repeated the contact. Felt response rocket through her veins. A surge of confidence and she threw away inhibitions, growing bolder as elation rushed through her. Sweeping away the uncertainties.

  The symbolism washed over her in an exciting, liberating wave of exultation. Desire swirled and clouded her brain.

  But then her nerve failed her. She began to break the lip-lock. Was stopped. Held by him. The puny tie had indeed been no deterrent to his intention as he broke his hand free and cupped her jaw, holding her immobile to make the contact last.

  A vortex of sensation opened to her, sucking her in. Heat climbed. Raw anticipation took over. Want. Desire.

  Disbelief.

  She drew away. Breathless. Hot. Dishevelled to the core, her heart knocking against her ribs.

  What had just happened? How had she allowed it?

  She’d never been one to go with the flow. But he had unleashed dammed waters, left them gushing over her reason.

  ‘How did that feel?’ The deep guttural tone reverberated inside her.

  As though she had hurtled down a mountain with him? Was that close enough?

  And it had been just a kiss.

  It made no sense. And it was frightening.

  ‘You look beautiful. Glowing and vibrant.’ His words shivered over her skin.

  ‘Let’s not get carried away,’ she whispered, extricating herself with an effort, finding it required a truckload of will to move away from him.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite and stilled. Glowing, he’d said. Beautiful. She didn’t believe him. But the striking image staring back was just that. She looked flushed, eyes wide and dark. Hair like a dark cloud around her radiant face. An aliveness lay like a patina, lending an eye-catching quality to her features.

  He hadn’t lied.

  Maybe she needed Zaheer more than she needed a make-up artist. She almost giggled at the thought. Oh Lord! If his kisses could be patented, women could save thousands of rupees per year and the cosmetic industry would go bankrupt.

  She closed her eyes briefly, still feeling the thud of her heart. She’d allowed herself to go so far. Or rather he’d showed her a taste of that freedom.

  Addictive. Alluring.

  Dangerous.

  In the face of his experience, she was like a leaf, liable to be blown away. How could she have been caught up in the magic he evoked? So deeply that she’d forgotten reason?

  The deep voice sounded behind her. ‘To hugely understate the facts, we find each other physically attractive. If you don’t believe in love, what’s wrong with having an affair?’ The tempting words hit her ears like honey. For an instant she became suspended in the delicious mesh of sensations his suggestion evoked.

  Having never known temptation, it had always been easy to stick to the path she had decided for herself. Now the earth was shifting beneath her feet. She had been ditched. She was deceiving her mom. What next awaited her?

  An affair with a hotshot? A playboy who offered no strings. By his own admission, he had hated even a pretend engagement. That was all he needed her for. Once his ex-girlfriend was convinced and his film looked to be settled, they would part ways.

  ‘No, Zaheer. I can’t.’

  ‘Vishakha—’

  ‘No, don’t say anything.’ Whatever he offered, she was probably crazy enough to want to consider it.

  ‘Say to hell with playing by the rules. Does it matter what everyone needs? Does it matter more than your own wishes?’

  His words sent a heady rush of excitement spinning through her.

  ‘What do you want, Vishakha?’ He continued inexorably, ‘You. If you didn’t have to care about the wedding and the people? If you didn’t have to care about saving your pride?’

  That was a dodgy line of thinking. He was so close, a threat in itself. Wh
ere had the laid-back man of the morning gone? She didn’t want this ruthless crusader. This dark intent. It wasn’t right because it could change the dynamics between them. Change the focus for her.

  Damn smart question…

  ‘Say it to yourself once.’ The command seemed designed to break through her barriers.

  ‘I have to go…’ She shook herself out of his grip and went to the door. ‘Someone might need me.’ The blatant lie out, she ran because she was afraid…She ran away from what he was showing her because going down that road was far, far riskier than diving freefall.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THROUGHOUT THE WEDDING ceremony, the memory of his kiss kept surging to the forefront of her mind. The remedy was not to look at him at all. Or at least only once or twice. Maybe half a dozen times while not busy concentrating on the rituals. OK, she sighed, giving up, actually she could look away only when she was conscious he was going to turn his head and spot her scrutiny. Unlike her traditional attire, he had chosen to wear a suit, unrelieved black with a satin grey shirt and grey and green tie. She wore a lehanga again, a swirly type this time, teamed with a choli that tied at the back with strings.

  The day. The date. His voice. His touch. It all swirled in her mind. To think she had accepted his dare like she had…

  She didn’t want to think about it. She shouldn’t.

  Saira looked charming in the pink lehanga she had chosen to wear along with the exquisite diamond set, the maang tika in the centre of her forehead adding a touch of the resplendent.

  The event of jaimala, the bride and groom garlanding each other, was over and after dinner the cousins got together, planning to steal the groom’s shoes, a ritual that would be profitable as the groom’s side would pay to get them back.

  The phere passed in a whirl of joking and laughter. The relatives started kidding that the bride would get tired taking the seven rounds of the fire or the lehanga might be singed. It seemed at two a.m. that was the only way everyone could keep awake.

  As the bride’s sister, she was to take Saira to get changed for the going away. She took her to her room then got busy with her mother, calling her to sort through the innumerable gifts and shagan which had to be allocated to the respective people they were meant for.