Bollywood Fiancé for a Day Read online

  By the time she got back, Saira was ready, dressed in a yellow zardosi sari.

  ‘You look gorgeous.’ Vishakha’s smile was tempered with the awareness of the friction between them but the occasion demanded they should bury their differences so she tried to act normal.

  Saira and she had never been bosom buddies but they had got along quite well before this had happened. She’d always protected her rather headstrong younger sister from her strict father. Now the situation between them showed no sign of resolving, despite her efforts. While she tried to sound natural, Saira’s unsmiling expression showed her unsettled mood.

  When she moved to adjust her gold necklace, which had gone askew, Saira turned away sharply.

  ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her tone aggressive enough to make Vishakha step back. ‘Maybe I should say—what more do you want? I hope you’re satisfied in snatching the spotlight.’

  ‘Saira!’ Shock ran through her.

  Dark eyes blazed. ‘You had to bring Zaheer Saxena here, didn’t you, to become the focus of everyone’s attention? Well, you can have the last laugh. You’ve spoiled my wedding.’

  ‘Spoilt your wedding?’ Wasn’t it the other way around?

  She didn’t want to lose her cool and her heart began to beat fast as her control lurched.

  ‘You wanted to put on the heroic act for everyone by being the sacrificial sister. That has always been your speciality, hasn’t it? To act as papa-mummy’s pet? Even as a kid, you always made me look bad. Because you’re so amenable and brilliant and high-achieving, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s absurd, Saira. Surely you don’t mean all this?’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Her sister went on, fired up, ‘I know it’s all an act, Vishakha. You’re not that good inside. Or why would you treat Munish so shabbily? You ignored him, refused his dates just so you could do some more work. Then, on top of it all, that evening you sent him to pick me up when I called you.’

  ‘You didn’t want Papa to know that you were at the pub.’ The day Saira referred to, she’d had to do Neeta’s duty as well as her own at work, and had once again been forced to let Munish down. Then Saira’s call had come, her voice sounding slurred. Unable to leave an emergency patient, she had turned to Munish for help, the person she had thought she could trust since he was her prospective husband.

  She didn’t want to talk about it now. She didn’t want to see Saira like this. Accusing her. After all she’d done for her, practically begging Papa to let this marriage go ahead when he didn’t believe in marrying for love. Why did it always come to this? Stepping aside for Saira? It had been self-imposed but now she was beginning to question her own choices.

  ‘So you sent Munish for me,’ Saira was saying with burning indignation. ‘Why? Because he was redundant? And you were busy impressing everyone with what a good doctor you are?’

  ‘How could I not do my job? You’re being ridiculous!’

  ‘Am I? Couldn’t you take one—just one—evening off for him? He was so slumped about it,’ Saira ranted. ‘I knew that day you didn’t deserve him. All your conniving ways can’t make you deserve him or be my real sister. Or my father’s daughter!’

  Vishakha flinched. The hurt of the exclusion hit hard. Saira didn’t mean it; she must be upset by the strain of the wedding…she was too young…All at once, she ran out of excuses for her sister. She had tried to keep an even keel, smoothing over the frequent squalls in her family storm, but nothing had stopped the deluge. Saira’s sharp words hurt probably more than even she knew, slicing inside Vishakha to create a feeling of failure, dangerously hollow.

  ‘I don’t need to listen to this,’ broke from her. She pressed her hands to her temples. Somehow she pushed out of there, running away because this couldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have. Except in a bad dream.

  * * *

  She ran down the stairs to stand outside the house, breathing shallow and fast in the cool air. The accusations swirled in her brain, sucking her into a pit of deeply buried hurt.

  I knew…you didn’t deserve him. That was what Saira really felt about her. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Because that was the question that inhabited her nerves like a virus, now burning her like a sudden exacerbation of infection.

  Dammit, it wasn’t like Saira had said. She hadn’t skipped her dates with Munish on purpose. She hadn’t exactly crossed seven seas to get to him either, a streak of honesty forced her to admit. Afraid of being poor company again, she’d taken what looked like the sensible option and told him the date was off. God, how had she ever thought she could marry him?

  At home, Saira had kept up the banter and provided a buffer between Munish and her. When they were alone, she had to search for topics to converse on with him. On their later dates she had felt something was wrong, but it became clear only now. Had he even then been attracted to Saira? Had she, Vishakha, been stupid to hope he would come to love her once they were married?

  She slowed and stopped. She didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention. Soon there would be a crowd here for Saira’s going away. Already the hired band could be heard practising tunes for bidai. She turned and headed back inside, just wanting to be alone. The lounge was deserted; everyone had gone to see the fireworks. She pushed through to the sitting room and came to an abrupt stop.

  ‘Looking for me?’ He was the last person she wanted to see when she felt like this. Raw. Vulnerable. Wanting to shield her pain. He was much harder to deceive than anyone else—

  one man who knew all her secrets—and she wanted no one to view her wounds right now.

  ‘You aren’t outside?’ Her voice came out strangled. His shirt gleamed in the dim light as he straightened.

  ‘No, I like it in here. Nice decor.’

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat, quickly suppressed. That was all she needed to discuss right now. Decor!

  But it was neutral ground, and on second thoughts, she seized on it. ‘Don’t you love the mural? Mom had it done professionally.’ She gestured to the huge Ganesha mural occupying most of one wall. With only the decorative lighting on, the darkness offered solace and she sank into a seat. She had an urge to rub her temples as the throbbing increased.

  ‘You’re doing it again.’ His quiet words broke the silence.

  ‘What?’ She stiffened.

  ‘Pretending things are OK.’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘I just vetoed that.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘The most dangerous phrase from a woman.’

  Mutinously, she kept silent. Reason dictated she should leave, find sanctuary elsewhere. But even his company was preferable to wetting her pillow, which was likely if she was alone. Pride told her she shouldn’t cry about a sister who hadn’t the shame to consider all the childhood companionship behind them, who had sentenced her without seeking any explanation.

  ‘Do you know you shouldn’t keep things inside? It makes you hasty and reckless.’ His voice was quiet. ‘You care too much and then you just stop. Say to hell with it all. I’ve been there. That day when I shared my past with you, I finally began to get some sort of perspective on it all and it began to not feel like something of a skull in the office drawer.’

  He was trying to get her to open up. ‘Zaheer, just let me be. I need to be alone.’

  She couldn’t put it into words. The hollow sense of failure she felt went too, too deep. How could she share it? It was a wound that was still oozing.

  ‘Whatever it is, don’t look like that,’ came in a deep growl from his throat, ‘or I’ll be tempted to wring the neck of whoever it was that upset you.’ A large hand snaked out and caught her wrist, to pull her resisting form out of the sofa and next to him. She sat stiffly, her back straight.

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Liar,’ he said softly. ‘How many times do I have to catch you out before you learn not to do it?’

  ‘You’re perceptive.
’

  ‘And you’re very complimentary all of a sudden, which makes me suspicious.’

  ‘I must go. I have to—’

  ‘…do nothing.’ He commanded, ‘So do it here.’

  The arms which he put around her to draw her close felt irresistibly warm and strong and she gave in to the urge to take comfort, relaxing marginally. The ready tightness in his biceps eased slightly. Her forehead rested against the side of his neck. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, her temple. A shuddering breath left her. She wanted to cling to the contact. As though touching him could make her demons go away. Her hands moved up his chest to his nape. She wanted to be safe. Anaesthetized against the pain. A low sound of need formed in her throat. Somehow his lips were on hers and she was clinging to the heat as if it was her anchor in a world cast adrift. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted more. Her fingers slid on the satiny fabric clothing him, then boldly moved to unbutton his shirt, feeling the crisp contact of dark hair against her palm, and beneath it the smooth skin overlying hard muscles.

  He was coiled, tense, muscles corded. ‘Vishakha!’ The growl was low and incendiary, making fire leap in unknown places. His mouth trailed a path down the vulnerable line of her neck and she leaned back slightly to give him better access, feeling her breath stop as it hovered at the hollow where her pulse beat. Her skin burned under the contact and she felt excitement coil low in her stomach, a gasp leaving her as the acknowledgement hit that she wanted more—much more.

  His fingers trailed down the delicate strings on her back, sensitizing the skin in between. She arched towards him, her eyelids closing in submission, but in a moment he had gone rock-still. Her eyes opened to look into dark glittering emerald.

  ‘I was offering comfort, not escape.’

  The guttural denial dropped between them like an ice wall.

  Heat crawled under her skin, of another kind. The heat of shame. He was right. That was what she’d been trying to do. Run away from the pain in her heart, trying to make the tide of his furious desire wash away the sludge of her torn emotions. She drew back, her lips trembling with the effort to hold back her tears, her throat aching. She had to leave here, get away.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She’d stood up almost automatically, in too much of a daze to offer an excuse. ‘I have to go.’ Her brain couldn’t even function enough to manufacture an explanation. How could she have embarrassed herself like this? She’d practically thrown herself at him. And Zaheer…She winced. He was the playboy who lived in the moment. To think he had had to stop her…

  ‘Stop it.’ His voice was quiet but no less commanding for that. ‘Where would you run now…just to suppress it all? You can’t tell me, because you obviously don’t trust me. You can’t tell your mom because she might worry. You must smile for your sister and the others because you have to have your pride. So…who is allowed behind the shield, Vishakha? Who can see your tears?’

  The soft words were too close. Physically and emotionally. She couldn’t look at him, though she knew he had come to stand behind her. She couldn’t even maintain a calm face. Swallow the stone lodged in her throat.

  She struggled to get her hand out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let go and with a frustrated cry she slumped against him, her shoulders bowing as the tears, whose absence he’d taunted, escaped. The disappointment of her broken engagement, the self-doubts it had engendered, the weight of her pretence, everything mingled in the release. It was only in the privacy of her bathroom she ever let go and breaking down in front of him should have been devastating. Only it wasn’t. Warm arms held her close, making her feel protected, and somehow made those stupid tears rain down faster than ever, hiccupping into sobs.

  ‘Vishakha, shush.’ Did he sound faintly shocked? ‘What happened? If it’s that bitch you have for a sister…’

  ‘It isn’t her fault.’ She wiped her eyes though they filled again. It seemed the dam once broken wouldn’t be repaired. ‘It’s mine. I should have realized sooner how this would end up.’ Between hiccups, she told him about the incident just now with Saira.

  He swore, words that made her ears go red. ‘She’s easing her own conscience by blaming you. And there you were, so hell-bent on attending her wedding…’

  ‘I had to. She’s my sister. Then I had to be here for Mom. She was already so anxious about me.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘She might have decided to miss it too, if I did. And Papa is already against Saira enough to perhaps have cut her off from the family. Or Papa could have chosen to take Saira’s side, because she’s his daughter, after all. And then it would have caused a rift between our parents. The whole family would break apart. I had to do it. Thanks so much to you, because you helped a lot.’

  ‘You don’t owe me any thanks. I have my own axe to grind.’ His mouth compressed briefly. ‘Vishakha, you can’t take the weight of everyone’s potential behaviour on yourself. The situation isn’t your responsibility. Saira created it and she has to face the repercussions.’

  He remembered what Vishakha had told him about her mom always showing preference to Saira and said disgustedly, ‘Between your mother and you, she’s already been spoilt enough.’

  ‘I’ve always tried to make her happy…’ Her voice trailed off and Zaheer completed the rest of the picture in his mind. Vishakha, after a bad childhood experience of a runaway father, not wanting to lose the secure family she had found and making every sacrifice she could to keep them together. Supporting her mother’s efforts to keep her stepdaughter happy by accepting a second place in the family picture. It made him so angry he could bash all their heads together, especially her mom’s. To put the onus of holding her marriage together on a young child…

  It explained so many things about her. The ready acceptance of the arranged marriage, which had puzzled him, witnessing her otherwise independent nature. Why she’d never indulged her romantic side, the touch-me-not air she’d cultivated because of her strict stepfather, whose approval she’d sought, probably above all else. Why she kept her emotions tightly bunched. Why she’d lied rather than tell him about what had been troubling her that very first day they’d met.

  It all gathered into a giant ball of protectiveness that seemed to rise inside and almost choke him. He had to rein it in, the instinct to take her away from these undeserving people and protect her. Cherish her.

  Crazy. He always knew he had a soft edge for women in trouble. It came from his feelings for his mum. He’d always melted at a woman’s tears until he learnt they came in another variety. Crocodile.

  Crazy or not, he wasn’t ready to let go of the woman sobbing in his arms.

  ‘You’ve done enough.’

  His voice was gruff and Vishakha found the hoarse edge strangely soothing. She sniffed a last time and attempted to pull herself together.

  ‘God, I didn’t mean to drag you into my family’s affairs…’

  ‘You didn’t. I dived in myself, so quit looking so muddled. We’d better go get some sleep now, though. It’s past four in the morning.’

  ‘It’s the time for bidai.’ She stepped back hurriedly.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Saira is going away. I have to be there.’

  He sighed, with an effort unclenching his hands, which had rolled up in instinctive reaction to her alarm.

  ‘No, you aren’t. Forget about her.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out.’

  She sighed. ‘Well, I have. Sorry for all this.’

  ‘Don’t be. You needed that.’

  She had. And she needed him, moving into her space till she was almost leaning against him.

  ‘I must go, Zaheer. It doesn’t matter about crying. Everyone cries at weddings. It’s perfectly natural.’

  He moved further in, his hand about her waist, pulling her in, their bodies touching.

  ‘I’m not having you going out there and presenting a teary face. I want you to
smile. Look radiant. I’m going to make sure that you smile all through that.’ He sounded very positive about it.

  ‘I always cry at weddings. And it’s my sister’s, so no one will be bothered.’ Her eyes stung with dried tears as she blinked.

  ‘When she sees you with your lipstick rubbed off, she’ll forget she’s supposed to cry at her going away.’

  Lipstick rubbed off. That steamy kiss…She said hurriedly, ‘I’m running late. What are Mom and Papa going to think?’

  But she wasn’t thinking of her parents. She was thinking of the danger he presented to her senses, which were overwhelmed by his nearness. Hard, muscular chest too close, strong thighs brushing against hers, causing heat to invade her lower body. Not now. Not when she was still feeling so vulnerable to him.

  She took a hitching breath and she saw his eyes darken with satisfaction at the effect he had wrought. His hand pressed against the small of her back, drawing her tighter into his arms till she was pressed to him shoulder to thigh. Weakness shivered through her as she felt the strength of his embrace. The steel-hard muscles. Her fingers curled onto his corded arms in mute protest.

  ‘They’ll be too relieved their daughter is happy. And you’re going to be happy, sweetheart.’

  His mouth descended to hers. Velvet warmth engulfed her. Heat shot into her blood. The hands lifted to push against his chest curled into the fabric and she was caught in the tide of passion he’d evoked. Hot male lips dominated hers and she gave in, swept up in the sensual slide of the contact. Thrilling excitement rose as he deepened the kiss and boldly tasted her. But the shock that went to her core was pleasure, not surprise.

  When he lifted his head she was unashamedly plastered to him and staring bemusedly up into darkened eyes. Embarrassment sent a heatwave under her skin. How could she have forgotten herself like this? Zaheer was a playboy, used to trading kisses like handshakes, but she…