Bollywood Fiancé for a Day Read online

  ‘You know, you’re the most unfussy woman I know where eating is concerned,’ he remarked. ‘Most females agonize over calories so much, they practically take the bread out of the pizza.’

  ‘I hope it’s not a hint I’m taking your share?’ she teased. He smiled lazily. ‘It’s too late to complain, seeing it’s nearly all gone.’

  He was too far away to be punched, so she settled for a glare that transmuted into a smile. She couldn’t help thinking of how needled she had been by that laconic humour when they’d first met. He’d irritated and fascinated her at the same time. Now he just fascinated her…though just fascinated didn’t seem to describe it.

  The sea rolled up and receded, lapping seductively. Vishakha kicked off her heels and turned up her designer jeans to her knees, sinking her feet in the sand.

  ‘Careful, there are shells that way. Come this side.’ He led her where the incoming lazy waves lapped the sand, soaking it so it became crumbly between her toes. Impulsively she punched him solidly and began to run, with a, ‘Catch me if you can!’, hearing his outraged yell. The sand was too soft to get a good grip and she nearly slipped half a dozen times. Then, with a whoop, he had her, catching her by the waist and whirling her till she squealed and beat at him to put her down. He stood smiling down at her as she slid off him, facing him, breathless. And happy.

  His fingers brushed hers and then gradually slid to twine with hers. Contact spread like a chemical reaction and, without properly knowing it, she stepped closer.

  Moonlight bathed over them, the weak illumination turning distant palm trees to tall swaying shadows. Vishakha caught her breath as his gaze snared hers. Her own slipped to the sensual curve of his mouth. It came downwards till her vision was blocked and she shut her eyes. A thrill rocked her, stealing down the length of her spine as the warmth and sweetness of his lips met hers.

  A perfect end to a perfect day.

  He felt warm, tasting of the mango and cream of the dessert. The touch was light, almost hesitant. Like soft trills of music, one after another, the kiss came and melded into the next and the next. Then his mouth sealed to hers more intensely and everything receded as her world shifted to a twilight zone. The earth tilted and the ground was lost beneath her feet. Instead of holding her, his arms banded around her, crushing her against him, and she clung to him, her hands bunching his shirt. A soft moan broke from her throat, the sound of submission to the storm of longing breaking free.

  He groaned, echoing her sound of abandonment. Sensation was let loose and it climbed higher and higher. Flared deeper and deeper till her knees threatened to buckle. Her body felt tense, her skin hot. Excitement possessed her, an urgency that was totally new and unknown. She inhaled the sweet scent of his breath, the uniqueness of his warmth, drawn in till all that mattered was this. Her hands explored the strength of hard muscles, boldly slipping inside his collar to find the irresistible magnetic contact of smooth skin. Restlessly his touch roamed over her, stealing across her ribcage. A sharp gasp wrenched from her as he cupped her curves, unerringly sweeping over the peaks till a shudder convulsed her, leaving her mindless with the haze of need.

  Somehow they were on the sand and her top was bunched up. She moaned in open surrender as his hands found bare sensitive skin this time. Wanting. Desire. Need. It was like lava in her blood, a cataclysmic call of pleasure that shook all preconceived notions and left her with only the here and now. The urgent need to touch him made her hike up his shirt, tugging it loose from his belt. She revelled in the surge of heat that enclosed her as she slid her hands along the satin-smooth skin of his back. His weight was on her, crushing her, making her aware of his pulsating desire. Wanton longing became a quicksilver tide of craving demanding to be quenched. ‘Please,’ broke from her, a raw sound of lost reason.

  About to fulfil her plea, Zaheer hesitated. His gaze spanned over her flushed face, rosy skin revealed to him in the moonlight. His body was tense, ready for pleasure, but with his mind full of her vulnerability, he felt torn. She would surrender to him in the heat of the moment, he knew that perfectly well. And then? How the hell would he live with her hatred afterwards? Her body might be willing but her mind, in the cold light of day, wasn’t.

  With a groan he buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of soft skin, the silky hair, trying to find solace in knowing he was about to do the right thing for her. That didn’t work as his body began to rebel and, with a curse, he rolled off her and shot to his feet in a quick movement.

  His breath filled his lungs, harshly drawn, as his system let him know the cost of backing out at the last moment.

  ‘Zaheer.’ The slight tremor of her voice implored him to come back…or was it his wild imagination?

  ‘God, what a mistake.’ He ran his hand through his hair, sand grains flying every which way in his agitation. ‘We can’t do this, Vishakha.’

  She asked in a soft voice, ‘But…why can’t we?’

  He stared disbelievingly at her and for a crazy instant considered taking her at her word. ‘I’m not talking about this here,’ he said. ‘We’d better go inside.’

  * * *

  As a remedy, cold showers didn’t work for frustration, Zaheer decided, unless you had an unbridled imagination.

  However, the sand was finally washed out and the time apart from her gave him the opportunity to cool down.

  As long as he didn’t really look at her, he’d be fine.

  What he needed right now was distance. To communicate via phone or other means, not talk to her where she was approachable. Touchable. However, this time cool civility would have to replace technology.

  She looked confused and, what set his heart thudding, vulnerable. His immediate instinct demanded that he hold her. And go on holding her.

  Only that wasn’t the way it worked.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say thanks?’ he demanded in a dry tone, his voice taking on a rough edge he didn’t mean to have.

  * * *

  He’d offered the use of his shower and, albeit reluctantly, she’d taken him up on it, having no desire to appear sand-bedraggled later on at her hotel. It was a classy deluxe, where every woman, whatever age or build, seemed to have stepped out of a fashion magazine. She’d meant to pay her own way in Mumbai but he’d insisted that, as his fiancée, she would stay at nothing less than a luxury hotel and, since she was here at his behest, he would pay.

  His maid had taken her clothes away to be washed and if she wondered how they’d got so damp and sand-encrusted she was too well trained to ask.

  In the borrowed robe, Vishakha was still tingling from their heated encounter. Awareness unleashed in one fell swoop made her control nearly crumble as she looked at him, his hair wet and curly and falling irresistibly over his forehead.

  And he wanted her to thank him for leaving her midway?

  ‘I think you should apologize for being so rude,’ she said, her voice trembling as she tried to assimilate his rejection.

  ‘Rude? Is that a joke? Would you approve of my manners perhaps if I’d taken your virginity just then without a second thought?’

  How did he know that she was a virgin?

  ‘I guessed. Not exactly hard to figure out,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘It was bound to be the case. The way you blush so much if the word “sex” is even mentioned in the room, plus you already told me you weren’t into casual affairs and I can’t imagine the boring Munish leaping on you passionately.’

  ‘So, if talking about sex is so liberating, perhaps you should have completed my education, since that seems to be required beforehand.’ The jibe hurt her, though it was actually meant to wound him, but hell, what did he think? That she could calmly take the rejection he had meted out and exit bowing gracefully? Not to mention bearing the weight of a serious amount of frustration. She might be inexperienced but damn, she was human, not a doll.

  ‘I can change my mind any time, sweetheart, and I certainly won’t regret it. But you might.’

&n
bsp; The soft taunt felt like a knife in her side. Vishakha knew he was right. But it still couldn’t make her fill with gratitude and bow down and do the prone, folded hands dandavat pranam to him, thanking him for his restraint.

  How had this unscrupulous playboy changed so much as to protect her virtue in spite of her encouragement? she wondered when he dropped her at the hotel and she watched the silver car streaking out on the Marine Drive, swallowed in seconds in the chiaroscuro of vehicle headlights and falling night.

  She had completely changed, she realized, as she readied for the night—she, who had shied away from even admitting to physical desire, had almost vocally and by implication actually admitted to desiring him and wanting him to make love to her.

  Once again she found herself lying down and trying out decisions. Like clothes they sometimes fitted, sometimes not. But sorting through them gave her an idea of what she actually wanted.

  * * *

  Vishakha looked around for Zaheer, not seeing him among the couples swaying to the music. From the sun deck of the yacht, you could see all around dark, lapping waves glimmering under the flashing party lights. The upper deck swarmed with people. But no sign of Zaheer. Maybe he’d gone down below.

  They were at the anniversary celebration of an actor couple. The Mumbai top banana was here. Elegant in haute couture and designer jewels, men and women both.

  Earlier she’d met Mia, the diva with the deadly figure and deadlier smile, reputed to be the Marilyn Monroe of Indian cinema, with her slightly tragic bow mouth. Vishakha didn’t appreciate the way she’d looked at Zaheer, like a connoisseur might a rare painting. Thank God, at the moment she was in sight or Vishakha would have thought she was off trysting with Zaheer. Of course Zaheer hadn’t expressed an interest in her but what man would resist such a lush beauty?

  She didn’t have to go far down the walkway when she looked in the salon and found him. The lighting dimmed, he was a shadow seated at a couch.

  ‘Zaheer, what are you doing down here alone?’

  ‘I’m hardly alone since you’ve just found me.’

  She came into the room. The moonlight slanting in from the windows and the lights reflecting off the water threw shadows around the room. He seemed a dark form from outside but she’d have known that posture anywhere. The yacht hit a slight swell and the lights danced over the furniture.

  A recollection stirred in her mind. ‘You were inside the night of the wedding too.’

  ‘So were you,’ he countered. Thankfully, the light became better and she could see his face. ‘In fact you came running inside and then wanted to run away again.’

  ‘Yes, a lot happened that night.’

  The tension between them had shown no sign of easing since last night. Especially since he hadn’t mentioned what happened and she hadn’t known how to broach the subject.

  Words were so difficult when they really meant something. At least now she was finding some of them, voicing them. She said quietly, ‘I found running away wouldn’t solve my problems. I told Mom how I felt about Saira and Munish, and about why I wouldn’t stay for Saira’s post-wedding visit. And I told her the truth about us.’

  ‘You didn’t?’ His brows rose.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ She moved forward till only a foot separated them. A strange quietness hung about him. When he’d picked her up tonight, she’d tried to break the tension with light talk but she had been partially fooling herself.

  She continued, ‘She didn’t like it much but I had to tell her. Because you showed me that I couldn’t hide for ever. I’ve buried my feelings, sometimes so deep I was nearly out of touch with them myself. You made me face things. Made me feel. I thought sometimes, I was incapable of feeling, incapable of passion…’ She took in a deep breath. The decisions had been easy to make in the darkness last night, lying safe in her bed. But they were too hard in reality. ‘At first it was a little frightening and I even tried to deny what I felt. But it’s an unshakeable truth that I can’t deny any more. I’m done with hiding from my feelings, Zaheer. I’m done with pretending.’ Would he realize what she meant?

  * * *

  Zaheer looked at the woman whose eyes blazed as though she was ready to take on the world. Ready to take on him? Was that what she meant or was he undergoing some seriously wishful thinking here?

  His gut tightened, muscles bunched, blood rushed through his veins. He swallowed. Was he even ready for that?

  Not physically ready, which he had been a long, long time—ever since he’d met her, to be honest. But ready in the way it counted. Emotionally.

  Since they’d agreed on their fake engagement he’d been reiterating to himself to keep his hands off her. Repeating it over and over. Telling himself he was a man with a mission and the moment that mission was to be fulfilled was drawing nearer. Already the news of his engagement was buzzing around the Bollywood media and the Khans’ party tomorrow would seal it. The set was ready, shooting of his film slated to resume next week. He could feel the buzz of success even now. Just thinking of the grand finale, the premiere of the film that was going to make his career, the anticipated thrill of the masses made his blood pressure zoom. Of course there was fear, uncertainty along the way, but it only increased the adrenaline rush of success in the end.

  He glanced at Vishakha. She ran her tongue over glossed lips as though they felt dry. Crackling chemistry thrummed between them.

  It was a double-edged sword, he thought again.

  A distant booming sounded and the eye contact was broken. Not a second too soon, he thought with relief. He must stay on track, keep to the plan. For both their sakes. ‘The show is on. Take a look.’ He gestured to the window.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t you love fireworks?’ she said, nose almost pressed against the glass. Another sound exploded far away on the shore. The anniversary celebrations had just turned even more glitzy. ‘They are so reminiscent of Diwali.’

  He shrugged. ‘Never understood the hype about Diwali anyway. Get together, have drinks. Go for all-traditional wear. Why can’t anyone do that any damn day?’

  She was silent. ‘You have never experienced a nice time of it.’ It was a statement.

  ‘I haven’t.’ He had already admitted as much to her, yet it felt like peeling off sticky Band-Aids as he forced himself to go on. He had asked her for honesty. If she asked, he couldn’t give less. Not that it felt easy. ‘My father usually picked a row with Mum every Diwali. At one time, I remember, she broke down and cried and I brought her a glass of water but she wouldn’t take it. She kept crying quietly and I kept standing there. God knows how long I stood and then I just couldn’t bear it any more so I went away. I heard the cracks and fizzes and booms of crackers all round.’ He could still feel the burning at the back of his eyes, kept open in the darkness that night. ‘I had this red night light in my room. Every year the colour of the light changed—blue, green—but the whole fiasco was the same. Later I found my father used to gamble every Diwali, then, win or lose, he would get drunk and row with Mum. He was worse if he lost. That was why Mum and he had those fights.’ But knowing that didn’t change things. It didn’t change having to listen to other kids’ stories without having your own to share. Or, rather, having a gruesome one of your own that you had to keep secret. ‘Once I got up in the morning and she had a bruise on her forehead but she insisted she’d walked into a door.’

  ‘O ma!’ Vishakha gasped softly. They stood in silence, letting the words die away. ‘Is that why you’re alone here now? Because you can’t bear the sound of crackers?’ Her voice was tight, full of feeling for him.

  ‘Analyzing me, sweetheart? A lost case, am I not?’ The light fell on her, on her delicate profile, the gleaming skin under the flimsy netted shoulders of her dress. He had the sudden urge to go to her and kiss her. Make her forget about these confidences that made him feel a python was wound over his ribs, crushing him ever tighter. He was trying to make the unease disappear and this woman, with her soft inquisit
iveness, obviously wasn’t going to let it.

  He said, more evenly, ‘Forget that. Tell me what you do on Diwali.’

  ‘The usual stuff, pooja, lighting diyas and candles and sparklers. Mom always makes chocolate cake. Not so traditional, but we get tired of eating the ghee sweets.’ She shrugged. ‘In the evening we give away a meal before taking dinner. Saira usually gets some burn stings from her pranks, trying to be daring with the explosive crackers.’

  ‘Not you? You prefer to be safe.’ That was so like her. He could imagine it.

  ‘Yes.’

  She fell silent. Sounds and cheers came from outside. Distant. As though they were the only two people there. Just the rocking of the boat—and them.

  ‘Come, watch,’ she invited, gesturing from the window. ‘It’s really beautiful.’

  He took a deep breath. Every Diwali he shut off the sights and blocked out the sounds with stereo music. This wasn’t it, he reminded himself. Besides, it was difficult to ignore that small stretched hand.

  The Gateway of India stood imposing against the darkness. The sky blazed with trails of light. A boom at the shore sent up a streak and it zoomed up, stilled and, with multiple sizzles, flowered into a chrysanthemum of spark showers. Another came in red. Then green, lilac and orange showers splattered the sky.

  ‘Wow!’ she breathed. ‘Spectacular.’

  ‘I didn’t know they made them like that now.’

  He looked down at her rapt face, upturned to the view, inhaled the scent of her skin. ‘You smell like exotic flowers.’

  ‘That’s my new body wash,’ she explained. ‘It’s black orchid and something.’

  ‘It’s delicious…seductive.’ He leaned in irresistibly and inhaled deeply as a thousand warning bells rang in his mind.

  He hadn’t meant to…he didn’t know what he’d quite meant to do…but with his hands placed on the paneled sides of the window either side of her he found himself fighting the urge to hold her.

  She turned within the circle and he tensed. This was madness. Her hands wandered up his chest, pushing the lapels of his jacket aside. Zaheer tried to find the strength to move away but found himself as motionless as a rock, wanting more, yet denying himself the freedom to go for it. But unable to step out of the range of temptation.