Bollywood Fiancé for a Day Page 15

  She touched his collar and slipped the top button out, then the next. And the next. Splaying her hand inside against his skin. The touch was soft. Warm. More than warm. Arms tense, muscles corded, he just stood there. Maybe she could feel his tension. Control hung by a tenuous thread as a storm pulsed inside him. He was fighting his own desire—and now hers too.

  ‘Zaheer…’ Her voice was soft, husky, the hidden promise in it nearly making him mindless. ‘Chest hair?’ she teased breathlessly, fingers tangling there. ‘Hmm, I thought you waxed? For the action hero look.’

  ‘Not for this film. Period drama, remember?’ he muttered, then warned, ‘Vishakha!’ Abruptly, he caught her hands as they wandered. Though looking away from the glimmer in her eyes was the hardest thing to do.

  ‘You want to be safe,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I preferred to be safe,’ she corrected, ‘but that’s not applicable now.’

  ‘I didn’t say it to taunt you.’

  ‘I know you didn’t. It’s me. I want to be more daring.’

  Zaheer inhaled, her words sending a rush of adrenaline through his blood.

  ‘I’ve been trying to keep it all locked up, afraid to admit how I felt about you. I was running away from my own feelings.’ She took a breath. ‘But not any more. I want to tell you how much I’ve been attracted to you. I haven’t…’ her voice went soft and husky with feeling ‘…I’ve never felt this way before.’

  The words seeped inside him like rain on parched summer soil. Any more of this and he would be disconnecting with reason entirely.

  ‘It could never work between us. We are poles apart.’

  ‘I’m not asking you for a commitment, Zaheer. I know you aren’t capable of it. I’m not even asking for a relationship…’

  This was the same woman who’d always said she wouldn’t give it away without a title. He shook his head, reiterating, ‘It won’t work. You’re made for birthdays, anniversaries. Family traditions. All the things that show how a person is cherished. I don’t have any idea how to do that, much less care about all that stuff.’ He took her hands down and stepped away. ‘I can’t give you anything like that. And finally you’ll hate me for it.’ He turned from her. He needed to get away. While he still could.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JUST THIS EVENING, he told himself as the limo drew up outside Vishakha’s hotel. Mia and Armaan’s dinner and dance party would be ample opportunity to see how Mia had taken the news of his engagement. Not that he had any doubt. No woman with the arrogance Mia had would ever pursue a man who’d publicly made his preference for another woman obvious to the whole world. Tonight was just the cherry on top to finalize things.

  And then what? Vishakha would go and he would be back to his normal life. Partying, seeking thrills, trying to find something newer, ever more daring to challenge himself with? The thought produced an uncharacteristic hollow feeling. Had all that stuff been just to fill his life with something? And why didn’t it matter so much to him now?

  What he thought of right this moment was walking barefoot in the sand with Vishakha. Shading her from the sun as she squinted up. Her delight as she looked around what was proclaimed to be the largest mall in Asia. His enjoyment in the wonder apparent in her expression at Tiger Point in Lonawala. His crazy impulse to delight her even more…right to the zenith of physical pleasure.

  He inhaled. You’ve no business thinking that, guru.

  She was nothing but someone with whom he’d made a deal. And after rejecting her the last time they’d met he had no right to expect even her friendship.

  A worthy thought but one that became difficult to hold on to as his gaze alighted on her in a diamond-sprinkled aqua and blue sari, the filmy cloth artfully draped to mould her form. How could a garment so long cover so little? He could only marvel at the ingenuity of whoever had fashioned the garment, not that he felt charitable towards the unknown person at that moment. Light glanced off the white gold choli perfectly encasing her breasts, leaving her waist long and tantalizingly bare, indented just where his hand should rest…

  Resisting the temptation, he touched her back as they left the hotel. Soft, lustrous hair fell down her back and made the oval cut-out back of her choli respectable. Barely.

  She looked beautiful. Alluring. Sexy.

  She also looked aloof, remote, cool.

  He knew why. Rejection in any form must be hurtful to her and he hadn’t helped matters by dismissing the passion between them so peremptorily.

  Ironically, it had been her feelings he was concerned about. He could’ve told her about the frustration clawing his gut every night and making sleep impossible…

  Just this one night to get through before they could part ways, he reminded himself again. The more unemotional they could be, the better.

  Unemotional. The word ricocheted in his mind like an echo bouncing off the walls of an empty room. He knew how much it had taken for her to admit her desire for him. He could tell how badly his refusal had hurt her. But he knew too if she had admitted to feeling attracted to him, there might be deeper feelings for him underneath. He couldn’t take the weight of those. He needed her to be away from him in case something more dangerous grew between them. Deeper emotion that couldn’t be reined in as easily as desire.

  Not that there was anything easy about containing desire. The night he’d spent a quarter of in swimming away his restlessness, was proof of that.

  Vishakha was new to this, liable to get caught in the riptide. He needed her to forget him, put him out of her life before she was hurt too badly.

  What about him? Would he be able to do that?

  The scent of orchids mingled with the car perfume and his hands clenched. A crazy question, if ever there was one. Frustration was really having a field day with him.

  He wished he had chosen to drive; it would have kept him busy. He should have known that he would pay too much attention to Vishakha if he was free.

  The venue was Armaan Khan’s new thirty thousand square feet property. Word had gone around that it had been designed by one of the top architecture firms. The pink cassia and foxtail palms that ringed the house were rumoured to have been transplanted fully grown.

  Mia stood just inside the entrance, greeting the guests. Yesterday, at the yacht, she’d looked slightly stunned at actually seeing Vishakha with him. She ought to get it firmly fixed in her head today that he was unavailable to her. And then, Zaheer decided grimly, he could breathe easy.

  * * *

  Vishakha took in the frothing flower vases set in all corners of the banquet hall, the brilliance of the giant central chandelier, the sparkling, scintillating guests, the hostess in backless silver grey lamé.

  Zaheer looked his usual suave self, but she could see the edge in his smile. Had she put it there? Was he angry with her about yesterday? But she’d needed to say it, let him know how she felt. With just a day before she left, she had wanted to take a chance on having what she could with him and damn caution.

  He looked good enough to be plated. In a glossy black suit with satiny teal-blue waistcoat and the deadly fit of the one button jacket over it, the stubble on his jaw just added to his broody dark aura today. The saber sharp narrowed hazel gaze gave him a rakish pirate air.

  Everyone faded away and she could see only him. Tomorrow she was going back home. And then…Then what? She wasn’t going to hold her breath till she saw him again. It’d be a damn foolish thing to do anyway. As soon as she was out of the picture he would be hooked up with someone else. Not Mia. From the enthusiasm she’d seen in him when talking of his film, she knew he’d told her the truth. His only concern was getting the diva off his back and finishing the film. Even if Mia was excluded, the queue of available, willing women didn’t end there. Of course he’d have to find someone discreet, as he was still supposed to be engaged to her. But who wouldn’t trade a zipped mouth for being with Zaheer Saxena?

  The thought formed a hollow cave inside her, settling down uncomfortab
ly in there like an unwanted guest. Why did it hurt to think that? She’d always known it. Theirs was a temporary arrangement in name only. What else would he do?

  It had begun to feel like more. She had begun to see someone else in there, someone who wasn’t an arrogant, shallow playboy. Someone who was kind, generous, sexy, charming…She wanted to have him tell her more about himself, wanted to wipe away each of those bitter childhood memories enunciated by his mouth and replace them with her kisses…

  Was she mad? Zaheer didn’t exactly lack for sympathizers—women who could offer him so much more than she could.

  She was the outsider. Only dressed to match these people. But, as she’d been once, a small child walking home from school and watching parents buying their kids ice cream, she was again on the outside looking in. The glittering women, overloud laughter, the repetitive clink of glasses began to thrum inside her head, forming a pulsating ache. She couldn’t wait for this party to be over…

  * * *

  Sometimes every moment dragged. And this was one of those times. Every time he looked at Vishakha he was clutched with the impulse to ask her to stay with him. Tomorrow seemed to become a leaden weight on the horizon, about to crash down on his shoulders.

  He was standing in the recessed porch, looking at the herbaceous potted plants, and he tensed as he heard a step behind him.

  ‘Mia,’ he said without turning, as he felt the touch on his shoulder. Not Vishakha, he could tell by the scent, so it only left her. Though the strength of his wish that it was Vishakha made a complete mockery of all his good intentions where she was concerned.

  Inside, dancing had commenced and he’d excused himself, preferring the secluded semi-darkness. If he had to hold Vishakha in his arms now…

  ‘How astute you are, Zaheer!’ the woman laughed. ‘And also clever.’

  He turned to look at her, reading the underlying nuance in her tone. She continued, ‘Clever to find a fiancée so opportunely.’

  The game was up. He didn’t know how she had found out. But she had. ‘What are you trying to say?’ he grated.

  ‘I heard your supposed betrothed begging you for more last night. How hard you are, Zaheer! But I’m not complaining. Smart of you to think of a way to convince Armaan like that. Don’t worry. I don’t mean to give the game away. Fiancées and husbands can be quite convenient if properly used…If you know what I mean?’

  He got her meaning all right. But obviously she hadn’t caught on to the true state of things. ‘If you like freedom, why get shackled, Mia?’

  She shrugged lightly. ‘Let’s say a time comes in everyone’s life when they may as well settle down. Well, what do you say? Armaan is going to be checking the set all day tomorrow. I’m free—’

  She stepped up close, laying a hand on his lapel. He gripped her upper arms, giving her a little shake of impatience. ‘This isn’t a game you can win, Mia. You are going to be damned for this!’

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  Bloody hell! The last thing he needed was his director coming upon them when Mia was alone with him. Disgusted, Zaheer let her go, seeing the rapidly reddening face of his host.

  ‘Armaan!’ Mia stumbled over to him. Zaheer clenched his fists, cursing his loss of control at this ill-timed moment, but Mia’s effrontery had been beyond belief.

  ‘Ask this woman who calls herself your wife,’ he bit out.

  ‘Armaan, he…he’s still in love with me.’ Mia wasn’t an acclaimed actress for nothing. Her voice held the horror of recent discovery and, more amazingly, tears. ‘He’s been forcing me to meet him behind your back. And he threatened to tell you all sorts of lies about him and me if I didn’t agree.’

  Zaheer felt his fists bunch. ‘You little—’

  ‘I can’t believe you did this, Zaheer,’ Armaan gritted. ‘When I trusted you enough to give you a role in this movie, despite all the talk about Mia and you. How the hell—’ Words failed him and then he stood staring at Zaheer.

  Zaheer saw in his eyes the antagonism of an adversary. The air had changed, tension riding high, and he wasn’t quite the congenial host any more.

  ‘She’s lying,’ he said flatly. No use gold-plating the ugly truth.

  ‘No!’ Armaan swallowed, turned away, turned back, obviously fighting for control…and failing because his face was suffused with black rage, the finger he finally levelled at Zaheer shaking. ‘This finishes it all. That’s it. I don’t care what happens but you’re out of it!’

  It took seconds for his meaning to sink in. Armaan had just cast him out of the film. Zaheer felt muscles coil tight as though preparing to deflect a knife hand strike in a martial attack move.

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ Breath squeezed out of his lungs. He wasn’t going to beg, damn it. But that film was his ladder, his plane to go up and up till he could skydive and feel the thrill of being weightless and free.

  Now he had crash-landed.

  ‘I have nothing more to say.’ Zaheer felt ice creep up his spine at Armaan’s words. So they were going to be civilized about it. ‘Whether the film makes it to the floors or not, I’m not having you in line of my cameras! And that’s final. Final. Our lawyers can sort it out with the producer tomorrow.’

  Zaheer wasn’t staying there to hear the rest of it. He went back inside the huge hall. For a minute it all seemed unreal, the colours too bright. He blinked. It had been dark outside. What a laugh! It was bloody dark inside too.

  * * *

  ‘Zaheer! What’s happened?’ Vishakha asked, worried at the look on his face.

  They were in the car. Zaheer had suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.

  ‘Nothing. We have another party to attend, that’s all.’ He smiled as though he had no care in the world.

  She didn’t like that smile. He was hiding something and it caused a little pain inside her. So she couldn’t even ask him that. He’d gently but firmly nudged her away, making it hard to even be his friend.

  Was it Mia? Had he found he had feelings for her? Her heart missed a beat as the thought popped in. What if her reading of that situation had been wrong? She knew how he felt love was an unwanted burden in his life. Had he just discovered he’d been running away uselessly?

  Was that why he’d rejected her last night? Because she couldn’t replace Mia after all?

  They stopped at an eminent bayside hotel, the interior done in a contemporary minimalist style. Zaheer nodded and greeted the various acquaintances, the usual flashy crowd, avoiding the milling dance floor. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss. She wanted to talk to him. About his troubles. Herself. Him. Them. What time did she have? She had a morning flight. Surely she couldn’t go without—without what? she asked herself. What did she want to say to him now?

  Her throat went tight. Then there was a moment of respite in the incessant buzz of people and she cornered him. ‘Zaheer, we have to talk. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘I know that, babe.’ He leaned back against one of the waist-high chrome glass tables dotted around, his eyes on the crowd rather than on her.

  ‘Do we have to spend our time together like this?’ She had to ditch her pride and say it, suspecting what she did about Mia, but the words came from the depths of her. Whatever she felt, she should at least talk to him, feel again that empathy they’d shared. Say goodbye properly.

  ‘What’s wrong with this?’ He waved a hand casually.

  ‘We could spend some time alone. It might be a better way of saying goodbye.’

  He finally stared into her eyes. ‘I don’t have a better way of doing that.’

  ‘We can try to remember our time together pleasantly,’ she persisted.

  ‘Pleasantly? What exactly do you expect from me, Vishakha?’

  He wasn’t listening. She was losing him. Tomorrow it might be too late.

  Why was he doing this?

  He didn’t want Mia after all. He couldn’t, from what he’d told her about the woman before. S
he took a deep breath. She had to have faith in him and in herself. He’d talked to her about his deepest feelings. Shared what she knew he hadn’t with anyone else. They had something. Sometimes it felt perilously close to—

  To love. Briefly she closed her eyes, her hand seeking the support of the table edge. It felt so strong in her heart, whatever it was. For the first time in her life, she wanted to chance it. Explore. Live.

  ‘If you ask me, then I won’t go back tomorrow, Zaheer. I can stay, if you need me.’

  She met his gaze, which was hooded, narrowed. ‘You have a job to go back to.’

  She did, but some madness had taken root because she found herself saying, ‘I’ll leave it. I can get another here…we have something, Zaheer, we can’t just let it go.’

  God, she was talking of a long-term, or at least an intermediate, relationship here. She hadn’t meant to. Was she begging him? Certainly imploring him to reconsider. Her breath became unsteady, her heart pounded, but he was shaking his head, eyes totally unreadable. Like malachite chips as they looked at her.

  ‘It’s over, Vishakha.’

  ‘What is?’ she whispered.

  ‘We’re done here. You understand. Done.’

  ‘Done?’

  There were white lines bracketing his mouth. ‘I’m out of the movie. And I don’t need you any more,’ he ground out.

  Some people had stopped talking, sensing something was going on, and started listening to them.

  He had to have seen that but he continued, not bothering to lower his voice. ‘Our. Bogus. Engagement. Is off.’

  A soft gasp arose around them and Vishakha blanched. ‘Zaheer…’

  His face was like a carved mask, pale, chiselled, the bones sharply drawn. He spoke in a steady, measured way. ‘It’s so over, Vishakha. There isn’t any need to pretend to everyone any more. Your problem is already solved and mine is redundant. So is this farce. Let’s split now, shall we?’