Bollywood Fiancé for a Day Page 8

  ‘Maybe that will make it all the more believable,’ he drawled.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ZAHEER SWAM TO the steps of the swimming pool and climbed out, dripping water on the deck. The night breeze was cool on his damp skin.

  He made his way to the poolside table where the hotel staff had left the Kamikaze he’d ordered. Ice-cold, the way he liked it. The swim had felt doubly good because the exercise had made him forget his thoughts.

  He kept ignoring every voice of caution in his head, not that he had much practice of listening to them, but this time he really thought he should be. Vishakha hadn’t been so far wrong in imposing limits on their physical relationship. He needed to have them in place. Something to keep the chemistry from kicking to life every time he stepped near her. He’d told Mia he was getting engaged and was in Lucknow, in response to her repetitive texts. He’d told Vishakha he was there to help hold off her father’s panic. But if you wiped the steam away from the mirror, the truth was that he’d been thinking of the kiss they’d shared ever since it had happened. Remembering the soft vulnerability, the simmering anger, the suppressed desire. It had been a stupid impulse to kiss her on her porch. Royally brainless coming on to her with the finesse equivalent to that of a caveman. But, dammit, it had been worth it. A kiss that had rocked his world. He was imagining things, he told himself, but the only way to disprove it was to repeat the experience…

  A thought that immediately sent blood pumping faster through his system. But the vulnerability he sensed in her…that alone should have been enough to put him in his place. Her outward caustic and biting front hid intense emotions. Something tugged at him to let all that insecurity loose. When she’d said people would be sceptical of their engagement he’d been thoroughly tempted to prove to her just how deluded they—and she—were if they thought he didn’t want her. Prove it in a way that left no doubt in her mind.

  He had to be crazy to even think it. He was here for a purpose, not to dally around with any cute doctor. And certainly not to sort out her emotional baggage.

  Just help her pick it up.

  He put down the glass and picked up the towel to rub his face and chest. He’d adjusted his schedule to stay here till her sister’s wedding. Why, when he could have flown back after the ring ceremony? Why was he juggling his life around to make sure he met Vishakha’s needs? The ad director had to be told to postpone his shoot. His Adventure Club pals had wanted to meet to schedule another adrenaline pumping stunt and he had put them off. Hadn’t he always avoided marriage just because of these kinds of hassles?

  * * *

  Similar thoughts occupied his mind the following morning at the ring ceremony. He looked around the pale yellow-and-violet-themed ballroom, finding himself surrounded by all the things he’d sworn to avoid for as long as possible. The crowd of overdressed relatives. The ring burning a hole in his pocket. Round yellow ladoos under transparent yellow covering in the red and gold cardboard boxes. Strings of jasmine and marigold over the centre stage proclaiming the piousness of the occasion. Even jamun leaves glued to the overhead rafters of the shamiana. Or were they mango? What the hell did it matter?

  This was so not him.

  The safe and conventional path wasn’t for him; he’d flouted it at every step. Had rebelled at the engineering career his father had carved out for him, run away from home to pursue his Bollywood dream. Three years later, when it had looked as though he wouldn’t make it in the movies, he’d set off to taste adventure in its most daring form. He could still taste the exhilaration of riding narrow potholed strips of tarmac up five thousand metre high passes to the remote but starkly beautiful Ladakh, the dangerous lure of lone surfing on Andaman Archipelago, the most isolated surfing spot on the planet, the careless indulgence of chancy dirt track stunts. All that adventure had not been in vain—his films were known for daring action thrills stunted by him.

  In the hip circles he frequented, he’d deftly shaken off the most determined society mamas to preserve his freedom. Convention and he just didn’t go together.

  Now he was bowing down to it, inviting relatives he hadn’t contacted for years to give him away. OK, scratch that. To welcome his bride-to-be to the family. It was all staged by him but the problem was he had finally registered it was happening and that to everyone, other than himself and Vishakha, it was real. So real, in fact, he was in danger of being sucked into it all.

  He felt a sudden uneasiness and ran a finger round the inside of the round collar of his royal-blue sherwani, the traditional richly embroidered knee-length coat that his tailor had personally delivered this morning.

  Hell, he needed a drink.

  He walked to where the bar was set up, then remembered. As the esteemed son-in-law, he shouldn’t fall from grace. Then he shrugged. What the hell, he needn’t cater to his new-found relatives. Already all this was beginning to feel too real.

  One of Vishakha’s uncles wandered over and saw him toss down a measure. ‘I drank too at my wedding,’ he told Zaheer. ‘They wouldn’t have got me tied to your masi otherwise.’ He chuckled hugely at his joke, clinking glasses with Zaheer.

  Your masi. God, he was already collecting relatives en masse and he hadn’t even got the band encircling his finger yet. Last night he’d been all too eager, his inner voice mocked him. That was what came of being kind. He hoped Vishakha appreciated what he was doing for her.

  Although, with their currently virtuous relationship, he couldn’t even claim her appreciation in the time-honoured way.

  His newly formed brothers, Vishakha’s cousins, led him to the flower-decorated stage, with two silver-gilded chairs arranged in the centre. After the fashion of a wedding ritual, brightly dressed girls escorted Vishakha to him.

  At least something was worth all the hassle. She looked stunning in a peach and blue body-hugging top and long-skirted lehanga that left her slim waist bare. Tiny bead-like ghungroo edged the hem of her bodice tantalizingly. A gauzy dupatta was draped on her head over glossy black tresses, arranged to show off silver and blue bunch-hoop earrings. He liked the way her eyes widened as she took him in.

  ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ he whispered, offering a chivalrous hand to help her on the stage and drawing her nearer than she would have come otherwise, liking the sparks forming in her eyes as she understood his meaning.

  She took a step away, her eyes widening again as her sense of smell worked. ‘You drank at my engagement!’ she said in an undertone. She sounded aghast.

  ‘Just one quick drink. Relax. No one’s going to get close enough to find out except you. You may have a problem kissing me, though. Not liking alcohol and all.’

  ‘Since there’s not likely to be a repeat of that kiss, there’s no problem at all,’ she whispered back fiercely.

  ‘Is that a challenge, babe?’

  More sparks from the brown eyes. She said, ‘Before we get this engagement done, we’d better be clear about this. There won’t be any fringe benefits.’

  ‘I told you before that your bossiness is very tempting. You should know by now that setting rules like that is just inviting me to break them. Tell me one more time what I’m not supposed to do…’

  ‘OK…’ She cast a look around. ‘How about you’re not supposed to slap Bubbly Auntie on the bum?’ She tried to keep her mouth straight and failed as they both looked at that lady’s ample sari-clad bottom. Their eyes met and they exchanged grins.

  ‘So you do have a sense of fun. Surprise! Wonder what we can do with it?’ he mused.

  He looked down at her, slender except for the lush curves of her figure. The upturned bow of her mouth still betrayed her amusement, nut-brown eyes alight with mischief. He had an insane impulse to kiss her again.

  He realized he was leaning towards her, smiling down at her, and straightened. What? In full view, right in the midst of her clan? Though it would give them something to talk about for the next five years at least, he thought wryly.

  Behind them the ring boxes
were being opened. He’d given Vishakha’s ring to his aunt, who had arrived hurriedly just at the start of the function.

  He looked straight ahead as he spoke. ‘Don’t worry about the kiss, OK? That one yesterday was very spur of the moment. I have no intention of repeating it.’ He hadn’t, he told himself. And now he doubly didn’t when he’d practically told her that. ‘Besides, I know we can’t go far in that direction. You are not the type to want a casual fling.’ Was the warning for himself or her?

  ‘As though I’m even considering—’ She broke off to add instead, ‘You’re right. I’m not.’

  They were handed the rings. Applause broke out as Zaheer slipped the ring on Vishakha’s third finger.

  ‘So I’m glad that’s sorted.’ Oh, really?

  ‘Me too.’

  His gaze held hers as she slid the broad gold ring encrusted with a square-cut diamond into place on the ring finger of his right hand. She held his hand as they looked into each other’s eyes for the photographs.

  Tension simmered between them. She looked away, face perfectly composed. He had the instinct to cage her hands and drag her to face him, force that shield to crack. That wasn’t what she’d been like last evening in his arms. The memory of her soft mouth beneath his flooded him, the sudden need to recapture that moment making his body tighten in anticipation.

  Cheering broke out, along with foam spray, and someone popped open champagne. Zaheer breathed in and came back to earth, smiling with practised ease. The girls showered flower petals till they tangled in everyone’s hair, the air filled with the heady scent of rose and the piquancy of marigold.

  He found himself cursing mentally. Not a pleasant feeling that he was having now. The girl he had by his side, the girl whose kiss had inspired a huge chunk of his dreams last night, he’d just promised to keep his hands off.

  If he was suffering from frustration, the best thing would be to get away from her. Instead he had signed on for spending several days with her. Maybe the novelty would fade over time, he reasoned. Meanwhile he had some mingling to do with the relatives. Dancing commenced and he was roped in, the single reporter he’d allowed in getting swollen fingers from clicking shots.

  It hit him again that he was doing everything he’d always sworn not to do. Being part of the whole Indian ceremonies thing. Enclosed in a crowd of people who welcomed him as one of their own.

  Getting in too deep, Saxena?

  The price would be worth it, he told himself. He had to have Vishakha’s trust for this scheme to succeed. He’d just have to keep his libido on hold and concentrate on the objective.

  * * *

  Looking into the amber-green gaze as she moved with the music, shoulder to shoulder with him in the bhangra steps, Vishakha searched the depths that gave nothing away. What was she looking for anyway? Nothing mattered to him. Zaheer was no gentleman, even if the term had become unfashionable now. His parents hadn’t come for the engagement. She wondered what they would say to his ostensibly proposing to her. He hadn’t mentioned them at all. It had disturbed her even as she had taken the blessings from his maternal uncle and aunt, who’d come for the event.

  That kiss and last night’s gaffe still made her a bit stiff with him. The answer is important to you, he’d jibed, which made it clear he knew she’d been hanging out for the admission from him that he found her attractive.

  Despite all the logic, she knew she was mad enough to want it, to want him to look at her again with that gold-flecked gaze, as he had after that kiss.

  How could she be so contrary? Hadn’t she herself told him to cut out the hanky-panky?

  And see how readily he’d agreed.

  What else would he do? He was right. Being physical was not on the menu. She wasn’t the type to indulge in casual affairs. It hurt that it hadn’t even taken a handful of meetings for him to pick up on that. Did she appear so unsophisticated, then?

  Oh God, she nearly groaned at her own confused thoughts. Did she want a man to desire her for what she looked like? Or did she want him to love her for who she was? And, anyway, Zaheer wasn’t even a candidate.

  The dancing broke up and Zaheer was veered away by someone.

  Last night he’d kissed her and she hadn’t worn a shred of make-up then. In fact she’d been totally disadvantaged in her old clothes and piled up hair. Had he been turned off because of that?

  She was being silly. The man had promised to be honourable, maybe out of respect for the elders or her stepfather’s strict concern. Whatever. She should be thankful he’d decided to keep his distance. She couldn’t want to get involved with a rake, could she? Of course not.

  It was just silly hero-worship to follow him with her gaze. Easy and indolent, yet with that arrogant tilt of his head, he was smiling charmingly at his companion, catching her gaze on the off-chance as he glanced up, so that she had to pretend to be looking elsewhere.

  * * *

  ‘Have you enjoyed yourself?’ Zaheer directed a quizzical look at her.

  In the air-conditioned limo going home with him, Vishakha felt all too conscious of his nearness. She’d spent the afternoon being close to him. Everyone had pushed her again to dance with Zaheer. And he’d gone a step further under the encouragement and caught her round the waist for a ballroom swirl and twist modified to a quickened version to time with the bangra beat. To the ‘ooh’ing gratification of their audience. Her cousins had cheered and hooted as he’d twirled her round expertly, leaving her breathless and clutching him dizzily. The feel of hard muscles had been imprinted on her fingers ever since. So had the feel of the steely proprietorial arm imprinted on her waist, holding her at his side the rest of the time.

  ‘Great party, huh?’

  Vishakha couldn’t disagree with that. ‘Mostly because of you. You’re a thorough entertainer. You enjoy being the centre of attention, don’t you?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’ he replied. The limo purred through the afternoon traffic but it might have been a dark night. Cloaked inside the temperature control and noise-resistant glass, the world was shut out. ‘I used to love being on stage. As a kid, I used to play all sorts of tricks on teachers, act the clown in the classroom, just to get the claps. My teacher gave me a part in the school play to get rid of me. But I loved it. It felt good to get up there and do my thing. And soon they were seeking me out to have me on the stage. Partly because I was the only one who didn’t forget his lines.’ The mocking air dropped from him as he smiled reminiscently. ‘Couldn’t remember the textbooks but I never forgot my dialogues.’

  She found herself thinking of a young Zaheer. With a thatch of dark hair with brown highlights and those keen eyes. She realized she was smiling at the image and straightened her mouth. It was happening. She was in danger of being under his spell. How foolish that would be.

  He was still smiling at her in a sharing way, maybe wanting to hear her childhood exploits. But she couldn’t tell him, feeling as vulnerable as she did already. Suffering from an overdose of Zaheer Saxena. First the arm stealing around her waist like a snake when they had danced, then the way she’d collapsed against his chest, dizzy with the fast moves. His face had come so close she could see even his pupils and the gold and the green of his irises, rimmed by a darker ring. The thick, straight eyelashes. The direct piercing gaze.

  The limo was suddenly suffocating. She caught a glimpse of dark chest hair in his undone achkan neckline and was surprised. Because wasn’t his appearance always so custom-made? Metro-slicked and style-coated. The dance had run up some sweat and his hair clung slightly to his scalp, a lock falling on his forehead, the musk of his perfume mingling with his scent.

  The air-conditioning seemed to be working less efficiently than ever.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Was there a touch of humour underlying the tone? He tried to catch her shoulder to turn her towards him and she jerked away.

  ‘Will you quit trying to get physical? You took enough advantage all afternoon.’

  ‘Hel-lo!’ He snap
ped fingers in her face. ‘We’re supposed to be engaged, remember? Your relatives would be more suspicious if I hadn’t laid a hand on you. If it bugs you so much, I’ll hold you at an arm’s length in future. It’s not as though I’m bitten by the craze to touch you.’

  * * *

  As soon as he’d said it, Zaheer grimaced. If only that was true. Invisible sparks seemed to be arching between them. As though static ran all around her and he only had to step near to her to be zapped by electricity. It was taking repeated reminders to himself to step back. The feel of silken skin under his hands as they danced, the soft tremulous lips, dark eyes wide as though waiting for him to lead them both down the path to exploration…all played irresistibly like sweet music in his memory, setting his pulse speeding.

  ‘Not that you seemed to mind it a while ago,’ he couldn’t help adding.

  ‘You flatter yourself.’

  ‘And you keep trying your luck. I’ve run out of patience wanting to teach you a lesson…’ His hands curled around her upper arms. ‘You’ve been waiting for me to do this all day.’

  Well, he would rather be punished after the deed than before it.

  * * *

  She gazed into his eyes, dark in the shadow, and stopped breathing.

  He suspended movement for an instant, just looked down at her. She could see the details of his face, the line of his thick short lashes, the smooth skin, clean-cut features, the full sensuous lower lip slightly moist. Her lungs expanded painfully. She hovered at the verge, knowing she should do something to stop it. Stop him. Yet, even as the thought formed, an insidious, horribly familiar curiosity overtook her, startling her so much that sound died in her throat.

  He was bending close. Closer.