by Nicola Marsh
Her instincts screamed to refuse but he’d been nothing but helpful in organising their rooms, transport for tomorrow and entry to the bird sanctuary and the Taj. The least she could do was appear grateful rather than churlish.
‘Okay.’
Besides, it was only one drink. Barely enough time to make small talk, let alone anything else happening. Not that she wanted anything to happen.
Great, there went another blush. She quickly opened the door further and ushered him in.
‘Room okay?’
‘Are you kidding?’
When she’d wanted to stay here, she’d had no idea the rooms would be this gorgeous: the cusped archways, the carvings, the Bohemian crystal lights and the miniature paintings. It was like living in a fairy tale, being a princess for a night.
As long as there was no pea under the mattress, and no prince on top of it.
‘It’s fantastic.’
‘Good. For a while there, I thought you’d behead me for making us miss the train.’
‘Wasn’t like you did it on purpose.’
Guilt tightened his features as he turned away to uncork the champagne and pour it into the exquisite crystal flutes which were standard room supplies, but it disappeared as he handed her a glass, joined her on the sofa; she must’ve imagined it.
‘Here’s to the rest of the trip being as eventful.’
He raised his glass to hers, tapped it and drank, his eyes never leaving hers for a second.
There was something in his stare—something resolute, unwavering and it sent a shiver through her. She had to look away, had to break the spell cast over her the moment he’d walked into the room.
Was she kidding? He’d cast a spell on her the moment he’d landed in India and railroaded her trip.
Lowering his glass, he placed it on a nearby table and did the same with hers before leaning forward, way too close.
‘Tell me. Is my being here making you uncomfortable?’
‘A little.’
She settled for the truth, hating how gauche and floundering and out of her depth he made her feel. She hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t fostered this attraction or encouraged it but it was there all the same, buzzing between them, electrifying and alive, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.
‘Why?’
He didn’t back away. If anything, he leaned closer and her skin tingled where his shirt cuff brushed her wrist.
‘Because you’re the type of guy any woman in her right mind should stay away from,’ she blurted, silently cringing at her brusque outburst.
Rather than offending him, he laughed, the rich, deep chuckles as warm and seductive as the rest of him.
‘You keep coming back to that playboy thing. Don’t believe everything you hear.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘So you’re not a ladies’ man?’
‘Let’s just say my reputation may be embroidered somewhat.’
His laconic response drew a smile. While Ethan was trying to downplay his reputation, she had little doubt every word was true. She’d seen his passing parade of women, either in the tabloids or at the restaurant, and while she should be the last person to judge who he paired up with—look at the monumental mistake she’d made in marrying Richard—the vacuous women didn’t seem his type.
‘It really bothers you, doesn’t it? My past?’
She shrugged. ‘None of my business.’
‘I’d like it to be.’
He was so close now, his breath feathered over her cheek and she held her breath, wanting to move away, powerless to do so with her muscles locked in shock.
If she turned her head a fraction, he’d kiss her. His intent was clear—his words, his closeness, his body language—and she exhaled softly, her body quivering with the need to be touched, her heart yelling no, no, not him!
Rivers of heat flowed from her fingertips to her toes, searing a path through parts of her she’d forgotten existed. Her body blazed with it, lit up from within and in that instant her resolve was in danger of going up in flames.
‘Tell me what you want, Tam.’
The fire fizzed and spluttered and died a slow, reluctant death as reality hit.
She knew what she wanted: to build a new life, to move forward, without the encumbrance of a man.
Yet she was wavering, seriously contemplating giving in to her irrational attraction for a man—not just any man, a man totally wrong for her.
That thought was enough to snap her out of the erotic spell he’d wound around them and she leaned back, forcing a laugh to cover the relief mingled with regret that she’d come to her senses in time.
‘I want to take a look at that gorgeous brochure. So hand it over.’
He let her get away with it, but not before she saw the glitter of promise in his eyes.
This wasn’t the end of it—far from it.
Ethan waved the brochure at Tam, snatching it away as she reached for it, laughing at her outrage.
He’d wanted her to say those three magical words—I want you—three little words that would’ve given him the go-ahead to seduce her in this exquisite room, a memory to last her a lifetime.
He wasn’t a romantic, far from it, but he wanted her first time with him to be special, something she’d remember when they parted back in Melbourne.
After what she’d been through, she deserved special. Hell, she deserved the world on a plate and then some.
‘Give me that!’
He raised the brochure higher. ‘Uh-uh. Not until you ask nicely.’
She made a grab for it, leaning over far enough that the front of her robe parted and gave him a glimpse at heaven, her breasts lush and free and begging to be touched.
He swallowed, the game he was playing taking on new meaning as she leaned closer, reaching further, his lust skyrocketing as her tantalising exposed skin came within licking reach…
‘Hand it over.’ Laughing, she added, ‘Pretty pleeeease,’ before making a frantic lunge at his arm stretched overhead.
That last grab was her undoing, and his, as she teetered on her knees, precariously balanced, before tumbling against him and knocking him flat on his back on the sofa.
‘Oops, sorry.’
Staring up at her, propped over him, her palms splayed against his chest, her mouth inches from his, her eyes wide and luminous and darkening with desire, she didn’t look sorry in the least.
The brochure fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as she poised over him, hovered for an endless tension-fraught moment before lowering her head and slamming her mouth on his, eager, hungry, desperate.
He didn’t know what shocked him more: the sheer reckless abandon with which she kissed him or the yearning behind it as her lips skidded over his, craving purchase, demanding he respond.
He didn’t need to be asked twice, opening his mouth, the thrill of her tongue plunging in and exploring him tearing a groan from deep within.
How many times had he fantasised about having her?
But never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned her like this: crazy with passion, commanding, on top and totally in control.
Realisation slammed into him as she eased the kiss, lifted her head to stare at him with adoration in her glistening green eyes.
He wasn’t in control any more, had lost it the second she’d pinned him down and initiated the kiss, demanding a response he was all too willing to give, but at what cost?
If losing control wasn’t bad enough, the clear message in her eyes was.
She cared.
Too much.
He should’ve known a woman like her wouldn’t respond physically to him unless she made an emotional connection and, by his own foolishness in encouraging deeper conversations, she had, damn it.
He wanted her so badly his body throbbed with it but this was all wrong.
It had to be on his terms, with her fully aware of what she was getting into, without hope in her heart and stars in her eyes.
Placing his hands arou
nd her waist, he lifted her so he could sit up, releasing her when they sat side by side.
Confusion clouded her eyes, with just a hint of hurt, but he couldn’t acknowledge that, otherwise he’d find himself right back where he’d started, offering comfort when he shouldn’t, giving her the wrong idea.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
He stood and strode to the door, needing to retreat before she pushed for answers he wasn’t willing to give.
‘I thought that’s what you wanted.’
Her voice trembled, giving him another kick in the guts and he clenched his hands, thrust them into his pockets to stop himself from heading back to the sofa, sweeping her into his arms, carrying her to that tempting king-size bed and showing her exactly what he wanted.
‘What about what you want?’
‘That’s pretty obvious. At least, I thought it was. Maybe I’ve been out of practice too long.’
He jammed his fists further in his pockets, rocked by the relentless urge to go to her.
She sounded so sad, so confused, and it was his fault.
He needed to get out of here. Now.
Spinning to face her, he strode back to the sofa, picked up the brochure lying at her feet and placed it on her lap when she didn’t make a move to take it.
‘Here’s what you want.’ He stabbed a finger at the glossy image of the Taj Mahal. ‘I’m just a pushy guy bustling in on your dream.’
Her accusatory glare cut deep and he hated himself for putting her—them—in this position.
‘I don’t understand.’
Unable to resist dropping one last swift kiss on her lips, he muttered, ‘Neither do I,’ as he headed for the door.
CHAPTER SIX
TAMARA still didn’t understand the next day when they reached Bharatpur.
She’d spent a sleepless night, analysing the moment Ethan had pulled away, over and over, replaying it until she’d turned over and stuffed her face into the pillow to block out the memory.
She’d kissed him, he’d pulled away.
No matter how many times she went over it in her head, it all came back to that.
It didn’t make any sense. The way he’d been flirting, the way he’d been charming her from the moment she’d walked into Ambrosia and found him there, the way he’d been kissing her, repeatedly…
Something wasn’t right and, in the wee small hours of the morning, she’d come to a decision.
Forget the humiliation, forget the embarrassing kiss, forget she’d made a fool of herself.
This trip was too important to let one cringe-worthy moment tarnish it. She’d waited too long to take it, was finally discovering her old self beneath layers of battered esteem.
And she liked what she was discovering: that she could feel again, that being with a man could be pleasurable rather than horrifying, that she liked feeling like a desirable woman rather than an ornamental wife brought out of her box to perform on cue at dinner parties and shelved the rest of the time.
If that scared Ethan, tough.
Maybe the guy was too used to getting his own way, was one of those strong guys who preferred to do all the chasing? Well, he could keep chasing, for that was the first and last time she showed him how amazing she found this irrational, incongruous attraction.
She should be glad he’d back-pedalled today, had made urbane small talk and eased off the flirting on their trip here, had made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to discuss his about-face last night.
Instead, she found herself darting curious glances at him, trying to read his rigid expression—and failing—somewhat saddened by their long lapses into silence.
‘Your chariot…’
Ethan gestured at the rickshaw he’d hired to take them around Keoladeo Ghana National Park, Bharatpur’s famous bird sanctuary, and she smiled, relieved, when he responded with one of his own.
Buoyed by the first sign of anything other than irresolute self-control, she said, ‘Chariot, huh? Does that make you Prince Charming?’
He shook his head, but not before she glimpsed his familiar rakish smile, her heart flip-flopping against her will in response.
‘What is it with girls and princes?’
She could’ve elaborated on the whole ‘being swept off their feet, rescued and living happily ever after’ scenario girls loved from the moment they could walk. But considering her fantasy had evaporated quicker than Richard’s love for her, she shrugged and stepped up into the tiny rickshaw. Her relief at being sheltered from the relentless sun instantly evaporated as he swung up beside her and she realised how small these rickshaws really were.
‘Let’s get moving. I don’t want to spend too long here when we’ve got the Taj this afternoon.’
She agreed, though his brisk tone implied he couldn’t wait to get to the end of this trip, couldn’t get away from her quick enough.
She wasn’t going to overanalyse this, remember? Wasn’t going to waste time trying to read his mind or figure out his motivations.
‘Can’t wait.’
After instructing the driver to go, he leaned back, his thigh brushing hers, his arm wedged against hers as she wished her fickle body would stay with the programme.
This was a transient attraction, a natural reaction of her hormones considering she hadn’t been with a man for almost two years. Richard hadn’t touched her during that last year of their marriage, and she hadn’t wanted him to. It made her skin crawl just thinking about where he’d been at the time, who he’d been with.
Silence stretched taut between them and she needed to say something—anything—to distract from her skin prickling with awareness where it touched his.
‘My mum talked about the Taj constantly. About its inception, its history, but she never got to see it. This was going to be her first time…’
Her breath hitched on a part sob and she clamped her lips shut, wishing he’d sling an arm across her shoulders and cradle her close. He’d been nothing but comforting the last time she’d spoken about Khushi, had encouraged her to do so.
But, despite the momentary flicker of compassion in his eyes, the flash of understanding, he remained impassive, jaw clenched so hard the muscles bulged.
‘You’ll get to see it through her eyes, through her stories. You may be the one standing before it today but she’ll be the one bringing it alive for you.’
She raised her gaze to his, emotion clogging her throat, tears stinging her eyes, but he glanced away, leaving her torn between wanting to hug him for saying something so perfect and throttle him for cheapening it by looking away.
‘Thanks, I needed to hear that.’
‘My pleasure.’
Empty words, considering there was nothing remotely pleasurable about the barrier he’d erected between them, the severing of an emotional connection no matter how tentative.
She’d been frozen inside for years, emotionally frigid as she’d shut down to cope with Richard’s psychological abuse, numbing her feelings to stop the constant barrage of verbal put-downs and criticism.
She’d thought she was incapable of feeling anything again, yet Ethan had given her that gift.
Despite the urge to go running and screaming in the opposite direction, the more he charmed her, despite the fear that her body was responding to him and overthrowing her mind, despite the paralysing terror of feeling anything for a man ever again, she’d allowed him to get close enough to melt the icy kernel surrounding her heart and, for that, she was eternally grateful.
Her lower lip wobbled at the thought of how far she’d come and she blinked, inhaled sharply, her senses slammed by his sandalwood scent from the hotel’s luxurious selection of complimentary toiletries, as she savoured the illicit pleasure of being this close to him.
With a small shake of her head, she pulled a guidebook from her bag and rattled open the pages, desperate for a diversion from her thoughts, her emotions and the uneasy silence.
‘It says here this place i
s a bird paradise, with over three hundred and eighty species, including some rare Siberian cranes.’
He turned, leaned over her shoulder, peered at the book and she held her breath, unprepared for all that hard male chest to be wedged up against her.
‘What else have they got?’
Forced to breathe in order to answer him, she inhaled another heady lungful of pure male tinged with sandalwood, momentarily light-headed. Her palms were clammy, her body on fire and her head spun with the implications of how she was reacting to him, despite all her self-talk that she shouldn’t.
Peering at the guidebook as if it had all the answers to questions she shouldn’t even be contemplating, she cleared her throat.
‘Hawks, pelicans, geese, eagles among countless other species, and they also have golden jackals, jungle cats, striped hyenas, blackbuck and wild boar.’
‘Great.’
Yeah, great. He’d hired the rickshaw driver for an hour and in that time she’d be stuck here, nice and tight, unable to breathe without his tantalising scent assailing her, unable to move without encountering way too much firm muscle, unable to think without rehashing reasons why this could be better if he opened up and she shed her inhibitions.
As a pelican flew at the rickshaw in an indignant rage, the driver swerved, throwing her flush against Ethan and all that glorious hard muscle.
Righting her, he smiled, a warm, toe-curling smile that reached down to her heart, the type of smile that made resistance futile, the first genuine smile he’d given her all day.
Desperate to prolong the moment now she’d finally seen a glimpse of the old Ethan, she said, ‘No need to throw myself at you, huh?’
Her hands splayed against his chest, the rhythmic pounding of his heart proof that he was as affected by their proximity as her.
‘You don’t hear me complaining.’
He held her gaze and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, the distant screech of an eagle as hauntingly piercing and achingly poignant as the sudden yearning to stay like this, touching him, secure in his arms, for more than a brief moment.
She wanted to push him for answers, to ask why he’d gone cold on her but, as much as her foolhardy heart urged her, she couldn’t do it.
