A Trip with the Tycoon

by Nicola Marsh

  She’d taken a risk on a man once before and her judgement had been way off. She’d thought Richard had been a safe bet, she’d trusted him and look how that had turned out. Trusting Ethan would be tantamount to handing him her heart on a serving platter complete with carving knives.

  As she tried to muster a response, he straightened her, putting her away from him with strong yet gentle hands. ‘You know what you look like?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A worm surrounded by the entire population of this bird sanctuary.’

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, allowed his fingers to linger, brushing the soft skin of her neck. ‘I’m not going to bite, Tam. So quit looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf.’

  Before she could respond, he ducked his head, captured her mouth in a swift, urgent kiss that barely lasted a second, leaving her dazed and stunned and more baffled than ever.

  ‘Though I have to say, you’d look great in red.’

  With that, he turned to watch a gaggle of geese take flight as she sat there, bracing her feet to stop herself from rocking against him any more than necessary, absolutely speechless, thoroughly perplexed, and touching her trembling lips with a shaky hand.

  He confounded, mystified and thoroughly bamboozled her, blowing hot and cold just like his employees said and, right now, she wanted to be like those geese. Free to take off, free to expand her wings, free to be whoever she wanted to be.

  She wanted to feel carefree and light-hearted and unburdened for the first time in years, wanted to have the courage to explore outside her comfort zone, to let the winds of chance take her wherever.

  Darting a quick glance at Ethan, still staring resolutely out the other side, she knew with the utmost certainty that he was a part of that yearning to explore the unknown, the craving to take a chance, no matter how much his behaviour bewildered her.

  She was so used to repressing her true feelings, so used to playing a part, that she didn’t know who she was any more, let alone how to be the carefree, happy woman she’d once been.

  Ethan could help her.

  He could help her rediscover her zing, could nurture their spark towards something exciting, something beyond her wildest dreams.

  But she had to take a chance.

  Was she willing to take a risk for a fleeting happiness that would dissolve when Ethan stepped on a plane bound for Melbourne?

  Some choice and, as the rickshaw bumped and rocked and swayed through the sanctuary, she knew she’d have to make up her mind and fast. They had half a day and one night left together. Not a heck of a lot of time to make a decision.

  Chance. Risk. Gamble. Venture.

  Things she’d never done when married to Richard, content in the security he’d provided, when she’d been the dutiful wife so in love with her husband she’d been blinded to his faults until it was too late.

  But that part of her life was over, her dreams of happily ever after shattered by a selfish egomaniac, and for the first time in years she could do as she damn well pleased.

  Stakes were high.

  Make a mistake and she’d lose the tentative friendship she’d developed with Ethan, something she’d grown to depend on over the last week.

  Make it work and they could shoot to the moon and back.

  With a heartfelt sigh she sat back, braced against the rocking, and watched the geese fly higher and higher, reaching for the stars.

  Maybe she should too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘YOU ready?’

  Tamara nodded, took a deep breath and opened her eyes, the air whooshing out of her lungs as she caught her first unforgettable glimpse of the Taj Mahal.

  The incredible monument shimmered in the early dusk, its white marble reflecting in the long moat in front of it, casting a ghostly glow over the magical gardens surrounding it.

  ‘It’s something else.’

  She glanced at Ethan, too choked to speak, grateful he knew how much this moment meant to her.

  Sliding an arm around her waist, he hugged her close. ‘Your mum’s here with you. She’d want you to enjoy this, to be happy.’

  Gnawing on her bottom lip to keep from blubbering, she searched his eyes, wondering if he knew how much of an integral part he played in her happiness these days.

  All she saw in those fathomless blue depths was caring, compassion and a tenderness that took her breath away.

  Thankfully, they’d broken the ice following the rickshaw ride and, while he hadn’t slipped back into full-on flirting just yet, she had hopes that their last kiss hadn’t ruined their friendship for ever.

  For no matter how many logical, sane reasons she’d pondered as to why they couldn’t be anything more than friends, they all faded into oblivion the second she caught her first breathtaking glimpse of the Taj.

  There was nowhere else she’d rather be this very moment than right here, with this man.

  Placing a hand on his cheek, she caressed the stubble, enjoying the light prickle rasping against her palm.

  ‘I hope you know that sharing this with you is beyond special.’

  Surprise flickered in his eyes—surprise tinged with wariness.

  ‘I’m a poor stand-in for your mum but I’m glad I can be here for you.’

  He semi-turned, forcing her to drop her hand, and she followed his line of vision, blown away by the fact that she was standing in front of one of the new Seven Wonders of the World, the River Yamuna flowing tranquilly nearby, surrounded by fellow tourists yet feeling as if she were the only woman in the world to have ever felt this incredible in the face of such beauty.

  ‘It’s stood the test of time, hasn’t it?’

  She followed his line of vision, taking in the curved dome, the archways, the exquisite ornamentation. ‘Considering it took twenty-two years to build, I guess they made it to last.’

  He did a slow three-sixty, taking in the gardens, the fountains, before fixing his gaze on the Taj again. ‘I knew it’d be impressive but I didn’t expect anything like this.’

  ‘I know,’ she breathed on a sigh, closing her eyes for a second, savouring the moment, elated that when she opened them again she’d see the same incredible sight. ‘Do you know the story behind it?’

  He held up his hand; it wavered from side to side. ‘A little. Shah Jahan, a Mughal Emperor, had it constructed in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal. Took about twenty thousand workers, a thousand elephants to haul materials and used about twenty-eight precious and semi-precious stones to do the inlay work.’

  She smiled. ‘Someone’s been reading their Lonely Planet guide.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay, Miss Smarty Pants. Why don’t you tell me what you know?’

  ‘My version reads like a romance novel.’

  ‘I’m a sensitive New Age guy. Go ahead. Try me.’

  ‘Okay, but you’d better sit down. This could take a while.’ She sank onto the ground, clasped her hands around her knees and rested her chin on her knees, waiting until he sat to begin.

  ‘Shah Jahan was the son of the fourth Mughal emperor of India. He was fourteen when he met Arjumand Banu Begum, a Muslim Persian princess, who was fifteen. It was love at first sight.’

  She sighed, wondering what it would be like to be swept away like that, to know in an instant you were destined to be with that person.

  Richard had charmed and blustered and cajoled his way into her affections, offering her the safety of marriage, a safety she’d craved since her dad had died. Yes, it had been quick and, yes, she’d fallen hard but nothing like locking eyes with a person and knowing with the utmost certainty he was the one.

  ‘But they were kids! That’s not even legal.’

  She waved away his protest. ‘Different times. We’re talking about the early sixteen hundreds. Do you want to hear the rest or not?’

  ‘Go ahead. I can see you’re busting to tell me.’

  Sending him a mock frown, she continued. ‘After meeting the princess, Shah Jahan w
ent back to his father and declared he wanted to marry her. They married five years later. When he became emperor eleven years later, he entrusted her with the royal seal and gave her the title Mumtaz Mahal, which means “jewel of the palace”. Though he had other wives—’

  ‘That’s not romance, that’s bigamy.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s allowed in his religion. Any-waaaay—’

  He grinned at her obvious annoyance at his constant interruptions.

  ‘She was his favourite, accompanied him everywhere, even on military campaigns. But when she was giving birth to their fourteenth child—’ Ethan winced and she couldn’t blame him ‘—there were complications and she died. Apparently, legend has it that she secured a promise from him with her last breath to build a beautiful monument in her memory.’

  She gestured to the Taj Mahal. ‘And he did.’

  Her glance roved over the towering dome, the intricate archways, the cypress trees nearby, as she pondered the depth of that kind of love, captivated by the spellbinding romance of it all.

  ‘That’s some story.’

  He stared at the monument, the sudden tension in his shoulders alerting her to the fact that something bothered him, before swiftly turning to her and fixing her with a probing stare.

  ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’

  At that moment, with his intense blue eyes boring into hers, his forearm brushing hers, his heat radiant and palpable and real, she wished she did.

  ‘My parents did. They took one look at each other on Colva beach and fell in love.’

  He didn’t let her off that easily. ‘I didn’t ask about them. I’m asking you.’

  Here was her chance to tell him she’d been thinking about pushing the boundaries, possibly seeing where it could take them.

  But the reservations of a lifetime dogged her. She’d always done the right thing, been the dutiful daughter, the good little wife. She didn’t like rocking the boat, changing the status quo. She’d tried it once before, was still dealing with the consequences.

  Drawing a harsh, shaky breath, she forced her fingers to relax rather than leave welts from digging into her hands.

  ‘I don’t know what I believe any more.’

  He shook his head, disappointment clouding his eyes. ‘That’s a cop-out.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. You’re a strong, resilient woman. You’ve coped with losing your husband. You’ve made decisions to move forward with your life. Plans to return to work.’ He jerked his head towards the Taj Mahal. ‘Coming here.’

  He laid a hand on her arm and she started. ‘All major decisions—but see that? The way you just jumped when I touched you?’ He shook his head, his mouth twisting with disappointment as he released her. ‘You’re selling yourself short there. You’re not being honest.’

  She leaped to her feet, needing space, a continent’s worth to flee the truth of his words and the reckless pounding of her heart.

  ‘This isn’t about honesty. It’s about taking a risk and I hate taking risks.’

  When a passing couple stared, she ran a weary hand over her face, lowered her voice.

  ‘I’m not like you. You’re brave. Fearless. Take charge. Everything so clear in black and white. While I feel like I’ve been living in some alternate grey universe and I’m finally coming out the other side.’

  He stood, reached for her but she held him away. ‘No, let me finish. I need to say this. You’re successful, accomplished, but you know what I envy the most? You know who you are. You know your place in the world and, right now, that’s something I don’t have a clue about…’

  Her declaration petered out on a whisper, a taut silence stretching between them until she wished he’d say something—anything—to fill the tense void.

  Finally, he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and she let him.

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘That I’m such a sad case?’

  Her attempt at humour fell flat.

  ‘That you felt like that. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s something I have to work through.’

  Something she was determined to do. Everything seemed much easier here, away from the memories of Richard, of discovering the truth.

  ‘You’ve had a rough trot. You know you deserve to be happy, right?’

  She’d spent years pretending she was happy when she was anything but: pretending Richard’s passive-aggressive barbs didn’t hurt, pretending his criticism was well-intended, pretending she still loved him when inside she’d died a little every day.

  The pretence had extended following his death, playing the grieving widow for appearance’s sake when deep down she’d felt like screaming at his treachery, at his selfishness in making her life miserable while he had a ball with another woman behind her back.

  ‘I want to be happy…’

  ‘Then let go.’

  She knew what he was implying, could read it in every tense line of his body.

  Meeting his unwavering stare, she suppressed her inner voice screaming, no, no, don’t do it.

  ‘With you?’

  He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Want to know why I came on this trip?’

  ‘I thought it was all business?’

  He smiled at her soft sarcasm, his expression inscrutable.

  ‘Because of you.’

  He gripped her arms, his fierceness so overwhelming she would’ve taken a step back if he wasn’t hanging on to her.

  ‘Then why do you keep pulling away? It’s like you get too close and then—wham, nothing.’

  He shook his head, his hands tightening their grip as he hauled her closer. ‘I barely knew you before this trip and spending time with you changed everything. Yeah, I’m a red-blooded male and I want you. But now—’

  He searched her eyes for—what? Approval? Some sign that she wanted to see this through until the end?

  ‘What do you want from me now?’

  ‘This.’

  Before she could make sense of his words, before she could push him for an explanation, his mouth swooped and captured hers in a hungry, rash kiss, blindingly brilliant in its savage intensity.

  Her senses reeled as he deepened the kiss, as she let him, stunned by the ferocity of her own response as she grabbed frantically at his T-shirt, clung to him, dragged him closer.

  If he’d slowed down, been tender and gentle rather than commanding and masterful, she would’ve had time to think, time to dredge up every rational reason why she shouldn’t be doing this after the way he’d rebuffed her last night.

  Instead, she let go, became herself, not some mouse-like woman worried about what other people would think of her for staying in a loveless marriage with a heartless tyrant if they knew.

  Her knees wobbled as he pulled her closer, his hands strumming her back, his lips playing delightful havoc with hers as he challenged her with every tantalising sweep of his tongue, with every searing brush of his lips.

  It was the kiss of a lifetime.

  A kiss filled with promise and excitement and wonder, without a shade of grey in sight.

  A kiss memories were made of.

  An eternity later, when the initial blistering heat subsided and their lips eased, lingered, before releasing, the reality of the situation rushed in, the old self-doubts swamping her in a crushing wave.

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  He tipped her chin up, caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. ‘Don’t go second-guessing yourself or what just happened.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  His mouth kicked up into the roguish smile she loved so much. ‘This is me you’re talking to.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she murmured, smoothing his T-shirt where she’d gripped it so hard she’d wrinkled it to the point where it needed a shot of steam or two to de-crease.

  ‘Just take that kiss at face value, as a first step.’

  She was almost too afraid to ask
. ‘A first step to what?’

  Brushing a soft, barely-there kiss across her lips, he said, ‘That’s something we’re about to find out.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS FAR as first dates went, Ethan couldn’t fault this one. He leaned back on outstretched arms and looked up at the monstrous India Gate in the centre of New Delhi.

  In reality, he could’ve been in a dingy alleyway in the back of Timbuktu and the date would’ve been amazing all the same, courtesy of the stunning woman by his side, looking happy and more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  Tamara smiled up at him from her vantage point, stretched out on the grass on propped elbows.

  ‘I’m thinking if I see one more monument or fort or palace I’ll go cross-eyed.’

  He laughed, reached out to pluck a blade of grass stuck to her hair. ‘But this is the Arc de Triomphe of India. It commemorates the seventy thousand Indian soldiers who died fighting for the British Army in World War One and is inscribed with the names of over thirteen thousand British and Indian soldiers killed in the 1919 Afghan war.’

  She shook her head. ‘There you go again, swallowing another guidebook. You know, all those facts will give you indigestion.’

  He winked, ducked his head for a quick kiss that left her blushing. ‘Just trying to impress you.’

  ‘You’ve done that already.’

  Her praise, the easy way she admitted it, warmed his heart, before stabbing doubt daggers into it again.

  He’d tried his best to back off, to subdue his panic, to alienate her.

  It had worked for a while; he’d regained control but it hadn’t eradicated the fear.

  The fear that he was already feeling way too much, the fear that what was happening between them was beyond anything he’d ever felt before but, most of all, the fear that no matter what he did, how hard he tried to stay in command, his overwhelming need for this woman would engulf him anyway.

  He wanted this—right? Then why the constant nagging deep in his gut that this was more than he could handle?

  During his relentless pursuit, he hadn’t actually spelled it out that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. He hoped to date for a while, have some fun together, explore the underlying spark simmering between them.