by Nicola Marsh
But that was where things ended. Would Tam want more? He doubted it, considering she’d talked about new beginnings, a fresh start. Believing her only encouraged him to indulge their attraction, guilt-free.
If things got too heavy, he knew what he had to do: run, just like his mum.
He’d loved her, had been secure she returned the sentiment until his childish delusions had been ripped from under him, leaving him a homeless orphan with a mother who’d rather be on her own than stuck with a five-year-old.
‘What’s wrong?’
He blinked, wrenched back to the present by her tentative question, her hand on his arm, and he mentally dusted himself off.
Today wasn’t a day for sour memories.
Today was a day for creating brilliant new ones.
‘Just thinking about where we go from here.’
It wasn’t a lie exactly. He’d been stewing over their future since they’d opened an emotional Pandora’s Box at the Taj yesterday.
He wanted this, wanted more than friendship with this incredibly special woman. Then why couldn’t he rid himself of the faintest mantra stuck on rewind in the back of his mind, the one that chanted be careful what you wish for?
He’d always been ambitious, driven to succeed, craving control to stave off the darkness that crept into his soul at the oddest of times—a darkness filled with depressing memories of physical abuse and living on the streets and starving to the point of desperation.
Being one hundred per cent focused on business had served him just fine. Until now, when his legendary control was smashed like a soup tureen by a temperamental chef by taking the next step with Tam.
He half expected her to balk at the question, to shirk it. Instead, she fixed him with those mesmerising green eyes, eyes he could happily get lost in for ever.
‘Honestly? I have no idea. I’m in Goa for the next week. You’re here on business.’
She idly plucked at the grass beneath her hands, picking blades and letting them fall. ‘I guess we wait until we’re back in Melbourne and see what happens.’
For some strange reason her answer filled him with relief when he should be pushing her, ensuring she wouldn’t back off once their journey together ended today.
What the hell was happening to him?
Sure, he enjoyed the thrill of the chase as much as the next guy but usually didn’t tire of something once possessed—until the woman in question wanted to possess him. So why was he feeling like this? So uncertain, so uneasy, so unhinged.
His goal had been to seduce her and he was almost there. Then why the unrelenting fear he’d got more than he’d bargained for?
‘You’re not happy about that?’
He forced a smile, tension sneaking up the back of his neck and bringing on one of the classic headaches reserved for daylong meetings.
‘We’ve come a long way in a week. Maybe things will be different when we get home.’
A tiny frown puckered her brow as she pushed up to a sitting position. ‘That’s not like you. You’re the optimistic one. I’m the confirmed pessimist.’
What could he say?
That he didn’t want a full-blown relationship? That he didn’t trust what they had? That he didn’t trust easily, period?
Reaching out, she draped a hand over his, squeezed softly. ‘There’s more. Tell me.’
If he looked for excuses long enough he’d find them and at that moment a veritable smorgasbord flooded his mind, leaving him to choose the juiciest one.
‘The press hounded you for weeks after Richard’s death. What do you think they’ll do when they discover we’re dating?’
Her frown intensified as her hand slid off his. ‘They’ll probably say I’m some kind of trumped up tart who waited until her dearly beloved husband was cold in the ground for a year before moving on from the chef to the billionaire restaurateur where he worked. So what? It’s all nonsense. Who cares what they say?’
But she was worried. He saw it in the telltale flicker in her eyes, in the pinched mouth.
If Tam had put up with the constant publicity barrage being married to Rich entailed, she had to care about appearances and, no matter how much she protested now, he knew the first hint of scandal in the tabloids back home would send her scuttling for cover.
Where would that leave him? Content to sit back and watch from the sidelines? He’d be damned if he settled for that again.
‘As long as you’re sure—’
‘Of course I’m not sure!’
She jumped to her feet, eyes flashing, hands clenched, more irritated than he’d ever seen her.
‘But you wanted this—you. You pushed me. You chased and pulled back several times, confusing the heck out of me until I couldn’t think straight but I’m still here.’
She stabbed a finger in his direction, glared at him, all bristling indignation and fiery righteousness, and he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
‘Now I’m ready to take a chance on us, you start hedging. What’s with that?’ She ended on a half sob and he leaped to his feet and reached for her.
‘Don’t, just don’t.’
She held up her hands to ward him off and he couldn’t blame her.
He was still a screwup. No matter how far he’d come from that lonely, desperate, filthy street kid who’d scrounged food scraps to survive, no matter how rich or successful, he was still the same wary guy who wouldn’t let anyone get too close, let alone a woman.
But he had to fix this, and fast, before he not only ruined any chance they had of dating but shot down their new friendship too.
‘Tam, listen to me. I—’
‘Why should I? Give me one good reason why I should listen to you?’
She folded her arms, glared, her stoic expression at odds with her trembling mouth, and it took every ounce of self-control not to bundle her into his arms.
He held his hands out to her, palms up, and shrugged. ‘Because I care about you.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Care, right. Well, you know what? If you cared, you wouldn’t say you want one thing, act another when you get it. I’m sick of it.’
Tears glistened in her eyes, turning them a luminous green and slugging him harder than his first shot of alcohol as a shivering fourteen-year-old squatting in a Melbourne hovel, desperate to stay warm.
Shaking her head, she swiped a hand over her eyes, sniffed. ‘I don’t need this. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t want it, but at least I had the guts to take a chance, so I’ll be damned if I stand here and let you play me for a fool.’
‘I’m not—’
‘You are.’
If she’d shouted, ranted, abused him, he might’ve stood a chance at convincing her otherwise but her soft, empty words, frigid with contempt, reached icy fingers down to his soul, freezing what little hope he had left.
‘You’ve got a week to figure out what you want.’
He reached for her hand, briefly capturing her fingertips before she snatched it away.
‘Tam, don’t do this.’
She straightened, fixed him with a superior glare at odds with her shaky hands. ‘Do what? Stand up for myself? Speak my mind?’
Her mouth twisted into a wry grimace. ‘This is my time now. Time I start looking after number one, and that’s me.’
She shook her head, gathered her hair, piled it into a loose bun on top of her head before letting it tumble around her shoulders again. He loved watching her do it, an absentminded habit she did when thinking or uptight.
‘I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. As far as I know, I’m the first guy you’ve dated since Rich and that’s got to be a big step for you.’
‘But it’s my step to take!’
He’d never seen her so irate and for a moment he wondered if there was more behind her flare-up. Was she nervous and covering it with bluster? Or was she as crazy for him as he was for her and had no idea how to control it, just like him?
‘Yo
u know, for the first time in forever, I felt safe yesterday. At first I thought it was the Taj, the overwhelming sense of calm that flowed through me when I stepped inside. But it wasn’t just that.’
She raised her wide-eyed gaze to his, her unguarded expression beseeching him to understand. And he did, all too well. Tam needed a man to make her feel secure, to cherish her, to spoil her, to do all the things Rich had done.
But he couldn’t be that man.
He couldn’t relinquish control of anything, let alone lose it over a woman, no matter how special. However, now wasn’t the time to get into all that. The way things were heading, it looked like their first date may also be their last.
‘It was you, Ethan. You being there with me, sharing it, treating me like a woman…’
She trailed off, shrugged and took a step backwards. ‘Maybe it was just the monument, after all.’
‘Tam, look—’
She raised her hand—to ward him off? To say goodbye?
‘I’ll see you in Melbourne.’
While his heart urged him to follow her, to tell her the truth, to make her understand, his feet were rooted to the spot as he watched the woman who’d captured his heart without trying walk away.
CHAPTER NINE
TAMARA slid her sunglasses into place, tucked the latest crime novel under her arm, slung her towel over her shoulder and headed for the beach.
She’d been in Goa two days—two long days when she’d spent every waking moment touring around, filling the hours with sights and sounds of her mum’s birthplace.
‘Prawns today, missie?’
Smiling, she stopped at one of the many food vendors scattered along the roadside leading to Colva Beach. She’d been starving when she’d arrived here her first day and the tantalising aroma of seafood sizzling in garlic and turmeric had led her straight here.
‘Two, please.’
She held up two fingers for reinforcement, knowing the wizened old man would give her four, just like he had the previous times she’d stopped here. Not that she was complaining but the waistbands of her skirts sure were.
His wide toothless grin warmed her heart as she handed over the rupees and juggled the hot prawns, waving the skewer around and blowing on them before biting into the delicious crispy flesh, savouring the freshness of the seafood drenched in spicy masala.
She devoured the first prawn in two bites, saliva pooling in her mouth at the anticipatory bite of the next as she strolled past another vendor selling a fiery fish vindaloo that smelled as good as the prawns.
‘Tomorrow,’ she mouthed to the hopeful guy whose face fell when she didn’t stop.
Not that she wasn’t tempted but at that moment her new friends caught sight of her and were busy hopping from one foot to the other in some bizarre welcoming dance that never failed to bring a smile to her face, and she had no option but to stop.
‘You build?’
The eldest of the group of five kids, ranging from three to six, pointed to a makeshift bucket made from an old ghee tin while the rest dropped to their knees and started digging in the sand with their hands.
‘Sure.’
She knelt, picked up the tin and started scooping, enjoying the hot sand beating down as she fell into a rhythm: scoop, pat, dump, scoop, pat, dump, listening to their excited chatter, unable to understand a word of the rapid Hindi but returning their blinding smiles as their castle grew.
Today, like the first day they’d beckoned her to join in their fun, she took simple pleasure in doing something associated with her childhood, the repetitive activity as soothing now as it had been then.
She’d built monstrous sandcastles after her dad had died, had poured all her energy into the task in an attempt to block out the pain. But, as the castles had grown, so had her resentment until she’d kicked them down, one crumbling turret at a time.
Yet she’d started building the moment her mum had taken her to the beach the next time, painstakingly erecting the towering castles, complete with shell windows and seaweed flags.
Until it hadn’t hurt so much any more and she’d stopped kicking them down, happy to watch the sea gently wash away her creation.
It had taken time to release her resentment—at losing her dad, the unfairness of it—and now, with the sand trickling through her fingers, calmness stole over her, soothing the discontent gnawing at the edges of her consciousness since she’d arrived.
She’d tried ignoring it, had even tried meditating as darkness descended each evening and she sat in a comfy cane chair on her veranda looking out over peaceful Colva beach, her beach hut the perfect spot away from the madding crowds.
While the deliberate relaxation had gone a long way to soothing her weary soul, to banishing some of the anger and acrimony that had dogged her incessantly for the last year, it had also served to tear a new wound in her already bruised heart.
Thanks to Ethan.
Even now, she had no idea what had happened in the interim between their first kiss and her walking away from him in Delhi.
She’d often felt like that with Richard—lonely, as if floating on a sea of anonymity despite being constantly surrounded by his business acquaintances and friends. She’d been a part of his life, a fixture, like part of the furniture, smiling and chatting and playing the perfect hostess while inside she’d been screaming.
She hadn’t told her mum about it. Khushi had lived through enough trauma of her own, had lost a husband, a country. Her mum had fussed over her enough when she was growing up, overprotective to the point of stifling at times. She’d understood it, her mum’s need to hang on to the only family she had, and in her own way she’d wanted to return the favour.
She’d never spoken an ill word against Richard, despite her growing despair that her husband had morphed from a strong, steady man to a controlling, spoiled tyrant with a penchant for wine and women.
Losing her mum had been devastating but, considering what she’d learned about Richard when he’d died, a small part of her had been glad her mum hadn’t been around to see it.
Bitterness had plagued her for the last year, yet over the last week it had ceased seeping into her soul and sapping her energy.
Because of Ethan.
Ethan, who by encouraging her to open her heart to him, only to hand it straight back to her, had now left her unhappier than ever.
He’d been relentless in his pursuit of her ever since they’d started this trip—discounting the occasional withdrawal—yet when she’d finally given in he’d retreated faster than a lobster sighting a bubbling bisque.
And she’d overreacted. Boy, had she overreacted and the memory of how she’d berated him made her knock over a turret or two as her hands turned clumsy.
The kids frowned as one and she shrugged in apology, intent on smoothing her side of the castle, wishing she could smooth over her gaffe with Ethan as easily.
She’d picked a fine time to rediscover her assertiveness and, while it had felt great standing up for herself and verbalising exactly how she was feeling, she’d chosen the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong man.
He hadn’t deserved her outpouring of anger any more than she’d deserved any of Richard’s callous put-downs.
Shame she wouldn’t get the chance to tell him, for she was under no illusions that, once they returned to Melbourne, Ethan would move onto his next challenge, relegating her to what? Distant acquaintance again? Friend?
Considering they hadn’t been anything remotely near friends before this trip, she should be grateful. Instead, she couldn’t help but wish she’d had a chance to rediscover another part of her identity: that of a desirable woman with needs desperate to be fulfilled.
Dusting off her hands, she stood, surveying their creation. The kids imitated her and she pointed at the lopsided castle and applauded them, charmed by their guileless giggles and high-fiving.
Everything was so simple for these kids: they had little, lived by the sea in makeshift shanties, shared a room w
ith many siblings, had few toys, yet were happier than any kid she’d ever seen rollerblading or skateboarding in Melbourne.
Another lesson to be learned: keep things simple. She had once, content to curl up with a good romance novel, soft jazz in the background, a bowl of popcorn.
Living the high life, living a lie with Richard, had changed all that but it was time to get back to the basics. Her few days in Goa had taught her that if nothing else.
Waving goodbye to the kids, she set off for the shade of a nearby tree, throwing down her towel, smoothing it out and lying down, watching a couple stroll hand in hand down the beach.
She wanted to warn them that the first flush of love didn’t last, that it soured and faded, no matter how committed the other person was to you.
She wanted to caution the beautiful young woman against giving too much of herself all in the name of love, wanted to alert her against loving too much to the point she risked losing herself.
She wanted to rant at the injustice of being a loyal, loving wife, only to have it all flung back in her face in the form of a six-foot Dutch ex-model with legs up to her neck and a dazzling smile.
But she didn’t do any of that.
Instead, she slapped on her sun hat, flipped open her book and buried her nose in it. A much safer pastime than scaring young lovers and wasting time wishing she could change the past.
Ethan had enough business meetings to keep him busy for the next month.
This trip had been a success: he’d secured the chef he’d wanted and had put out feelers for a new flagship restaurant in Mumbai. He’d flown the length and breadth of India over the last two days, from Delhi to Mumbai to Chennai.
However, as he sat in the plush surrounds of the InterContinental Hotel in Chennai, he couldn’t concentrate on business. Thoughts of Tam consumed him, as they had since she’d walked away from him in New Delhi.
He’d reached for his mobile phone numerous times, desperate to call her, to see how she was doing, to simply hear her voice. But he’d stopped each and every time, all too aware that ringing her would prove what he’d suspected for a while now—his legendary control was slipping.
