Love, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  “Some do. Like, if what they want is sex, company, fun, but no commitment, no pressure. I wondered, since you’re single, if that might be you. But I think not.”

  “Because?”

  “Your reaction to Marie-Thérèse.”

  “Marie-Thérèse? Oh, the Armani blonde.” She nodded. “You’re right. I like men who are attractive to women, but I expect fidelity. And some degree of commitment. If a man cheats on me, he’s toast.” Expression fierce, she said, “Been there, done that—and I do not like it.”

  She drew her hand from his, leaned sideways, and put both hands on his shoulders. Face only a foot from his, she stared into his eyes. “Pritam, what do you want from me?”

  “That’s not hard to guess.” If he removed one of her hands from his shoulder and placed it on his lap, under the napkin, she’d know. “And it’s with you, not from you. I want to taste you.” His voice came out husky with need. “Smell you. Touch you. Listen to you moan with pleasure, make you cry out with ecstasy.”

  Flushed, lips parted, she listened.

  “I have a hotel room in Toronto,” he said. “Share it with me.”

  She didn’t look startled, so he knew the idea had already occurred to her, but she did nibble her lip. “I’m not a one-night-fling kind of person.”

  Should he tell her he was booked all the way through to Vancouver and wanted to continue their adventure? No, he needed to stay flexible. He might have to adjust his strategy tomorrow. “What’s so wrong about letting me make you happy for a night?”

  She tilted her head. “What kind of man are you, Pritam? A player who enjoys a night here, a night there with a different woman?”

  He’d created a Bollywood producer who had almost managed to seduce her, and now, if she was going to buy into the game for a night’s worth of lovemaking, she wanted to know if Bollywood Guy was a decent man. It was interesting how she opted in and out of the game as the mood struck her.

  He gave her a smile full of charm. “No. I’m very discriminating. I only go for women who are beautiful, sexy, intelligent, successful, interesting, fun.”

  “Yeah, right.” The words were cynical, but her mouth twitched to hold back a smile.

  “And Kat? I, like you, am serious about relationships. I’m looking for the right person, as I sense you are.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “Okay, tell me this. Have you ever been in love?”

  She really did take Pritam for a player.

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows rose. “What happened?”

  I’m still waiting to find out. Of course he couldn’t say that, but he could share something else. A piece of himself he’d never before revealed to anyone. For Nav, Margaret’s rejection had cut so deep, it was painful and embarrassing to talk about. Pritam, though, who was a man women drooled over, could be more forthcoming.

  “I was in love and she said she loved me back. I was going to propose.” He paused, trying not to remember the pain. “But she dumped me.”

  Chapter 6

  I stared at the fascinating, sexy man beside me. “You’re kidding.” What woman in her right mind would dump a guy like him?

  On the other hand, Pritam didn’t really exist.

  Except, I was looking at him. A man who could talk knowledgeably about Bollywood movies, who looked like a movie star, who kissed my hand. He so wasn’t Nav.

  Was this story about being dumped by the woman he loved merely another tall tale, one designed to arouse sympathy?

  “Sadly, no,” he said, keeping in character. Playing his role.

  And yes, it was a role. He’d proposed a game, and I was having fun. While Nav’s friendship had helped me through several breakups, the flirtatious attentiveness of the sexy Pritam was balm to my ego after Jean-Pierre’s humiliating rejection.

  “I’m sorry about your ex,” I said. “What happened?”

  He toyed with his fork for a few seconds, then, as if he realized he was fidgeting, put it down. “You know what we were saying earlier, about finding your career niche? I was well along on a career path, and that path—especially the income and status—appealed to Margaret. But not to me.” Bitterness edged his voice.

  Bitterness that sounded genuine. Was this true? Had Nav once loved this Margaret? If so, why had he never told me? I felt a twinge of hurt, maybe even jealousy that some other woman had been so important to him. “What happened?” I asked softly. And why was he telling me now, as Pritam?

  “I refused to be stuck doing something I hated.” He swallowed. “I changed course.”

  This fit with the few things Nav had told me about his parents. They’d wanted him to work in some big company—the one his dad worked for—rather than be a photographer. He could have studied photography in London, where his family had lived at the time, but the relationship was so strained, he’d come to Canada instead. Things hadn’t improved since then, and Nav didn’t talk much about his folks.

  “Turned out,” he went on, “Margaret was more interested in the status than in me as a person.” The edge to his Pritam voice would have been impossible for anyone but an excellent actor to fake.

  Margaret was real. The bitch. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. But you’re better off without her.”

  “Yeah, well.” He gazed at me, a baffled expression in his eyes. “She said I betrayed her.”

  “Betrayed?” I mused, thinking about my own love life. “Maybe she thought you wooed her, uh, kind of under false pretences. She believed you were one man, then you turned out to be someone else.” My Olympic skier had done that, saying he wanted a serious monogamous relationship when in fact he had lovers in France, Italy, and God knows where else.

  Pritam—Nav—winced.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly, realizing the comparison was unfair. “I don’t mean you did it intentionally.” Nav would never deliberately mislead a woman. I knew that from my own experience, and from the way his former lovers remained friends with him.

  “She didn’t want to see who I really was.”

  Was this why Nav got so annoyed about the idea of people judging by appearance? “Her loss.” I touched his hand.

  “Thanks.” He threaded our fingers together. “But at the time, it really hurt.”

  Such a simple thing, linked fingers, and yet how complex the sensations. Warmth and connection. Sexual heat, and the suggestion of other body parts interlocking.

  “Breaking up always does.” I squeezed his hand.

  How many times had I ranted to Nav and cried on his shoulder when I went through a breakup? Why had he never shared this story? I wanted to ask, but if I did, I’d be talking to Nav rather than Pritam. I’d have to let go of his hand, banish the delicious sexual feelings.

  The steward came to clear our dessert plates and pour more coffee.

  After, my seatmate picked up his coffee cup and said, still in Pritam’s voice, “It took me a while to get over Margaret.”

  And perhaps he never had. Was that why Nav only dated casually? Was he afraid of risking love again? “Has it made you cautious about dating, Pritam?”

  His expression lightened and he gave me a sexy twinkle. “Do I strike you as cautious?”

  I chuckled. “I meant, about dating seriously.”

  “No. Other than making sure the woman is interested in who I am, not who she thinks I should be.”

  “Have you been in love since Margaret?”

  The hand that held mine tensed. “Once. But she didn’t feel the same way.”

  “I’m sorry.” Another story he’d never told me, and another reason for Nav to resist serious relationships. How ridiculous that I felt jealous of those two women who had meant so much to my friend.

  I squeezed his hand until it relaxed, then let go and picked up my coffee cup. “What was your previous career?” I asked. “The one Margaret was so keen on?”

  “Boring corporate stuff. Nowhere near as much fun as Bollywood. But the movie biz is a risky way to make a l
iving. Everything in the arts world is. Margaret came from a wealthy family. She liked the things money could buy, and definitely liked status. She and my parents got along famously.”

  He slanted me a glance from those gorgeous brown eyes. “How about you, Kat? Could you imagine hooking up with a starving artist?”

  The question took me by surprise. “I’ve never dated anyone like that.” Anyone who was, in fact, what Nav had been when he’d arrived in Montreal. Was I as shallow as Margaret?

  “Why not?”

  I couldn’t tell him my opposites attract theory, about average me being drawn to amazing men, and I didn’t want a replay of our Saturday-night conversation, so I just shrugged, hoping he’d drop the subject.

  “You’ve never dated a man who was just a nice normal guy?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. Then I corrected myself. “Well, my first boyfriend, Bob.” I gave a soft laugh. “He even had an average name.” Bob Johnson. “He was a little chubby, a bit of a nerd. I was having trouble with algebra and he helped me after school. He was a really nice guy.”

  “Nice guys finish last,” my companion said wryly. “So what happened to poor Bob?”

  “I took him home for dinner, excited I had a boyfriend. My older sister has this genius IQ and was—is—the family superstar. But Theresa wasn’t dating, so for once I’d one-upped her.”

  “I guess it’s human nature for siblings to compete.”

  And in my family we did it in part by claiming different niches: brains for Theresa, beauty for Jenna, being half of M&M for Merilee, and being Ms. Sociability for me.

  “After dinner, when Bob had gone home, my family dumped on him. He planned to work in his dad’s hardware store after high school, and my parents said I should look for a boy who was more ambitious. Theresa said he was a dummy, and my sister Jenna said he was a dork.”

  He grimaced. “You ditched the poor guy?”

  Ashamed, I nodded. “Yeah. It was a shitty thing to do, but family pressure is…” I shrugged, surprised at myself for having shared this much personal stuff. Why on earth would anyone be interested in my family history?

  He nodded understandingly. “Believe me, I get it.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Family pressure have anything to do with why you moved across the country as soon as you finished high school?”

  “Oh, yeah. And with why I’m still here.” Quickly I said, “Look, I love my parents and sisters. But it’s like, in Vancouver I was a kid, and when I left I became a woman. In control of my own life. When I go back, I get sucked into the old patterns.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard to figure out how to be an independent adult and still respect and love your family.”

  We smiled at each other, and I felt a strong sense of connection.

  Hurriedly I glanced away and picked up my coffee cup. This was very strange, what was happening between me and this man.

  When he’d been spinning his Bollywood tales, I could buy into the Pritam game.

  But then he’d told me about Margaret, a Nav story I’d never heard before. Though in the past Nav and I had chatted a bit about my family, it had been superficial. Today he’d got me thinking about things, sharing things I normally kept quiet about.

  Yes, there was something about sitting on a train with nothing else to do that got people talking in a different way. More reflectively than my normal light and breezy conversation.

  To be honest, though, I couldn’t attribute it all to the train. There was something about this Pritam-Nav person beside me.

  When “Pritam” had said he wanted to seduce me, I’d expected dazzling stories, charismatic charm, and sexy flirtation. The kind of thing new boyfriends typically did to impress me. And yes, he’d given me all that, but he’d gone further. He made me feel as if he really wanted to get to know me, not just hustle me into bed, and that he’d try to understand rather than judge. I hated being judged because I always feared I’d be found lacking.

  My companion also seemed willing to share some painful truths. More than Nav had ever done. Or had Nav held back because I hadn’t been forthcoming myself?

  People in relationships—family, business, or social—did get into patterns. I’d liked the easygoing, supportive one Nav and I had formed.

  But I also liked the way Pritam and I related.

  “What are you thinking, Kat?” he asked gently.

  Flushing, I put down the cup I’d been toying with. “I like being with you.”

  A surprised laugh jolted out of him. “Well, thank God. I mean, if we’re talking about…” He kinked an eyebrow suggestively and caught my hand again, resting our clasped hands on the armrest and shifting closer so our arms brushed all the way down from our shoulders.

  I quivered at the contact, sensual and arousing. “For you, does seduction require liking?” At this point, I had no idea whether I was asking the question of Nav or Pritam.

  His head tilted. “Interesting question. Yes, it does. Otherwise it’s only lust.” His eyes gleamed with humor. “Which, when I was young, was enough. But the older I get, the more I think seduction—sex—should be about liking, sharing, having fun together.”

  Did that answer come from Nav or Pritam? Both, I suspected. As for me, when I went to bed with a guy, I was usually falling in love. Occasionally, after I’d broken up with a man, I’d even realized that while I’d fancied myself in love, I hadn’t actually liked him that much. I missed the excitement of the romance more than the man himself.

  “Even if both people know it’s not going anywhere,” he said, “it still should be more than just orgasm.” He gave me a teasing wink. “No matter how wonderful that orgasm might be.”

  I swallowed, imagining the kind of climax he might give me with those long, strong fingers, that sensual mouth. And then there was that excellent package. The one I’d tried not to think about when he was Nav. The one I had full permission to think about if he was Pritam.

  Oh, God, I wanted him. Wanted what he was proposing.

  We had both turned in our seats, facing each other. He leaned closer and caressed my cheek, making me tremble. “Between us, it would be more. You feel that, don’t you, Kat? There’s been a connection ever since we got on this train and our eyes first met.”

  He was reminding me of the game. I could accept Pritam, and we might end up in bed. Or I could treat him like Nav, my good friend and neighbor—the one I’d forbidden myself from having sex with—and call it quits now.

  His face moved closer as I watched, fascinated. Nervous. Hopeful.

  He was going to kiss me. Should I let him?

  I wanted that kiss. Really, really wanted it.

  And yet, it would be a make-or-break moment. What if our lips touched and things didn’t click? Or the kiss was clumsy? Or it was nice but no passion sparked? Or, if it was great but I got hung up obsessing about my friendship with Nav? If any of those things happened, then so much for the game, the fantasy, the scarily glorious sense of possibility.

  Oh, damn, I believed in action, so why was I doing all this uncharacteristic analysis? I tilted my head and moved closer in clear invitation.

  His eyes, warm and brown, filled with something that looked almost like wonder. Then, those sensual lips met mine, soft and gentle, tentative for a moment. But only a moment.

  They firmed, and confidently he took possession of my mouth in a kiss that seared me from head to toe, especially all the deliciously sexy places in between.

  His tongue demanded entry and I accepted it eagerly, answered back with my own. All the attraction I’d felt since I’d seen this man—whether he was Pritam on a train or Nav holding an elephant—came together with relief, hunger, passion. This kiss was more than thrusting tongues, nips and nibbles, the liquid heat in his eyes. Something sparked, flamed, between us.

  My body tightened, ached, moistened. Talk about possibilities. Our kiss more than hinted at them, it promised, and I threw myself headlong into it.

  Suddenly he broke away. He scrubbed
a hand across his face, sucked in a long breath, and then blew it out again.

  I was trying to catch my own breath when he said, eyes twinkling, “Now that was a damned presumptuous first kiss.”

  I laughed softly at his wording. “You didn’t see me objecting, did you?”

  A quick grin flashed. “No, thank God. But we are on a train. We don’t want to get booted off before we get to Toronto.”

  I flushed. I’d been so caught up in the sexy world we’d created together, I’d forgotten our surroundings. “This is embarrassing.”

  “You know what people say when they see that kind of public display of affection.” His eyes gleamed seductively. “Get a room.”

  Oh yes! “Um…”

  “We’re almost to Toronto. My room at the Royal York has a king-size bed.”

  That’s where the kiss had been leading. The two of us in bed. I couldn’t think of anything more appealing. But…This was insane, wasn’t it? Indecisively, I said, “I booked a room, too.”

  His fingers trailed down my arm in a gentle, arousing caress. “Cancel it. I want to make love with you, Kat.”

  “What if it doesn’t work out?”

  He gave me a wicked, knowing smile and shook his head slowly, deliberately. “After that kiss, you can ask that question?”

  If the kiss was a fair sample, the sex would be fantastic. He—Pritam—was gorgeous, sexy, confident. Even better, he found me attractive and desirable. His kiss hadn’t been smooth and practiced, it had been raw and needy.

  I glanced sideways. His napkin had fallen to the floor and an impressive erection pressed against the front of his jeans. My pussy pulsed and moistened at the thought of feeling him deep inside me, and I squeezed my thighs together.

  Pritam was promising me great sex. The game was time limited. Without consequences.

  “We’re adults,” he said, “and we know what we want.”

  Everything he did—the compelling gleam in his eyes, the soft brush of his fingers, of his voice—stimulated my senses, sent ripples of sexual need pulsing through my body. My nipples, my pussy, ached for his touch. He was right. We both wanted sex, so why pretend otherwise?