Читать книгу A Trip with the Tycoon - Nicola Marsh - Страница 7

‘WHAT the hell are you doing here?’

Ethan grinned at Tamara’s shell-shocked expression as he strolled towards her on the platform at Safdarjung Station.

‘You mean here as in New Delhi or here as in this station?’

Her eyes narrowed, spitting emerald fire. ‘Don’t play smart with me. Why are you here?’

‘Business. I told you I’m a workaholic. The Delhi chef wasn’t interested so there’s a chef in Udaipur I’d like to lure to Ambrosia. Rather than commute by boring planes I thought I’d take the scenic route, so here I am.’

By her folded arms, compressed lips and frown, she wasn’t giving an inch.

‘And this business trip just happened to coincide when I’m taking the trip. How convenient.’

‘Pure coincidence.’

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, which only served to rile her further. That smile may well have seduced every socialite in Melbourne, but she wasn’t about to succumb to its practised charm. He laid a hand on her arm; she stiffened and deliberately stepped away.

‘If it makes you feel any better, it’s a big train and the trip only lasts a week.’

‘It doesn’t make me feel better.’

If the Tamara he’d seen all too infrequently over the last few years was beautiful, a furious Tamara was stunning—and vindicated why he’d booked this trip in the first place.

It was time.

He was through waiting.

‘Why don’t we stop quibbling and enjoy this fanfare?’

He thought she’d never relent but, after shooting him another exasperated glare, she turned towards their welcoming committee.

‘Pretty impressive, huh?’

She nodded, maintaining a silence he found disconcerting. He preferred her annoyed and fiery rather than quiet and brooding.

Only one way to get her out of this huff. Turn on the charm.

‘Just think, all this for you. Talented musicians playing tabla as you board the train, young Indian girls placing flower garlands around your neck, being greeted by your own personal bearer for your carriage. Nothing like a proper welcome?’

The beginnings of a smile softened her lips as a bearer placed a fancy red turban on his head as a gift.

‘Looks like I’m not the only one getting welcomed.’

He wobbled his head, doing a precarious balancing act with the turban and she finally laughed.

‘Okay, you can stay.’

He executed a fancy little bow and she held up a hand.

‘But remember I like being on my own.’

He didn’t. Being alone was highly overrated and something he’d set about compensating for the moment he’d had his first pay cheque or two.

He liked being surrounded by people, enjoyed the bustle of a restaurant, thrived on the hub of the business world and relished dating beautiful women. Most of all, he liked being in control. And, finally, this was his chance to take control of his desire for Tamara.

He’d kept his distance while Rich was alive, had respected his friend’s marriage. But Rich was gone and his pull towards this incredible woman was stronger than ever.

He wanted her, had wanted her from the first moment they’d met and had avoided her because of it.

Not any more.

That impulsive kiss had changed everything.

He’d forfeited control by giving in to his driving compulsion for her, hated the powerlessness she’d managed to wreak with her startling response, and he’d be damned if he sat back and did nothing.

Having her walk away had left her firmly in charge and that was unacceptable. He was here to reclaim control, to prove he couldn’t lose it over a woman, beautiful as she may be.

Seduction was one thing, but finding himself floundering by the power of a kiss quite another.

Clawing his way to the top had taught him persistence, determination and diligence. When he wanted something in the business world, he made it happen by dogged perseverance and a healthy dose of charm.

Now, he wanted Tamara.

She didn’t stand a chance.

Tapping his temple, he said, ‘I’ll try to remember. But, you know, this heat can play havoc with one’s memory and—’

‘Come on, let’s board. Once you’re safely ensconced in the lap of luxury, maybe that memory will return.’

‘You make me sound like a snob.’

‘Aren’t you? Being Australia’s top restaurateur and all.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Oh, that’s right. You’re just the average run-of-the-mill billionaire who happens to rival Wolfgang Puck and Nobu for top restaurants around the world. Nothing snobby about you.’

‘Come on, funny girl. Time to board.’

She smiled and, as he picked up their hand luggage and followed the porter, he could hardly believe the change in Tam.

Sure, there was still a hint of fragility about her, the glimpse of sorrow clinging to her like the humidity here, but it looked as if India agreed with her. After she’d finished berating him, she’d smiled more in the last few minutes than she had in the odd times he’d seen her.

‘You know I have my own compartment?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’

‘I wouldn’t want you compromising my reputation.’

She smiled again and something twanged in the vicinity of his heart. She’d had the ability to do that to him from the very beginning, from the first time he’d met her—an hour after she’d met Richard, worse luck.

She’d been smitten by then, with eyes only for the loud, larger-than-life chef, and he’d subdued his controlling instincts to sweep her away.

Neither of them had ever known of his desire for the woman he couldn’t have; he’d made sure of it. But keeping his distance was a thing of the past and the next seven days loomed as intriguing.

‘Your reputation is safe with me. I’m sure all those society heiresses and vapid, thin models you date on a revolving-door basis are well aware this boring old widow is no competition.’

‘You’re not boring and you’re certainly not old.’

As for the women he dated, there was a reason he chose the no-commitment, out-for-a-good-time-not-a-long-time type. A damn good one.

The smile hovering about her lips faded as fast as his hopes to keep it there.

‘But I am a widow.’

And, while he’d hated the pain she must’ve gone through after Rich died, the struggle to get her life back on an even keel, he couldn’t help but be glad she was now single.

Did that make him heartless? Maybe, but his past had taught him to be a realist and he never wasted time lying to himself or others. Discounting the way he’d kept his attraction for Tam a secret all these years, of course.

‘Maybe it’s time you came out of mourning?’

He expected her to recoil, to send him the contemptuous stare she’d given him after he’d kissed her. Instead, she cocked her head to one side, studying him.

‘Are you always this blunt?’

‘Always.’

‘So you’ll ignore me if I tell you to butt out, just like you did by gatecrashing my trip?’

He feigned hurt, smothering his grin with difficulty. ‘Gatecrashing’s a bit harsh. I told you, I’m here on business.’

He only just caught her muttered, ‘Monkey business.’

She fidgeted with her handbag, her fingers plucking at the leather strap as she rocked her weight from foot to foot, and he almost took pity on her before banishing that uncharacteristic emotion in a second.

He had to have her, was driven by a primal urge he had no control over and, to do that, he needed to get her to look at him as a man rather than a bug in her soup.

With a bit of luck and loads of charm, he intended to make good on the unspoken promise of their first kiss—a promise of so much more.

‘You’re not still hung up over that kiss, are you? Because, if you are—’

‘I’m not. It’s forgotten.’

Her gorgeous blush belied her quick negation and had him itching to push the boundaries. But he’d gained ground by having her accept his presence so quickly and he’d be a fool to take things too far on the first day.

‘Forgotten, huh? Must be losing my touch.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with—’

He smothered a triumphant grin. He may have lost his mind and kissed her to prove she needed to start living again but her eager response had blown him away. And fuelled his need for her, driving him to crazy things like taking time off work, something he rarely did, to pursue her.

‘Let’s put it down to a distant memory and move on, shall we?’

To his horror, her eyes filled with pain, which hit him hard, like a slug to the guts, and he tugged her close without thinking, enveloping her in his arms.

‘Hell, Tam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned memories.’

She braced herself against his chest, her palms splayed, and his body reacted in an instant, heat searing his veins as he cradled a soft armful of woman.

She sniffled and he tightened his hold, rather than his first instinct to release her in the hope of putting an instant dampener on his errant libido.

His hand skimmed her hair, thick and dark like molten molasses, soothing strokes designed to comfort. But, hot on the heels of his thoughts of how much he wanted her, his fingers itched to delve into the shiny, dark mass and get caught up in it. He could hold her like this all night long.

‘You okay?’

Ethan pulled away, needing to establish some distance between them, not liking her power over him. He didn’t do comfort. He never had a hankie in his pocket or a host of placating platitudes or a shoulder to cry on. He didn’t do consoling hugs; he did passionate embraces.

So what had happened in the last few minutes? What was it about this woman that undermined him?

‘Uh-huh.’

She managed a watery smile before straightening her shoulders and lifting her head in the classic coping pose he’d seen her exhibit at Rich’s funeral and his admiration shot up another few notches.

How she’d handled her grief after the initial shock of Rich’s heart attack, burying herself in the business side of things, sorting through legalities with him, only to approach him several months later for the use of Ambrosia to get her career back on track, had all served to fuel his respect for this amazing woman.

Quite simply, she was incredible and he wanted her with a staggering fierceness that clawed at him even now, when he was left analysing how he’d let his control slip again in her intoxicating presence.

‘I can see you’re still hurting but if you ever want to talk about Rich, remember the good times, I’m here for you, okay?’

Maybe, if she opened up to him, he could encourage her to get it all out of her system and move on. Highly altruistic but then, when was he anything but?

To his surprise, she wrinkled her nose and he knew it had little to do with the pungent odours of diesel fumes, spices and human sweat swirling around them.

‘Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Richard. I’m done grieving.’

A spark of defiance lit her eyes, turning them from soft moss-green to sizzling emerald in a second. ‘I want to enjoy this trip, then concentrate on my future.’

He’d never seen her like this: resolute, determined, a woman reborn.

He’d seen Tam the society wife, the perfect hostess, the astute businesswoman, the grieving widow, but never like this and a part of him was glad. Releasing the past was cathartic, would help her to move on and he really wanted her to do that on this trip. With him.

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Her answering smile sent another sizzle of heat through him and he clenched his hands to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her close.

Plenty of time for that.

Tamara lay down on the bed, stretched her arms over her head and smiled.

The rocking motion of the train, the clicketyclack as it bounced its way out of Delhi, the aroma of marigolds and masala chai—the delicious tea, fragrant with cardamons—overloaded her senses, lulled her while making her want to jump up and twirl around from the sheer rush of it.

For the first time in years, she felt free. Free to do whatever she wanted, be whoever she chose. And it felt great. In fact, it felt downright fantastic.

While she’d once loved Richard, had desperately craved the type of marriage her folks had had, nothing came close to this exhilarating freedom.

She’d spent months playing the grieving widow after Richard had suffered that fatal heart attack, had submerged her humiliation, her bitterness, her pain.

Yet behind her serene, tear-stained face she’d seethed: at him for making a mockery of their marriage, at herself for being a gullible fool and for caring what people thought even after he was gone.

She hadn’t given two hoots about social propriety until she’d married him, had laughed at his obsession with appearances. But she’d soon learned he was serious and, with his face plastered over every newspaper, magazine and TV channel on a regular basis, she’d slipped into the routine of being the perfect little wife he’d wanted.

While his perfect little mistress had been stashed away in a luxurious beach house at Cape Schanck, just over an hour’s drive from Melbourne’s CBD where they’d lived.

Damn him.

She sat bolt upright, annoyed she’d let bitter memories tarnish the beginning of this incredible journey, her gaze falling on the single bed next to hers. The single bed her mum should’ve been occupying while regaling her with exotic tales of Goa and its beaches, Colva beach where she’d met her dad, her love at first sight for a scruffy Aussie backpacker with a twinkle in his eyes and a ready smile.

Tales of the Taj Mahal, the monument she’d always wanted to see but never had the chance. Tales of an India filled with hospitable people and mouth-watering food, imparting recipes in that lilting sing-song accent that had soothed her as a young girl when the nightmares of losing her dad would wake her screaming and sweat-drenched.

Khushi should’ve been here. This was her trip.

Instead, Tamara swiped an angry hand across her eyes, dashing her tears away.

She wasn’t going to cry any more. She’d made herself that promise back in Melbourne when she’d decided to take this trip.

And while she knew her heart would break at every turn on the track, at every fabulous place she visited, wishing her mum was here to share it with her, she should be thankful she’d taken another positive step in getting her life in order.

She was through cringing with shame and humiliation at what Richard had put her through, done feeling sorry for herself.

This was her time.

Time for a new life, a new beginning.

So what the heck was Ethan Brooks doing here, muscling in on her new start?

Ethan, with his smiling eyes and that deadly smile. Where was the famed hard-ass, hard-nosed businessman? Instead, Ethan the pirate, the player, the playboy, had swaggered along on this trip and while every self-preservation instinct screamed for her to stay away, she couldn’t be that rude.

He’d helped her with the legalities surrounding Ambrosia after Richard’s death, had smoothed the way for her to re-enter the workforce by allowing her to use Ambrosia as a base. She owed him.

But he had her rattled.

She preferred him business-oriented, juggling a briefcase, a laptop and barking instructions on a mobile phone at the same time, barely acknowledging her presence with an absentminded nod as he strutted into Ambrosia.

He’d practically ignored her when their paths had crossed while Richard had been around, his head always buried in financial statements and yearly projections, and that had been fine with her.

He made her uncomfortable and it had nothing to do with the fact that they didn’t really know each other. The shift had happened when they’d met to sort out Ambrosia’s ownership, those two times when she’d noticed things: like the way he cracked pistachio nuts way too loudly, flipping them in the air and catching them in his open mouth, how much he loved Shiraz Grenache and sticky date pudding and the North Melbourne Football Club.

Trivial things, inconsequential things that meant little, but the fact that she’d noticed and remembered them annoyed her.

As for that kiss…she picked up a pillow and smothered a groan, hating how it haunted her, hating how she’d dreamed of it, hating how the dream had developed and morphed into so much more than a kiss, leaving her writhing and panting and sweat-drenched on waking.

She didn’t want to remember any of it, didn’t want to remember his expertise, his spontaneity, his ability to dredge a response from her deepest, darkest soul, better left untouched.

But she did remember, every breathtaking moment, and while her head had slammed the door on the memory of her temporary insanity, her body was clamouring for more.

Now this.

Him being here, all suave and charming and too gorgeous for his own good, was making her nervous. Very nervous.

She didn’t need anyone in her new life, least of all a smooth tycoon like Ethan Brooks.

As for her wayward thoughts lately in the wee small hours of the morning when she lay sleepless, staring up at the ceiling and trying to regain focus to her meandering life, she’d banish them along with her anger at Richard.

Wondering what would’ve happened if she’d gone for Ethan rather than Richard that fateful night she’d entered Ambrosia four years earlier was a waste of time.

Now was her chance to put the past to rest and concentrate on her future.