Читать книгу A Trip with the Tycoon - Nicola Marsh - Страница 8

‘TELL me you’re not working.’

Ethan pointed at the small blue notebook tucked discreetly under her linen serviette—obviously not discreetly enough.

Ignoring him, Tamara sliced a vegetable pakora in two and dipped it in the tamarind sauce, her taste buds hankering for that first delicious taste of crispy vegetables battered in chickpea flour and dunked in the sour, piquant sauce.

‘Fine, I won’t tell you.’

He shook his head, laughed, before helping himself to a meat samosa from the entrée platter between them.

‘You’re supposed to be on holiday.’

‘I’m supposed to be getting back to work soon and I need the practice.’

Resting his knife and fork on his plate, he focused his too-blue gaze on her.

‘You’re an expert critic. One of Australia’s best. Skills like that don’t disappear because you’ve had a year or so off.’

‘Two years,’ she said, quelling the surge of resentment at what she’d given up for Richard. ‘Despite the last six months at Ambrosia, I’m still rusty. The sooner I get back into it, the easier it’ll be.’

She bit down on the pakora, chewed thoughtfully, knowing there was another reason she had her trusty notebook within jotting reach.

The minute she’d opened her compartment door to find Ethan on the other side in charcoal casual pants and open-necked white shirt, his gaze appreciative and his smile as piratical as always, she’d had to clamp down on the irrational urge to slam the door in his face and duck for cover.

It had been her stupid thoughts earlier of what if that had done it, that had made her aware of him as a man—a gorgeous, charming man—rather than just her…what was he? A business acquaintance? A travelling companion? A friend?

She didn’t like the last two options: they implied a closeness she didn’t want. But they’d moved past the acquaintance stage the moment he’d kissed her and there was no going back.

She didn’t want to have these thoughts, didn’t want to acknowledge the sexy crease in his left cheek, the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes that added character to his face, the endearingly ruffled dark hair that curled over his collar.

She’d never noticed those things before or, if she had, hadn’t experienced this…this…buzz or whatever the strange feeling coursing through her body was that made her want to bury her nose in her notebook for the duration of dinner and not look up.

That might take care of day one, but what about the rest of the week as the Palace on Wheels took them on an amazing journey through Rajasthan?

Ethan was Richard’s friend, reason enough she couldn’t trust him, no matter how much he poured on the charm.

She’d fallen for Richard because he’d been safe and look at the devastation he’d wreaked. What would letting her guard down around a powerful, compelling guy like Ethan do?

Inwardly shuddering at the thought, she reached for the notebook at the same instant that he stilled her hand. Her gaze flew to his, her heart beating uncharacteristically fast.

He’d touched her again. First that hug on the station and now this. Though this time her pulse tripped and her skin prickled as determination flared in his eyes, while fear crept through her.

Fear they’d somehow changed the boundaries of their nebulous relationship without realising, fear they could never go back, fear she could lose focus of what she wanted out of this trip and why if she was crazy enough to acknowledge the shift between them, let alone do anything about it.

‘This is the first holiday you’ve taken in years. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’

He squeezed her hand, released it and she exhaled, unaware she’d been holding her breath.

‘You’ll get back into the swing of things soon enough. Once I coerce the super-talented Indian chef to leave the Lake Palace and work at Ambrosia, critiquing his meals will keep you busy for months.’

‘You’re too kind.’

She meant it. He’d never been anything other than kind to her, helping her with Richard’s business stuff, arranging a special table for her at Ambrosia away from the ravenous crowd so she could sample the food and write her critiques in peace.

But kind didn’t come close to describing the hungry gleam in his eyes or the subtle shift that had taken place between them a few moments ago—dangerous, more like it. Dangerous and exciting and terrifying.

He screwed up his nose, stabbing a seekh kebab from the entrée platter and moving it across to his plate. ‘You know, kind ranks right up there with nice for guys. Something we don’t want to hear.’

‘Fine. You’re a cold, heartless businessman who takes no prisoners. Better?’

‘Much.’

His bold smile had her scrambling for her notebook, flipping it open to a crisp new blank page, pen poised. ‘Now, take a bite of that kebab and tell me what you think.’

He cut the kebab—spiced lamb moulded into a sausage shape around a skewer and cooked to perfection in a tandoor oven—and chewed a piece, emitting a satisfied moan that had her focusing on his lips rather than her notebook.

‘Fantastic.’

He screwed up his eyes, took another bite, chewed thoughtfully. ‘I can taste ginger, a hint of garlic and cumin.’

He polished off the rest with a satisfied pat of his tummy, a very lean, taut tummy from what she could see of it outlined beneath his shirt.

Great, there she went again, noticing things she never normally would. This wasn’t good—not good at all.

Pressing the pen to the page so hard it tore a hole through to the paper underneath, she focused on her scrawl rather than anywhere in the vicinity of Ethan’s lips or fabulous tummy.

‘Not bad, but that’s why you’re the guy who owns the restaurants and I’m lucky enough to eat in them and write about the food.’

He smiled, pointed at her notebook. ‘Go ahead, then. Tell me all about the wonders of the seekh kebab.’

She glanced at her notes, a thrill of excitement shooting through her. She loved her job, every amazing moment of it, from sampling food, savouring it, titillating her taste buds until she couldn’t put pen to paper fast enough to expound its joys, to trying new concoctions and sharing hidden delights with fellow food addicts.

As for Indian food, she’d been raised on the stuff and there was nothing like it in the world.

‘The keema—’ he raised an eyebrow and she clarified ‘—lamb mince is subtly spiced with an exotic blend of garam masala, dried mango powder, carom seeds, raw papaya paste, with a healthy dose of onion, black pepper, ginger, garlic and a pinch of nutmeg.’

‘You got all that from one bite?’

She bit her lip as she pushed the notebook away, unable to contain her laughter as he took another bite, trying to figure out how she did it.

‘My mum used to make them. I memorised the ingredients when I was ten years old.’

Her laughter petered out as she remembered what else had happened when she was ten—her dad had dropped dead at work, a cerebral aneurysm, and the world as she’d known it had ceased to exist.

She’d loved listening to her parents chat over dinner, their tales of adventure, the story of how they’d met. She’d always craved a once-in-alifetime romance like theirs. Richard hadn’t been it. Now she’d never find it.

‘Hey, you okay?’

She nodded, bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop it quivering. ‘I still miss my mum.’

He hesitated before covering her hand with his. ‘Tell me about her.’

Tell him what?

How her mum used to braid her waist-length hair into plaits every day for school, never once snagging the brush or rushing her?

How she’d concocted an Indian feast out of rice, lentils, a few spices and little else?

How she’d loved her, protected her, been there for her in every way after her dad had died?

She couldn’t put half of what she was feeling into words let alone articulate the devastating sadness reaching down to her barren soul that she was here on this train and Khushi wasn’t.

Besides, did she really want to discuss her private memories with him? Revealing her innermost thoughts implied trust and that was one thing she had in short supply, especially with a guy hellbent on charming her.

‘Tell me one of the favourite things you used to do together.’

‘Watch Bollywood films,’ she said on a sigh, reluctant to talk but surprised by his deeper, caring side, a side too tempting to ignore.

The memory alleviated some of the sadness permeating her thoughts as she remembered many a Sunday afternoon curled up on the worn suede couch in the family room, a plate of jalebis, milk burfi and Mysore pak—delicious Indian sweets made with loads of sugar, milk and butter—between them, as they were riveted to the latest Shah Rukh Khan blockbuster—India’s equivalent to Hollywood’s top A-list celebrity.

They’d laugh at the over-the-top theatrics, sigh at the vivid romance and natter about the beautiful, vibrant saris.

Raised in Melbourne with an Aussie dad, she’d never felt a huge connection to India, even though her mum’s Goan blood flowed in her veins. But for those precious Sunday afternoons she’d been transported to another world—a world filled with people and colour and magic.

‘What else?’

‘We loved going to the beach.’

His encouragement had her wanting to talk about memories she’d long submerged, memories she only resurrected in the privacy of her room at night when she’d occasionally cry herself to sleep.

Richard’s sympathy had been short-lived. He’d told her to get over her grief and focus on more important things, like hosting yet another dinner party for his friends.

That had been three years ago, three long years as their marriage had continued its downward spiral, as her famous husband had slowly revealed a cruel side that, to this day, left her questioning her own judgement in marrying someone like that in the first place.

He’d never actually hit her but the verbal and psychological abuse had been as bruising, as painful, as devastating as if he had.

Ethan must’ve sensed her withdrawal, for he continued prodding. ‘Any particular beach?’

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth curving upwards for the first time since she’d started reminiscing about her mum.

‘It wasn’t the location as such. Anywhere would do as long as there was sand and sun and ocean.’

They’d visited most of the beaches along the Great Ocean Road after her dad had died: Anglesea, Torquay, Lorne, Apollo Bay. She’d known why. The beach had reminded Khushi of meeting her dad for the first time, the story she’d heard so many times.

Her mum had been trying to hold on to precious memories, maybe recreate them in her head, but whatever the reason she’d been happy to go along for the ride. They’d made a great team and she would’ve given anything for her mum to pop into the dining car right now with a wide smile on her face and her hair perched in a plain bun on top of her head.

‘Sounds great.’

‘It’s why I’m spending a week in Goa after the train. It was to be the highlight of our trip.’

She took a sip of water, cleared her throat of emotion. ‘My folks met on Colva Beach. Dad was an Aussie backpacker taking a year off after med school. Mum was working for one of the hotels there.’

She sighed, swirled the water in her glass. ‘Love at first sight, apparently. My dad used to call Mum his exotic princess from the Far East, Mum used to say Dad was full of it.’

‘Why didn’t she ever go back? After he passed away?’

Shrugging, she toyed with her cutlery, the familiar guilt gnawing at her. ‘Because of me, I guess. She wanted me to have every opportunity education-wise, wanted to raise me as an Australian, as my dad would’ve wanted.’

‘But you’re half Indian too. This country is a part of who you are.’

‘Honestly? I don’t know who I am any more.’

The admission sounded as lost, as forlorn, as she felt almost every minute of every day.

She’d vocalised her greatest fear.

She didn’t know who she was, had lost her identity when she’d married Richard. She’d been playing a role for ever: first the dutiful wife, then the grieving widow. But it was all an act. All of it.

She’d become like him, had cared about appearances even at the end when she’d been screaming inside at the injustice of being abused and lied to and cheated on for so long while shedding the appropriate tears at his funeral.

Ethan stood, came around to her side of the table and crouched down, sliding his arm around her waist while tilting her chin to make her look him in the eye with his other hand.

‘I know who you are. You’re an incredible woman with the world at her feet.’ He brushed her cheek in a gentle caress that had tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes. ‘Don’t you ever, ever forget how truly amazing you are.’

With emotion clogging her throat and tears blinding her, she couldn’t speak let alone see what was coming next so when his lips brushed hers in a soft, tender kiss she didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to react.

Instead, her eyelids fluttered shut, her aching heart healed just a little as her soul blossomed with wonder at having a man like Ethan Brooks on her side.

His kiss lingered long after he pulled away, long after he stared at her for an interminable moment with shock in the indigo depths of his eyes, long after he murmured the words, ‘You’re special, that’s who you are.’

A small part of her wanted to believe him.

A larger part wanted to recreate the magic of that all-too-brief kiss, as for the second time in a week she felt like a woman.

The largest part of her recoiled in horror as she realised she’d just been kissed—again—by the last man she could get close to, ever.

Ethan sprang to his feet and catapulted back to his chair on the opposite side of the table, desperate for space.

She’d done it again.

Left him reeling with her power to undermine his control.

Those damn tears had done it, tugging at nonexistent heartstrings, urging him to kiss her, to comfort her, making him feel, damn it.

He’d been a fool, urging her to talk about her mum. He should’ve known she’d get emotional, should’ve figured he’d want to play the hero and help slay her demons.

‘You’re good at that.’

His gaze snapped to hers, expecting wariness, thrown by her curiosity, as if she couldn’t quite figure him out.

‘At what?’

‘Knowing when to say the right thing, knowing how to make a girl feel good about herself.’

‘Practice, I guess.’

If his offhand shrug hadn’t made her recoil, his callous comment did the trick.

He’d just lumped her in with the rest of his conquests—something she’d hate, something he hated.

But it had to be done.

He needed distance right now, needed to slam his emotional barriers back in place and muster the control troops to the battlefront.

‘Lucky me.’

Her sarcasm didn’t sock him half as much as her expression, a potent mix of disappointment and derision.

He had to take control of this situation before it got out of hand and he ended up alienating her completely, and all because he was furious at himself for getting too close.

‘Before I put you off your food with any more of my renowned comforting techniques, why don’t we finish off this entrée? I’ve heard the lentil curry to come is something special.’

She nodded, her disappointment slugging him anew as she toyed with the food on her plate.

Establishing emotional distance was paramount. He’d come close to losing sight of his seduction goal moments before but steeling his heart was one thing, carrying it through with a disillusioned Tam sitting opposite another.

‘What do you think of the potato bondas?’

An innocuous question, a question designed to distract her from his abrupt turnaround and get them back on the road of comfortable small talk.

However, as she raised her gaze from her plate and met his, the accusatory hurt reached down to his soul, as if he were the worst kind of louse.

For a moment he thought she’d call him on his brusque switch from comforting to cool. Instead, she searched his face, her mouth tightening as if what she saw confirmed her worst opinion of him.

‘They’re good.’

Hating feeling out of his depth, he pushed the platter towards her. ‘Another?’

‘No, thanks.’

They lapsed into silence, an awkward silence fraught with unspoken words—words he couldn’t bring himself to say for fear of the growing intimacy between them.

Being here with her wasn’t about establishing an emotional connection, it was about seducing the one woman he’d wanted for years and couldn’t have. He needed to keep it that way, for the other option scared the life out of him.