Bollywood Fiancé for a Day (22 page)

‘Is that what I look like? Well, I'm not.' Why was he wearing the
kurta
Vishakha had given him?

‘Are you taking care of yourself,
beta
? I wish I got to see more of you.'

‘Why don't you come and live here, then?' He knew it was futile to ask that. But he persisted today, maybe because he'd been mucking around in emotional sand all day. ‘Why don't you leave Dad?'

‘I can't.'

‘What do you mean, you can't?' he exploded. ‘You mean you won't. It's because you're so grateful to him that he rescued you from a life of loneliness and struggle. But don't you see you've paid over and over for that.' His fists bunched as unreasoning anger came suddenly.

She was quiet a long time, as though debating whether to answer him, and then she began to speak. ‘I don't think I should discuss these things with you, but now that you've brought it up…It's not gratitude I feel for your father. Though it's there in a measure, I won't say it isn't. I love him, Zaheer. It's not the film kind of love. But I do care for him. In my time we didn't speak of these things, but we can at least put it into words these days. It's not totally Dad's fault, you know. Your father belongs to the time when rigidity and self-discipline was priced above all else.'

The words felt odd. ‘Are you trying to sell him to me, Mum? After all these years, are you telling me he loves us but couldn't say it? Sorry. It doesn't wash.'

‘No, I'm not saying that. Maybe he's been hardened by the life he knew then. But even if he can't, at least we can love him. I know I do.' Her voice broke a little and she touched the corner of her eyes with her hanky.

‘You're mistaking gratitude for love. How can you care for him when he doesn't care back?'

‘That's difficult to answer. Even I didn't know why till I tried to leave him. Yes, I did, once. And then I just had to accept it was the way it was. Don't ask me this,
beta.
He isn't that bad, really. Well, sometimes he is. But now I have other things to do and I keep busy, try not to care so much…'

‘How did you know, Mum?' The answer suddenly became urgent to hear. ‘That you loved him?'

‘You just do, Zaheer.' His mum was saying something, adding to the explanation, but as the earth spun crazily forward and then back again into position, he knew too.

He didn't need the explanation. Because he could understand what his mum was going through. All the years of sometimes pitying her, sometimes getting angry with her, now he could appreciate that emotion.

Once he was alone, Zaheer shook his head, still in disbelief. Could this feeling exist? This conglomeration of a warm glow, urgency, some inner unsteadiness. Of course it did. Hadn't Vishakha given him that…that
love
? A woman like her wouldn't offer her trust to anyone till she loved. And she'd loved him. He knew it. A shudder went down his spine.

And he'd broken that love, torn it apart.

Why? Not because he'd been afraid to love her back. But because…

He'd been afraid to have that love in the first place.

His eyes stung and fists clenched.

He hadn't believed he deserved that love.

All those years, rejected by his father. Pretending it didn't matter. Leaving him, roaming all over the country and yet deep inside the rejection from his father had lurked like an unwashed stain. He'd distrusted love, equalled it with helplessness. In the world he lived in, it had become harder and harder to distinguish the real thing from the fakeness and lies.

But Vishakha's love was real. As real as her smile, her tears, her tenderness. Her passionate kisses.

But it was too late now. If she'd ever loved him, she certainly couldn't now. Could she?

It had persisted in Mum. Love didn't die that easily. Maybe somewhere in some corner of her heart some spark of feeling for him was still alive.

He had to find out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

V
ISHAKHA WIPED THE
tears from her eyes. Surely it was supposed to get better.

Who was stupid enough to think of a man so disconnected to her he hadn't any idea what she needed? That closeness she'd felt with him only made her heart cry all the more at what could have been.

The evenings were worse. She found it harder to concentrate and yesterday she'd bought a stack of novels, determined to distract her mind from the compulsive rehashing of events it always got up to. She took up one of them,
not
a romantic novel which would make her cry even more, but a thriller. But even the mystery didn't hold her attention and she found herself staring out of the window. A soft knock on the door brought her back to the present.

‘
Aa jao
,' she called, thinking it must be her mother coming to share tea.

The door opened but it wasn't Mom. She gasped and stood up, her book falling to the floor.

‘How…how did you get in?' Maybe she was imagining him. Tall, ruggedly handsome as ever. Dark blue shirt open at the neck to expose his tanned column of throat. Tan denims ending at suede shoes. Dark hair a little wind-tousled. Hazel eyes intense.

‘Your security knows me.' Hah. Didn't everybody? ‘And there was no one about.' He moved further in and Vishakha moved similarly back.

‘That doesn't mean you can just walk in!' The beast. After he'd turned her away, humiliated her, all but shoved her out of his life.

‘What are you doing here, anyway?' Because her stupid heart which didn't know better was beginning to thump thunder-loud.

‘I had to see you.'

‘Why? Didn't you get enough chance to be insulting last time we spoke?' She must keep calm. Not let all her simmering hurt spill out. Otherwise he'd guess in a moment how deeply affected she was.

‘I did it for a reason, Vishakha. Haven't you figured it out yet?'

‘What reason could there be?' Despite herself, despite her intention of keeping a cool and distant front, the words demanded and found escape. ‘You didn't even tell me about the trouble with your movie. And flipping on me like that…when I thought we had something…' Damn, she was saying too much.

‘Because—' he exhaled ‘—you got too close.'

She looked into those changeable eyes, searching for—for what? Her own stupidity brought a fresh wave of pain.

You got too close.
The words she might have wanted to hear at one time now sent ripping pain through her heart. She'd got too close. And he didn't allow anyone near him. So she'd needed to feel the burn of his curt dismissal in order to withdraw from him? He'd certainly given her that. Singed her into an instinctive retreat.

‘So you wanted me out of your life that much? Congratulations, Zaheer. You succeeded. I definitely got the message.'

‘
Don't
, Vishakha, not now.' He shook his head. ‘You must forgive me. What I did…it was the action of a man driven to the end of his tether. That night I'd lost my film and I knew I was vulnerable to you. You were offering to stay and God knows it was like a lifeline to a sinking man. I wanted you but only on my terms and I knew it would never be enough for you. I had to get you away from me.'

‘Now
I
have to get
you
away,' she gritted. God, she hated the way her voice trembled and betrayed her when she spoke to him. Another moment and she would break down and cry and beg him to stay. Heat crawled up her skin, and already her control was a bare step away from capsizing. ‘I may be dumb but I don't make the same mistake twice. I have nothing to say to you, Zaheer.'

‘Vishakha…' He came forward and she shied away, backing into her wardrobe door.

‘Leave my home, Zaheer. We have nothing to say to each other.'

‘Dammit, Visha…' He thrust a hand into his hair, tousling it, but that only gave him an endearing just-got-up look that melted her knees. Something in her suddenly ensnared gaze made his bore into hers and quickly she looked away, but it was too late; he'd caught that look. ‘Maybe talking isn't such a good idea,' he muttered, getting up close.

‘No!' But the protest was weak, half trapped in her throat. Just that eye contact had sent a flash of heat inside her. She didn't want him any closer. Not that the damn man was listening. He crowded her against her own wardrobe door till she could feel his breath on her skin, sending awareness shooting down her spine.

‘Please, Visha.' The entreaty sounded so odd coming from him that her resistance slackened and he bent to kiss her cheek in such a ridiculously chaste gesture she nearly groaned. He smelt of musk and him—
so
him—and all she wanted to do was relax and let herself be enfolded in his arms, let the hard strength of corded muscles be her support, let his nearness weave its inevitable magic on her…

Another imprint on her cheek and she realized she'd closed her eyes and the moment to open them slipped from her because the next instant his lips touched hers, firm, exciting, sensuous. Her mouth opened willingly, the wanting to be close to him taking over. She moaned as his touch shivered over her, setting her body trembling in reaction, nerves thrilling as muscles bunched, bones melted. What was this magic that made everything fade into insignificance except the way he made her feel? A gasp sounded against his mouth as his hands swept up her ribcage to possess her curves. Heat poured into her blood, her fingers tightening into his shirt. An ache seared her as he deepened the kiss to openly erotic, hiking the wanting to a flame, intense, burning, wrenching a shuddering compliance from her as her body shifted to accommodate his, arching in instinctive response as she felt the unmistakable sign of his desire. His lips traced a scorching path down the arch of her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat, sliding downwards to the vulnerable skin beneath.

‘Visha,' he groaned, the urgently pressing splay of his hands on her back evidence of his increasing passion. His tongue snaked out and licked her skin and she gasped in open pleasure, hooked and waiting, hardly breathing, for the moment he would touch the sensitive peak which seemed to crave him till the longing, tight, hot and mindless, was snaking to each cell in her body.

The truth was that she couldn't resist him—she couldn't—and the sheer power of what he made her feel swept through her like a wind knocking down everything in its path.

‘Vishakha!' The guttural sound of her name was an aching litany yet the insistence meant that she had to take stock. Face the fact that sent humiliation coursing through her like a gust of the burning hot wind of the plains. She shuddered and buried her forehead against his shirt, still hanging on as she tried to catch her breath.

‘Damn you.' If he'd wanted to prove she still felt something for him, well, it should be obvious to a blind man that she did…a whole lot!

A measure of cold comfort was that he was breathing hard too, deep measured breaths, not so desperate as hers but still rapid. The beautiful hazel eyes were dark now, brilliant with desire and intense with restraint.

‘You beast!' was wrenched from her. What did he want? Why torture her with this, the flirting-with-danger thought that she could affect him like this when it couldn't lead anywhere?

‘You aren't the only one who got hurt that day.' His mouth twisted. ‘Hell, Vishakha, I haven't been the same since you left. I shared with you what I haven't told anyone ever before, you know that. When I'm with you I am what I can't be with any other person.'

Such beautiful words. They made her throat ache.

What was he saying? Was he admitting to feeling something more for her than physical desire? She could see the honesty in his eyes but it still didn't change the fact that he'd humiliated her publicly. Jabbed and ripped at her most vulnerable point. She'd been denigrated. When she'd already learnt that painful lesson once.

‘I can't face it any more, Zaheer. I can't do this again. It was hell to walk out of there, to have you slap my offer to stay with you back in my face. That was the end. You said yourself it's…it's over.' She sank down into the nearest chair, her back to him because she couldn't face him any more. Silence stretched and he must have got the meaning because she heard the door click. With a sigh, she buried her face in her hands, giving in to the tears.

* * *

Zaheer paused, his hand on the doorknob. Try as he would, he couldn't go. He had to try again. His whole life was on the line here.

‘We have something here, Visha. Let's not mess it up.'

He saw her surprise as she whirled around, cheeks wet.

Fiercely she wiped the tears away. ‘Yes, I'm messing it up, Zaheer. You want to know why? Because I don't think you know what or who I am. And you'll never prize me, not in the way of giving me expensive presents, but just valuing me. As the person I am. I can't live with thinking you might hurt me like that again. It's better we keep things as they are.'

He blanched at the hit but she turned away. He saw her rigidly fighting more tears. His arms hurt to hold her. He felt his eyes sting in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness. His hand outstretched to soothe her, then curled back. She was right. He had nothing more to say to her. He'd hurt her, cold-bloodedly and deliberately, and if there was anyone to blame it was him. He knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness. His body might ache with wanting her, his gut might twist witnessing her tears, his chest feel like a stone lay over it, but he couldn't help her. Failure felt like a black cloud creeping over his vision.

As her sobs escaped from her throat, he went out of the door, shutting it behind him this time with a definite click.

* * *

If it had been impossible not to think of him before, now it was gravity defying, a sheer uphill struggle that left her exhausted and with a spinning head.

Everything was against her. When she wanted to select a film to watch, he was there on the cover, larger than life and twice as tough. She switched on the TV and he was on every other ad, telling her which cola to drink and how to maintain her weight. She weakened and the voice of reason became fuzzy. She entered into a compulsive phase and began to drink up those sightings. News of him. His interviews. Today he was on one of the channels, looking like heaven in an instant pack. She swallowed a mouthful of chips as he smiled at the interviewer, those irresistible clefts deepening in his cheeks.