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A Trip with the Tycoon
Nicola Marsh
Table of Contents
Dear Reader
Travel is in my blood. I first flew at two months of age, and haven’t stopped since! I love the different cultures, the food, the sights and the people of our big, wide world, and I have been lucky enough to visit many places.
For me, India evokes images of spices, saris, sun and sand. The people are as diverse as the delicious cuisine, their monuments steeped in tradition centuries old. It is a land of contrast, of mystique, and what better place to set a romance novel?
Such a spectacular setting is the perfect backdrop for Tamara and Ethan’s story. Tamara, of Indian descent, is on a journey of self-discovery. Travelling on the majestic ‘Palace on Wheels’ train through Rajasthan, and later Goa, she never expects to find romance. Suave, sexy Ethan has other ideas, and the corporate pirate sweeps Tamara off her feet.
There’s nothing like a holiday romance—but what happens when these two return to Melbourne? Turn the pages to find out!
I hope you enjoy this magical journey through India.
Happy reading!
Nicola
Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
For Uncle Ian and Rayner,
who kindly shared their recent memories of the ‘Palace on Wheels’ as I wrote this. Thanks for the photos, the anecdotes, the laughs—and for bringing the trip alive.
CHAPTER ONE
TAMARA RAYNE’S high heels clacked impatiently against the cobblestones as she strode towards Ambrosia, Melbourne’s hippest restaurant, a gourmet’s delight and the place where she was trying to get her life back on track.
Her favourite butterscotch boots, patent leather with a towering heel—impractical yet gorgeous—never failed to invoke the stuff of her surname as plump drops splashed down from the heavens and lashed her in a stinging sheet.
With her laden arms and no umbrella, she needed a mythical knight in shining armour. She’d thought she’d had him once in Richard. How wrong she’d been.
Blinking back futile tears—wasted tears, angry tears—she pushed on Ambrosia’s door with her behind, staggering with her load, almost slamming into her knight.
More of a pirate, really, a corporate pirate in a designer suit with rain-slicked dark hair, roguish blue eyes and a devilish smile.
‘Need a hand?’
Definitely devilish, and used to great effect if the constant parade of women traipsing through Ethan Brooks’s life was any indication.
‘You’re back.’
‘Miss me?’
‘Hardly.’
She hadn’t meant to sound so frosty but then, what was he doing? Flirting? She barely knew him, had seen him three times in the last year out of necessity, so why the familiarity?
‘Too bad.’ He shrugged, his roguish smile widening as he pointed to the bundle in her arms. ‘Do you want help with that?’
Quashing the urge to take her load and run, she nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He grunted as she offloaded the bag perched precariously on top of the rest. ‘What’s in here? Bricks for the new tandoori oven I’ve ordered?’
‘Almost as heavy.’
Her voice wobbled, just a tad, and she swallowed, twice. It was the mention of the tandoori oven that did it.
Her mum had loved tandoori chicken, had scored the chicken to let the spices and yoghurt marinate into it, had painstakingly threaded the pieces onto skewers before grilling, while lamenting the loss of her real oven back in Goa.
