‘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.
CHAPTER FOUR
ETHAN focused on the tour guide as he droned on about Hawa Mahal, the Palace of the Winds.
Structurally, the place was amazing, like a giant candyfloss beehive with its tiers of windows staggered in red and pink sandstone.
Architecture usually fascinated him—every restaurant he purchased around the world was chosen for position as well as aesthetics—but, while the guide pointed out the white borders and motifs of Jaipur’s multi-layered palace, he sneaked glances at the woman standing next to him, apparently engrossed in what the guy had to say. While he, Ethan, was engrossed in her.
As the train had wound its way from New Delhi to the ‘Pink City’ of Jaipur overnight, he’d lain awake, hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
For hours. Long, endless hours, replaying that comfy scene over
