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The kiss came as such a shock that Shweta stood absolutely still for a few seconds.
The sensation was indescribable. She’d been kissed before, but the feel of Nikhil’s warm, demanding lips on hers was something else altogether—involuntarily, she clutched at his arms, trying to pull him closer.
His hands were cupping her face now and with a little inarticulate cry, Shweta arched her body to lean in closer to the kiss. She was conscious of nothing other than the feel of Nikhil’s lips on her mouth and throat.
A lot of time seemed to have gone by when Nikhil let her go finally, and she stared at him, her eyes still a little hazy from the effect of his kisses. One of his hands came to rest lightly on her shoulder, and the other caressed her cheek, as he ran a thumb gently over her lower lip.
“I should apologise,” he said softly, and his voice was not quite steady. “I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m not sorry I did.”
Dear Reader,
This is my fourth book, and I started writing it almost immediately after I completed the third. I had the characters and plot ideas all mapped out in my head and for the first time in my short writing career I felt I’d got the ‘hang’ of writing—this book would be an absolute breeze. Of course when I started writing about Nikhil and Shweta, they took on a life of their own, deviating from my carefully planned plot at every possible opportunity (I hated it—I’m a control freak who only likes people who do as they’re told!).
Shweta is attractive and outgoing, but she’s been ruled by convention for most of her life, and is terribly risk averse. Nikhil on the other hand is the quintessential bad boy. He’s strikingly good-looking, and while he’s out of the rock bands and fast motorbikes phase, he’s still a far cry from the nice, safely eligible kind of man Shweta is looking for.
Nikhil and Shweta were classmates from the ages of four to fourteen—they fought almost constantly, and if someone had told Shweta that she’d end up falling for Nikhil many years later, she’d have been horrified. Nikhil on the other hand always had a soft corner for her, and he finds the new, grown-up Shweta infinitely alluring. And in spite of my control freakiness, I found myself liking both of them more and more as they muddled their way towards admitting that they are crazily in love with each other.
Happy reading!
Shoma
The One She Was
Warned About
Shoma Narayanan
SHOMA NARAYANAN started reading Mills & Boon® romances at the age of eleven, borrowing them from neighbours and hiding them inside textbooks so that her parents didn’t find out. At that time the thought of writing one herself never entered her head—she was convinced she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up. When she was a little older she decided to become an engineer instead, and took a degree in electronics and telecommunications. Then she thought a career in management was probably a better bet, and went off to do an MBA. That was a decision she never regretted, because she met the man of her dreams in the first year of business school—fifteen years later they’re married with two adorable kids, whom they’re raising with the same careful attention to detail that they gave their second-year project on organizational behaviour.
A couple of years ago Shoma took up writing as a hobby—after successively trying her hand at baking, sewing, knitting, crochet and patchwork—and was amazed at how much she enjoyed it. Now she works grimly at her banking job through the week, and tries to balance writing with household chores during weekends. Her family has been unfailingly supportive of her latest hobby, and are also secretly very, very relieved that they don’t have to eat, wear or display the results!
This and other titles by Shoma Narayanan are available in eBook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Anna and Megan, my two wonderful editors,
for their patience and unfailing support
Contents
ONE
‘That,’ Priya said, pointing dramatically, ‘is the hottest man I have ever seen in my life.’
It was the first evening of their annual office convention and Shweta was already exhausted. The flight from Mumbai to Kerala was short, but it had been very early in the morning and she’d not slept much. Then the day had been crammed with intensely boring presentations that she’d had to sit through with a look of rapt attention on her face.
‘At least look at him!’ Priya was saying, and Shweta looked in the direction of her pointing finger.
A jolt of recognition made her keep staring for a few seconds, but there was no answering gleam in the man’s eyes—clearly he didn’t remember her at all. Not surprising, really. She’d changed quite a bit since they’d last met.
She shrugged, turning away. ‘Not my type.’
Priya gave her a disbelieving stare. ‘Delusional,’ she said, shaking her head sadly. ‘You’re so out of touch with reality you can’t tell a hot man from an Excel spreadsheet. Talking of spreadsheets—that’s one guy I’d like to see spread on my sheets...’
Shweta groaned. ‘Your sense of humour is pathetic,’ she said. ‘Every time I think you’ve reached rock-bottom you find a spade and begin to dig.’
Priya took a swig from her glass of almost-neat vodka. ‘Yours isn’t much better,’ she pointed out. ‘And, pathetic sense of humour or not, I at least have a boyfriend with a pulse. Unlike that complete no-hoper Siddhant...’
‘Siddhant is not...’ Shweta began to say, but Priya wasn’t listening to her.
‘Ooh, he’s looking at you,’ she said. ‘I bet you can’t get him to
