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Oh, God, how had she forgotten what fun it was to tease and taunt him? He had given her a kind of leeway he didn’t allow anyone else. Then or now. And she was a pathetic puppy who was still counting the crumbs he threw at her.
He rubbed his nose against hers in a tender gesture that made her pull away. “What would I do if you weren’t here to tame me,shahzadi?”
Zara snorted—he really was the devil—and turned back to the woman watching them with avid interest. “Did you settle in all right, Meera? Have you been shown to a proper room? Vikram knows you’re on my guest list. If you need anything...”
“Oh, it’s been perfect, Ms. Khan. Everyone’s been really nice,” the woman said, her gaze shifting nervously from Virat. For a man who could charm the panties off married women, he could give off a cold frost like no one’s business when he wasn’t interested. “I just wanted to thank you for getting me the invite to the wedding. It’s been like witnessing a fairy tale. Thank you for convincing Vikram sir that our organization is the real thing. He wouldn’t have given us a chance if not for your recommendation.”
“What have you roped Bhai into, love?”
It was Meera that spoke up. “My sister and I run a shelter for women fleeing abusive relationships in Mumbai. We aim to empower them by matching them with the right career training and Zara ma’am has been our staunchest supporter from the beginning. Unlike most celebrities who just write us a check, Ma’am donates her time and network to find suitable jobs for the women. One of our members is an aspiring actress, and Vikram sir gave her a chance to audition for a small part in a different project. Zara ma’am set up the whole thing,” she finished, beaming at her.
Virat studied Zara with such intensity that a warm trickle of sensation filled her every limb. “You’re apparently a paragon of virtue,jaan. A patroness of arts, a charity doyenne... A true queen, then.” But there was a hint of curiosity in his tone that promised a discussion later.
“Meera’s exaggerating,” Zara quipped. “I simply didn’t forget what it is to start from nothing. And I want to pay it forward.” She turned to him and nuzzled her face into the side of his neck, anger still coursing through her. “Does it make my ambition more palatable now? Does that make me more deserving of everything I’ve gained, Virat? Of you?”
She noted the slight flinch of his mouth with faint satisfaction. Nothing like holding a mirror up to a supposed man of principles. “You know that’s not me and—”
But in that moment, Zara discovered she was petty and she didn’t want to let go of the anger at his assumptions. She also knew that her ire was nothing but a shield against the hurt he could heap on her, given half the chance. “Meera also writes forSuperWomen. She’s doing a feature on me for the next month’s issue,” she added for his sake.
Settling back down again on a divan, she invited the young woman to start her interview. During the first few questions, Virat stayed quiet, walking behind and around Zara, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Can I ask you some questions about your relationship now?” said Meera, her tone tentative, as if afraid Virat might cancel her invitation and send her packing.
“What kind of questions?” Virat said instantly, pinning the poor woman with his gaze.
Meera tilted her chin up. “Our audience would love to know about the man who’s swept Zara ma’am off her feet. They want to know if you deserve her.”
Zara smiled at the sudden gleam of respect in Virat’s eyes.
“That’s something I’m still figuring out,” he replied, with a slick charm that had Meera blushing.
Zara didn’t miss the intention behind the statement. She sat back as he took the reins of the interview, smoothly bypassing most of Meera’s probing questions about their relationship and bringing the focus back to the biopic and their working together. He gave just enough to satisfy Meera’s curiosity without revealing anything he didn’t want to. It was like watching a master manipulator at work and Zara was glad he was on her side.
“Do you want an official picture of us together?” he added silkily, just as the interview was wrapping up.
Before Zara could blink, Meera pulled out a professional-grade, high-end camera out of her bag, and she and Virat were discussing lighting, angles and the best pose that would show off Zara and him together. She was still trying to wrap her mind about how she had lost control of the conversation when he lifted her easily—she was by no means a small woman—and neatly placed her sideways into his lap, with one of her arms going around his neck, her other hand on his chest. Leaving her face dipping down into his, intimately close.
His arm went around her waist, his broad palm sliding into place over her belly. The other hand, he left on her knee. He smelled of aftershave and the cigar he smoked when he was stressed, and something that was so essentially him—a cocktail that she was so familiar with that her nerves went haywire.
Zara’s heart started a thump-thump so loud that she was afraid the entire wedding party would hear it. Except in front of the camera, she hadn’t been this close to a man for so long. Oh, she’d toyed with the idea of a casual affair once or twice but it had only remained a fantasy. It seemed the wounds she’d sustained during her marriage were too deep to let her guard down with anyone other than Virat.
She wanted to blame her body’s absurdly needy reaction to his closeness on the drought she’d put herself through. Suppressing her natural desires wasn’t healthy. And yet, she knew that would be a lie. Only Virat had ever managed to make her forget her wariness. Only Virat who tempted her, even now.
She didn’t have to hold the pose for too long as Meera pronounced them done in no more than a few minutes. When she then asked for a selfie with Zara—the poor woman still seemed to be in awe of Virat—the blasted man dismissed her with a charming “I’d like to be alone with my Queen before the hordes find us.”
If he asked nicely, Zara was sure the woman would have burned the place down. Zara knew she would. Meera left after a cheerful wave in Zara’s direction and a grin that could be seen from her main office in Delhi.
A sudden silence descended in the cozy nook, weaving an intimacy around them. For the first time in years, Zara felt the thread of desire in her belly trump fear and doubts. Subsume everything except awareness of this man.
“Thank you for being nice to her,” she said into the gathering quiet. Unwilling to run away.
“You know I would never deny someone starting from the ground up.” His long fingers squeezed her knee. “You’re doing good work, Zara.”
There was no mockery or teasing in this. His compliment was genuine. Zara felt warmth filling her chest. She didn’t need his validation but she liked it anyway. This was a man whose good opinion would always matter to her. She’d already made her peace with that. “Thank you,” she whispered huskily. His fingers on her belly felt like a heated brand on her bare skin even though the thin cotton of her crop top provided a barrier.
“Zara, it’s clear we have different impressions of—”
Zara pressed her palm over his mouth and shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss the past anymore. Not today, please. It’s already beaten me down.”
