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Straightening her spine, Anya made the decision at that moment that she would tell him about Meera. She’d had enough of the damned universe playing games with her.
She was going to tell Simon the truth—for no other reason than that he deserved to know. And because Anya wanted to trust him with the secret she didn’t want to carry around alone any longer.
Simon found her on the terrace, her body limned by the moonlight, a couple of hours later. It was ridiculous that he’d spent the last hour chasing her shadow in every corner and nook of the expansive bungalow.
It was ridiculous that he’d barely exchanged any more than cursory greetings with the Raawal brothers—his entire reason for attending this dinner.
It was ridiculous that he was so concerned about her, a stranger no less, about the stark shock in her eyes when she’d spied him, that he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Ridiculous that he’d left his daughter in the company of Zara and lied that he needed fresh air. Not that Zara had believed it.
But he wanted to talk to his Angel.
Ms. Anya Raawal, he corrected in his head. He’d simply reassure her that he didn’t mean her any kind of harm. Make it clear that he had no wish to continue their association. It was a few moments of madness—done with and never to be repeated again. His steps made no sound on the smooth marble floor, but he saw her shoulders tense.
She turned around, her motions jerky, her eyes red rimmed but steadily gazing back at him.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, stopping a few feet from her, loathing the very idea of spooking her.
She stared at him, aghast, before she attempted a smile. But he could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. It didn’t make them sparkle. It didn’t remove the stress lines etched around her mouth. “You have to stop asking me that, Simon. Stop...showing me that concern of yours.”
“I will, Ms. Raawal,” he said formally, and saw her eyes widen. “As soon as you tell me what’s wrong with you.”
She would say she was fine, and he would nod and that would be that. But she didn’t say anything. The silence went on and on, picking up more and more weight until it was nearly unbearable.
For the first time since he’d walked in and seen her, he put his shock and other inconvenient emotions that had been plaguing him aside. Tried to look at the puzzle that was Anya Raawal objectively.
It couldn’t be seeing him again that had caused her such shock. When he’d caught sight of her, she’d been sitting on the divan. Her legs folded under her, laughing openly with her family. He hadn’t been able to look away. And so he’d seen the laughter turn to shock when she’d spotted Meera. But it was only when she’d seen him behind Meera that it had turned to panic. Just like that day at the hotel.
So what had spooked her then? Again?
“Did someone try to harm you at the hotel? Is that person here today too?”
She didn’t laugh at his dramatic conjecture. Her eyes improbably wide, her skin stretched tightly over her cheekbones, she said, “No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what is it, Angel?” he said, his words more demanding than they had any right to be. “What keeps sending you into such stark panic? Have you told anyone about it?”
Her chin lifted. “No. Because it’s no one else’s business but mine,” she said with a thread of steel he hadn’t heard before.
So there was something then.
He should walk away, his gut said. Leave her to her mysterious problem. It was none of his concern. Nothing could come of further entangling himself with her. Especially now that he knew that she was not some nobody who would disappear into the night as she’d hinted. Now that he knew she was a mainstay of the industry with all her connections and her successful career.
She was Anya Raawal, the sister of the powerful and, by her own admission, overly protective Raawal brothers. She was also fragile and far too young for him.
One scandalous escapade—one forbidden encounter—was more than enough.
And yet, Simon stood there, caught between his usual common sense and the utter irrationality of wanting to be near her. Of wanting to figure her out. Of wanting to help her. “Not even your brothers?” he taunted.
“Especially not them,” she said with just as much vehemence.
He moved toward her, giving her enough time to slip away.
Her fingers tightened over the sill behind her, her face turning up toward him in challenge.
He reached her but didn’t touch her. Just being near her, breathing in the scent of her made his skin hum. He knew she felt the instant pull too in how her eyes widened. The madness that was already beginning to demand that he taste her lips just once more. “What did you give up all those years ago?”
“Who were you mourning?” she demanded, tilting her head up to look at him, baring that neck that he wanted to kiss all over again.
“Rani, my wife. She died in a car accident eighteen months ago,” he said softly. His guilt dulled right now by the puzzle he was trying to solve. By this woman who upended his thoughts and emotions with her mere presence. “Now you answer my question, Angel. What did you give up?”
