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“Simon, what exactly happened?”
“Someone caught us on a cell phone. Kissing on the bench in Ustadji’s garden. The pics are all over the damned internet.”
Pushing away from him, Anya fished her cell phone out of her handbag and typed in her own name in the browser. Something she never ever did. Ever. Pictures of her and Simon—three different angles—of her sitting across his lap, plastered to him while they were lost in a passionate kiss, his broad palms all over her back, her arms clinging around his neck...
Her gaze moved over the write-up, her heart in her throat.
Anya Raawal’s secret affair with Simon De Acosta!
Apparently Anya Raawal—the usually reclusive member of the powerful Raawals—has cracked the code to get to the rich, successful Simon De Acosta: building a friendship with his daughter Meera Verma.
It’s no secret that the two have been spending a lot of time together on the set of Raawal House’s latest production. Their unusual friendship had been noted by more than one team member. Looks like clever Anya knew all along that the way to the property tycoon’s heart is through his daughter...
Her phone slipped from her hand and fell onto the carpet with a loud thud. “They make it sound so bad. As if I befriended her to get to you, as if I...” Tears knocked at her throat. “Meera...has she seen this? Did she ask about it? Please, Simon, what did you tell her? Did you tell her it’s not like that? Does she hate me now? What should I...?” Her knees gave up and she sank to the floor.
“Shh...breathe, Angel.” Simon’s deep voice cut through the loop. A mere second later, he was there, weaving his arms around her. He pulled her into his lap as easily as if she were a child. Muscled arms hugged her; a warm mouth bussed her temple until all she felt was him.
And still, the spiral of her thoughts continued.
Did Meera hate her now?
Would she never want to see her again?
Would she lose her baby girl already?
The thoughts were like tips of poison poking at her and she struggled to draw in a breath. Her chest felt like there was a large rock pressing down upon it.
“Look at me, Anya. Look at me.” Simon’s voice was pure possessive demand and Anya automatically followed it. Let him tug her out of the dark hole.
Dark eyes captured hers and held. His fingers gripped her jaw firmly, his breath coating her skin in warm strokes. “Tell me three things, Angel, three things you can see and smell and touch.”
“You,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks, “I see you.” She rubbed a finger over his brow. Over the dominating sweep of his nose. Over the tension lines around his mouth. Her chest rose and fell on a shuddering breath. “The scent of you is in my pores and I like it...” She stroked her hands over his broad chest, the thick nap of his sweater cool and soft under her fingers. His heart thudded under her palms, his muscles clenching at every touch. “I can feel you... And my hands can’t get enough.”
But the panic was like a monster waiting to swallow her down given a moment’s thought. She raised her teary gaze to his, desperate to make him understand. “You know it wasn’t like that, Simon. I would never use any child like that, especially not her.” A sob fought to break through her words. “I would never use you to get to her either. I...hate how the media can ruin things like this... I hate how they corrupt everything.”
His arms were like a vise around her shoulders now. “I know that. Look at me, Angel.” He was a shimmery vision through her tears as Anya tilted her face. His brown eyes were full of trust, his mouth rising up at one corner in a familiar gesture that stole her breath. “I know you, Anya. Trust me right now if you can trust nothing else.”
Something in his tone beat away at the spiral, as if he were truly her knight. Her hero. Anya bent her head, burying her face in his neck. She counted to ten, breathing in the male scent of him. “What does she think of me now? What did she say?”
“She saw the posts, yes. In fact, she was the one who said I should call you. That you wouldn’t have seen it. That I should talk to you, warn you, before someone else told you.”
Anya laughed through her tears, her words a blubbery mess. “Meera is so precious, Simon. You should be very proud of her.”
“She is and I am. It was you who reminded me that she has a solid head on her shoulders. She doesn’t believe any of the trash they wrote about you using her to get to me. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, and she said she wants to talk to us both. In her words, she’s dying to get all the gossip from you. She’s fine, Anya, I swear. Look at me.”
Anya looked at him—at the face of this man she’d propositioned for sex, the man she’d blurted out her most precious truth to, this man she’d accidentally proposed marriage to in a moment of madness. And yet he was here. Whatever she threw at him, he caught her. He held her as if she was the dearest thing to him in the world and he... Her breath fluttered for a whole other reason as she saw her reflection in his deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry for losing it so spectacularly.”
He shook his head while pushing away sweaty tendrils of hair from her forehead. “The last few weeks have been a lot, Angel. Falling apart is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I did my best to see you where we wouldn’t be interrupted, Simon.”
“Hush, I know that. If someone’s been irresponsible, it’s me. I’m the one who turned that discussion into something else, the one who kissed you in public. I’m the one who didn’t see how much Meera was worrying over me. I didn’t realize how tuned in she was to my own emotional state. You...made me see that.”
“So maybe we could say we’re rescuing each other?”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “You could say that.”
“You know my idea that you should marry me is beginning to sound better and better,” Anya blurted out too loudly, intent on lightening the mood, wanting to tease him.
