A Trip with the Tycoon

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Time for you. Time to put aside your grief. Move on.’

  He gestured to the stack of folders on the table between them. ‘From what I’ve heard, you’re a damn good food critic, one of Melbourne’s best. But honestly? The way you are right now, the tears I saw when I made a simple flyaway comment about an oven, what you just said about thinking about Rich every day, holding down a regular job would be tough. You’d end up not being able to tell the difference between steak tartare and well-done Wagyu beef, let alone write about it.’

  She should hate him for what he’d just said. It hurt, all of it. But then, the truth often did.

  ‘You finished?’

  She knew it was the wrong thing to say to a guy like him the instant the words left her mouth, for it sounded like a challenge, something he would never back away from.

  ‘Not by a long shot.’

  Before she could blink, his mouth swooped, capturing hers in a heartbeat—a soul-reviving, soul-destroying, terrifying kiss that stirred her dormant body to life, setting it alight in a way she’d never dreamed possible.

  She burned, swayed, as he changed the pressure, his lips coaxing a response—a response she couldn’t give in her right mind.

  But she wasn’t in her right mind, hadn’t been from the second his lips touched hers and, before she could think, rationalise, overanalyse, she kissed him back, an outpouring of pent-up passion from a shattered ego starving for an ounce of attention.

  Her heart sang with the joy of it, before stalling as the implication of what she’d just done crashed over her in a sickening wave.

  Ethan, the practised playboy, Richard’s friend, a guy she barely knew, had kissed her.

  And she’d let him.

  Slivers of ice chilled her to the bone as she tore her mouth from his, staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words to express how furious she was with him.

  Though her anger was misplaced and she knew it. She was furious with herself for responding; worse, for enjoying it.

  ‘Don’t expect me to apologise for that.’

  His eyes glittered with desire and she shivered, petrified yet exhilarated to be the focus of all that passion for a passing moment in time.

  ‘That should show you you’re a vibrant woman who needs to start living again. You should start by doing one thing you’ve always wanted to do before you return to work.’

  He made sense, damn him, prove-a-point kiss and all. And while her body still trembled from the impact of that alarming kiss and her astounding response, at least it had served a purpose. If she’d been prevaricating about taking a trip before, he’d blasted her doubts sky-high now.

  She had to go, had to leave Ambrosia, for facing him in the future would be beyond mortifying.

  Mustering a haughty glare that only served to make his eyes gleam more, she shook her head.

  ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’

  Shrugging, he sat back and crossed his ankles, the supremely confident male and proud of it. ‘Many people can’t believe a lot of the stuff I do, so don’t sweat it. Let’s talk about this trip of yours.’

  ‘Let’s not,’ she snapped, annoyed by his persistence, more annoyed by the glimmer of anticipation racing through her.

  She’d already been thinking about a trip herself. Specifically, the trip she’d booked with her mum. The itinerary they’d planned was tucked away in her old music box at home, the one her dad had given her when she’d been three, the one with the haunting tune that never failed to make her cry when she thought of all she’d lost.

  She’d contemplated taking the trip on her own for all of two seconds before slamming the idea. The trip would’ve been emotional enough with her mum by her side but without her?

  Her eyelids prickled just thinking about it and she blinked, wishing Ethan would put that devilish smile to good use elsewhere and butt out of her business.

  ‘Think sun, sand and surf. Somewhere hot, tropical, the opposite of blustery Melbourne at the moment.’

  Considering her toes were icy within her boots and she couldn’t feel her fingers, the thought of all that heat was tempting.

  India would be perfect, would fit the bill in every way. Buoyed by an urge to escape, she rummaged through the top folder, wondering if a brochure was still there. She’d had hundreds of the things when they’d been planning the trip, immersing herself in India, from the stone-walled city of Jodhpur—home of the Mehrangarh Fort and the grand palaces of Moti Mahal, Sheesh Mahal, Phool Mahal, Sileh Khana and Daulat Khana—to Ranthambhore National Park, India’s best wildlife sanctuary, to see the majestic tigers, eager to see as much of the intriguing country as possible.

  She’d kept them everywhere, hiding them from Richard when he’d first expressed his displeasure at letting her out of his sight, tucking them into books and magazines and her work stuff.

  Suddenly, she really wanted to find one, wanted to see if the tiny flame of excitement flickering to life could be fanned into her actually doing this.

  Flicking to the front of the folder, she dug her fingers into the plastic pocket and almost yelled for joy when she pulled out a glossy brochure featuring the Taj Mahal and the legendary Palace on Wheels train on the front.

  ‘You’re one of those incredibly annoying, painfully persistent guys who won’t give up, so here. Take a look.’

  She handed him the brochure.

  His eyes widened. ‘India?’

  ‘I planned to visit a few years ago but it never happened.’ She stared at the brochure, captivated by the exoticism of it all. She should’ve thrown this out ages ago, but as long as she hung onto it, as long as the promise of her mum’s dream trip was still a reality, albeit a distant one, it was as if she were keeping alive her mum’s spirit.

  Every time she found a brochure tucked away somewhere she felt connected to her mum, remembering the day she’d picked them up as a sixtieth birthday surprise and they’d pored over them during an Indian feast of spicy, palate-searing beef vindaloo, masala prawns, parathas and biryani, her favourite spiced rice, rich in flavoursome lamb.

  They’d laughed, they’d cried, they’d hugged each other and jumped up and down like a couple of excited kids heading away on their first camping trip.

  She’d wanted to explore the part of her history she knew little about, wanted to take the special journey with her mum.

  Richard may have put paid to that dream and, while she’d love to take the trip now, it just wouldn’t be the same without Khushi.

  ‘Guess I should explore all my options first.’

  She fiddled with the brochure, folding the ends into tiny triangles, absentmindedly smoothing out the creases again.

  ‘Uh-uh.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You’re going to take the trip.’

  Her eyes flew to his, startled by his absolute conviction, as a lump of sorrow lodged in her throat and she cleared it. ‘I can’t.’

  She’d find another destination, somewhere she wouldn’t have a deluge of memories drowning her, missing her mum every step of the way.

  He stabbed at the brochure. ‘You can. Clear your head, make a fresh start.’

  She shook her head, using her hair to shield her face. ‘I can’t do this trip alone. I’d planned to take it with my mum. This was her trip—’

  Her voice cracked and she slid off her chair and headed for the fireplace, holding her hands out to the crackling warmth, wishing it could seep deep inside to the coldest, loneliest parts of her soul.

  ‘You won’t be alone.’

  He came up behind her, the heat from the fire nothing on the warmth radiating from him—a solid, welcoming warmth she wished she could lean into before giving herself a swift mental slap.

  Stepping around in front of her, he stared at her, direct, intense, the indigo flecks in his blue eyes gleaming in the reflected firelight.

  ‘You won’t be alone because I’m coming with you.’
/>   ‘But—’

  ‘No buts.’

  He held up a hand. ‘I’m going to India anyway, to lure Delhi’s best chef to work here.’

  One finger bent as he counted off his first point.

  ‘You need company.’

  The second finger went down.

  ‘And, lastly, I’ve always wanted to do the Palace on Wheels trip and never got around to it so, this way, you’re doing me a favour.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I hear it’s an amazing journey, best shared with a beautiful companion.’

  His smile could’ve lit the Arts Centre spire, damn pirate, and in that second she snapped to her senses.

  What was she doing? He’d be the last person she’d take a trip with, the last guy to accompany her anywhere considering he’d just kissed her and turned some of that legendary charm onto her. Beautiful companion, indeed.

  ‘Your mum would’ve wanted you to go.’

  Oh, he was good.

  Worse, he was right.

  Khushi would’ve wanted her to go, to visit Goa and the beach where she’d met her father, to take a magical train journey through India’s heartland, to visit the Taj Mahal, something her mum had craved her entire life.

  She wanted to rediscover her identity. Maybe a link to her past was the best way to do it?

  Staggered by her second impulse in as many minutes—she determinedly ignored the first, foolishly responding to that kiss—she slapped the brochure against her opposite palm, mind made up.

  ‘You’re right, I’m taking the trip.’

  She fixed him with a glare that lost its impact when her lower lip wobbled at the enormity of what she was contemplating.

  ‘That’s great. We’ll—’

  ‘I’m taking the trip. Alone.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I don’t even know you,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t stayed, terrified how that incredible kiss had made her feel for a fleeting moment.

  It had obviously given him the wrong idea. What sort of a guy went from a cool acquaintance to kissing her to thinking she’d go away with him?

  Maybe she was overreacting, reading more into the sudden twinkle in his sea-blue eyes and his scarily sexy smile?

  Leaning forward a fraction, invading her personal space with a potent masculinity she found disconcerting, he lowered his voice. ‘That’s what the trip is for. Loads of time to get to know one another.’

  She wasn’t overreacting. He was chatting her up!

  Sending him a withering glance that would’ve extinguished the fire at her back, she headed for the table and slipped her trench coat on.

  ‘Thanks for the offer but I like being on my own.’

  When he opened his mouth to respond, she held up a hand. ‘I like it that way.’

  Before he could protest any further, she slung her bag over her shoulder and pointed to the stack of folders. ‘I’ll come back for these tomorrow.’

  His knowing gaze followed her towards the door and she knew he’d get the last word in.

  ‘Going solo is highly overrated.’

  Halting with her hand on the door, she glanced over her shoulder, startled by the ravenous hunger in his greedy gaze.

  ‘Someone like you would think that.’

  Rather than annoying him, a triumphant grin lit his face, as if she’d just paid him a compliment.

  ‘Next to business, dating is what I do best so I guess that makes me qualified to pass judgement.’

  ‘Overqualified, from what I hear.’

  His grin widened and she mentally clapped a hand over her mouth.

  What was she doing, discussing his personal life? It had nothing to do with her and, while she valued the opportunity he’d given her in using Ambrosia as a base to relaunch her career, what he did in his spare time meant diddly-squat to her.

  Propped against the bar, he appeared more like a pirate than ever: all he needed was a bandanna and eye patch to complete the overconfident look.

  ‘You sure you wouldn’t like me to tag along?’

  ‘Positive.’

  She walked out, somewhat satisfied by the slamming door.

  Take a trip with a playboy pirate like Ethan Brooks?

  She’d rather walk the plank.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WHAT the hell are you doing here?’

  Ethan grinned at Tamara’s shell-shocked expression as he strolled towards her on the platform at Safdarjung Station.

  ‘You mean here as in New Delhi or here as in this station?’

  Her eyes narrowed, spitting emerald fire. ‘Don’t play smart with me. Why are you here?’

  ‘Business. I told you I’m a workaholic. The Delhi chef wasn’t interested so there’s a chef in Udaipur I’d like to lure to Ambrosia. Rather than commute by boring planes I thought I’d take the scenic route, so here I am.’

  By her folded arms, compressed lips and frown, she wasn’t giving an inch.

  ‘And this business trip just happened to coincide when I’m taking the trip. How convenient.’

  ‘Pure coincidence.’

  He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, which only served to rile her further. That smile may well have seduced every socialite in Melbourne, but she wasn’t about to succumb to its practised charm. He laid a hand on her arm; she stiffened and deliberately stepped away.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, it’s a big train and the trip only lasts a week.’

  ‘It doesn’t make me feel better.’

  If the Tamara he’d seen all too infrequently over the last few years was beautiful, a furious Tamara was stunning—and vindicated why he’d booked this trip in the first place.

  It was time.

  He was through waiting.

  ‘Why don’t we stop quibbling and enjoy this fanfare?’

  He thought she’d never relent but, after shooting him another exasperated glare, she turned towards their welcoming committee.

  ‘Pretty impressive, huh?’

  She nodded, maintaining a silence he found disconcerting. He preferred her annoyed and fiery rather than quiet and brooding.

  Only one way to get her out of this huff. Turn on the charm.

  ‘Just think, all this for you. Talented musicians playing tabla as you board the train, young Indian girls placing flower garlands around your neck, being greeted by your own personal bearer for your carriage. Nothing like a proper welcome?’

  The beginnings of a smile softened her lips as a bearer placed a fancy red turban on his head as a gift.

  ‘Looks like I’m not the only one getting welcomed.’

  He wobbled his head, doing a precarious balancing act with the turban and she finally laughed.

  ‘Okay, you can stay.’

  He executed a fancy little bow and she held up a hand.

  ‘But remember I like being on my own.’

  He didn’t. Being alone was highly overrated and something he’d set about compensating for the moment he’d had his first pay cheque or two.

  He liked being surrounded by people, enjoyed the bustle of a restaurant, thrived on the hub of the business world and relished dating beautiful women. Most of all, he liked being in control. And, finally, this was his chance to take control of his desire for Tamara.

  He’d kept his distance while Rich was alive, had respected his friend’s marriage. But Rich was gone and his pull towards this incredible woman was stronger than ever.

  He wanted her, had wanted her from the first moment they’d met and had avoided her because of it.

  Not any more.

  That impulsive kiss had changed everything.

  He’d forfeited control by giving in to his driving compulsion for her, hated the powerlessness she’d managed to wreak with her startling response, and he’d be damned if he sat back and did nothing.

  Having her walk away had left her firmly in charge and that was unacceptable. He was here to reclaim control, to prove he couldn’t lose it over a woman, beautifu
l as she may be.

  Seduction was one thing, but finding himself floundering by the power of a kiss quite another.

  Clawing his way to the top had taught him persistence, determination and diligence. When he wanted something in the business world, he made it happen by dogged perseverance and a healthy dose of charm.

  Now, he wanted Tamara.

  She didn’t stand a chance.

  Tapping his temple, he said, ‘I’ll try to remember. But, you know, this heat can play havoc with one’s memory and—’

  ‘Come on, let’s board. Once you’re safely ensconced in the lap of luxury, maybe that memory will return.’

  ‘You make me sound like a snob.’

  ‘Aren’t you? Being Australia’s top restaurateur and all.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Oh, that’s right. You’re just the average run-of-the-mill billionaire who happens to rival Wolfgang Puck and Nobu for top restaurants around the world. Nothing snobby about you.’

  ‘Come on, funny girl. Time to board.’

  She smiled and, as he picked up their hand luggage and followed the porter, he could hardly believe the change in Tam.

  Sure, there was still a hint of fragility about her, the glimpse of sorrow clinging to her like the humidity here, but it looked as if India agreed with her. After she’d finished berating him, she’d smiled more in the last few minutes than she had in the odd times he’d seen her.

  ‘You know I have my own compartment?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you compromising my reputation.’

  She smiled again and something twanged in the vicinity of his heart. She’d had the ability to do that to him from the very beginning, from the first time he’d met her—an hour after she’d met Richard, worse luck.

  She’d been smitten by then, with eyes only for the loud, larger-than-life chef, and he’d subdued his controlling instincts to sweep her away.

  Neither of them had ever known of his desire for the woman he couldn’t have; he’d made sure of it. But keeping his distance was a thing of the past and the next seven days loomed as intriguing.

  ‘Your reputation is safe with me. I’m sure all those society heiresses and vapid, thin models you date on a revolving-door basis are well aware this boring old widow is no competition.’