Love, Unexpectedly

by Susan Fox

  Her expression was attentive as she listened, nibbling her appetizer. “I know they’re gaining more of a distribution and audience in Canada, and I assume the States as well.”

  “Yes, which is great.” And now that he’d set some background, he needed to make it personal. Pull her focus back to Pritam. “As a producer, I want my movies to be traditional enough to be popular to their core audience but also appeal to North Americans.”

  He was really warming to his role. “As well as considering subject matter, I’m looking into joint production efforts. Filming Bollywood movies in Canadian locations, with some stars from India but using mostly local actors. And local crews. Then bringing some of those actors and crews back to Mumbai to make films there.”

  “That’s fascinating.” Kat seemed totally engaged, hanging on his words as if he really were a glamorous producer.

  “Canada and India have an agreement designed to encourage joint projects, with tax incentives on both sides.” He’d learned this from Vijay, who was actually considering coming to Canada to explore opportunities.

  “But isn’t most of the Canadian film industry in Toronto and Vancouver, not Montreal?”

  “Yes, but think about this. Bollywood’s about song and dance, drama, color, pageantry, right? It’s vivid, exciting, fun.”

  A smile flashed. “Oh, yeah.”

  “And isn’t that what Montreal’s like? Wouldn’t it be a great location?”

  “You’re right.” She stared at him, excitement written on her face. “That’s brilliant!”

  It was. He’d have to suggest it to Vijay.

  So, he’d got her interested, and he’d impressed her with his brilliance. It was time to get back to the seduction. Was she invested enough in the game that she’d flirt with Pritam?

  Time to find out. The steward was clearing away the appetizer plates and delivering dinners.

  Nav tasted his tortellini, which was creamy and delicious. Hmm, there was a benefit to his newly shaven face. He didn’t have to worry about cream sauce catching in mustache and beard hairs. His naked face still felt a little raw and exposed, though, and it was a shock every time he passed a mirror. He’d lost the chubby cheeks he’d had as a younger man. No surprise Kat had thought Pritam was older than Nav.

  He took another bite of pasta. “This is excellent. How’s the salmon?”

  “Very good.” She cast a sideways glance at his tortellini.

  “Do you like tortellini?”

  “Love it. But there’s so much rich food on trains, I try to eat light.”

  “A taste won’t hurt. Want one?”

  “Yes, please.” Her answer came promptly.

  Rather than shoving his plate toward her as her buddy would have done, he swirled a stuffed shell around in the rich sauce, then extended his fork to her. An offer of intimacy.

  Would she accept it? Eat off the fork where, a moment ago, his mouth had been?

  Her gaze met his, then tentatively she raised her hand and touched his, gripping it lightly as she bent toward the fork.

  How many times had Kat touched him? Poking him in the ribs when he told a bad joke, claiming a hug when she was upset, playfully slapping his fingers when he reached for the last slice of pizza.

  But never had she touched Nav the way she did now. This touch sizzled with meaning. He could tell from the way her fingers trembled. This wasn’t a practical steadying of his hand; it was an acceptance of physical intimacy. She was opting into the strangers-on-a-train fantasy.

  His dick surged to attention as if she’d touched it rather than his hand, and he was grateful for the napkin on his lap.

  He didn’t look away as she slipped the pasta off the fork, between those rosy pink lips. Color rose to her cheeks. He’d made Kat Fallon blush.

  Well, his alter ego, Pritam, had. Which was the next best thing.

  She chewed, swallowed, and her cheeks grew pinker as he watched intently.

  “Good?” he asked, deepening his voice. Telling her he meant more than just the pasta.

  She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “More?”

  Now her cheeks were flaming. “I’d like that.”

  He swirled another bite of tortellini and offered it to her. As she again touched his hand, the artist in him approved the contrast between her white-tipped nails and his dark skin. The man in him savored the press of her soft fingertips and imagined them drifting across his belly and curling around his now-erect shaft.

  He struggled not to squirm in his seat.

  She slid the pasta into her mouth, and he thought of those full lips parting wider, taking his dick between them.

  He bit back a groan.

  After she chewed and swallowed, she said, voice husky, “Would you like to taste my salmon? Or do you eat fish?”

  “Occasionally, and I’d love a taste. And please, Kat, call me by my name. Pritam.”

  “Pritam.” It was barely more than a breath, but she had obeyed. Now, would she offer the food as he had, off her own fork?

  She did.

  This was his excuse to clasp her wrist lightly as he closed his mouth around her fork and slipped the salmon into his mouth.

  He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, after he’d finished the fish—which he didn’t even taste—he leaned down farther and turned her hand over so it was palm up. Softly he kissed the center of her palm, then flicked his tongue across her skin, making her shiver. He glanced up. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

  Her eyes had widened, and he saw how quickly her breasts rose and fell, noted the hard tips of her nipples pressing through her camisole.

  “Are you…” She freed her hand from his. “Are you trying to seduce me, Pritam?”

  Her blunt question caught him by surprise. “Trying? I’d hoped I was doing it.”

  “I’m still confused.” Her chestnut eyes showed an unusual vulnerability.

  Normally, even when she was upset about something, Kat played things for drama. She was “shattered” or “pissed off,” with exclamation marks. Rarely did she let down her guard, expose her doubts and uncertainties. Often he’d wished she would, but this wasn’t one of those times.

  “You’re being too analytical, chérie,” he teased, still in Pritam’s voice.

  She gave a soft laugh. “That’s sure not like me.”

  “What’s your biggest fear?”

  “Fear?” A startled look. The word clearly surprised her.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “Now you’re asking me to be analytical. Make up your mind.”

  “Just for a moment. Let’s identify the fear, see if it’s realistic.”

  “I…don’t want to make a fool of myself,” she said softly, cheeks flushed.

  “You aren’t. You won’t.” Awkwardly, because their trays were in the way, he caught her hands and squeezed them. “Yes, I want to seduce you, and I think you want to be seduced. You’re attracted; you can’t hide it.” Deliberately he let his gaze linger on her flushed cheeks, then move down to her breasts. When he raised it again, she was even pinker. “So, how is it foolish to give in and enjoy?”

  Her lips quivered into an almost-smile. “I guess it isn’t.” Gently she freed her hands. “But Pritam, I have this friend named Nav. He’s very important to me. I don’t want to ruin my relationship with him.”

  All’s fair in love and war, he reminded himself. “You won’t. What happens on the train stays on the train.” Unless she wanted to carry it back to Montreal, as he hoped would happen. “Pritam and Kat can have some fun, take it wherever they want it to go. That doesn’t need to affect Nav and Kat.” But he sure as hell hoped it would, for the better.

  He dropped back into English and spoke as Nav. “Kat, I promise.” If his plan didn’t work, he’d seek some distance and eventually they’d both marry, but there was one thing he knew. “As long as you want me as your friend, I’ll be there for you.”

  “O
h, Nav, me, too.” Her eyes glowed with affection, and for a long moment, they just smiled at each other.

  His heart warmed, but he knew this was a key point in his campaign. If she spent too long seeing him as Nav, she wouldn’t be able to get back into the Pritam game.

  As Pritam, he said, “What do you say, my lovely seatmate? Are you open to seduction?”

  She bit her lip. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

  So, she hadn’t decided. As she forked up salmon, he turned back to his tortellini. They ate in silence for a few minutes, though he was too tense to even taste the food. He’d said everything he could to persuade her. Now he must wait for her to make up her mind.

  Finally she glanced up. “All right, Mr. Producer, let’s hear more about Bollywood. What you were saying was fascinating.” Her tone was neutral. Not a buy-in, but not a rejection, either.

  The wisest approach now, he figured, was subtlety. He wouldn’t overtly seduce her, but try to engage her interest, help her relax again.

  As they finished their entrées, he drew on his scant knowledge. “Let’s start with the music. Filmi music, as it’s called. In Hollywood, the soundtrack is an important part of the package, but in Bollywood, it’s often critical to a movie’s success. You know how movie trailers are released to promote interest in advance? Well, Bollywood soundtracks are released in advance, and sales of the soundtrack may outgross those of the movie.”

  “I had no idea.” Again she was listening intently.

  “Here’s another difference from Hollywood. In the Bollywood movies you’ve seen, did you notice any lip sync?”

  “Yes. What’s the deal with that?” She had finished her dinner and leaned closer to him.

  Her soft cheek was temptingly near. If he stretched over a few inches, he could kiss it. His blood heated at the thought. It was hell to focus on the conversation. “Until the turn of this century, Bollywood didn’t record sound simultaneously with filming. The sound was done later. So the actors would go into a recording studio after filming and dub the dialogue.”

  “And sing the songs, I guess.”

  “Actually, vice versa for the songs. The songs are rarely sung by the actors, but by professional singers called playback singers. They record the songs before filming, then the actors lip-sync. Some of the filmi playback singers are as big stars as the actors.”

  “Wow.” She was hanging on his every word. “You said things changed recently?”

  “Yes, with a groundbreaking film called Lagaan. Since then the industry has been moving to new technology, and more A-list movies are made with simultaneous on-location sound. Dialogue dubbing isn’t done. But we still generally use playback singers for the songs.”

  The steward cleared their plates and they both accepted top-ups on their wine.

  Kat lifted her glass in a toast. “Here’s to Bollywood. Now, tell me more about your job. It must be so exciting.”

  He drank the toast, then expanded on his fake career. They both reclined their seats slightly, and Kat curled sideways so her jean-clad knee brushed him. When he dared to caress her arm lightly, her cheeks flushed and she didn’t draw away.

  Her face was bright with interest, her expression admiring, and he could just imagine her with NASCAR Guy or the Olympic skier. With the men talking about their dramatic lives and Kat getting sucked in deeper and deeper.

  She was so impressed by accomplishments and charm, she didn’t look below the surface to see if the man was actually a decent person.

  Damn, he was tired of talking about Pritam. Yes, his alter ego needed to be larger than life in order to tempt Kat into the fantasy game, but he didn’t have to be a self-centered ass.

  So, after the steward had served strawberry ginger cheesecake and coffee, Nav said, “Enough about me. Tell me more about your job.”

  “It’s nowhere near as interesting as yours.”

  That was strange. At home with Nav, she’d often relate stories about her work. But with Pritam, she was diffident. Almost as if his glamorous career intimidated her. What was up with that? “Come on,” he urged. “Give me an insider’s view of the hotel business.”

  “Mmm, let’s see.”

  While she mused, savoring a mouthful of cheesecake, he tasted his dessert. The spice of the ginger, the sweetness of the strawberries, and the slight edginess of the creamy cheese made for an unexpected but perfect combination.

  “In a way,” she said, “running a hotel is similar to making a movie. There are so many things and people to organize. The general manager coordinates everything, with other managers—like me for PR—reporting to him. It takes an incredible amount of organization to keep things running smoothly, but most of that takes place behind the scenes.”

  He nodded. “As with a movie, what matters to the audience is the end product.”

  “Exactly. Le Cachet is about luxury, comfort, being looked after. For many guests, their stay is an escape from real life. People change, either a little or a lot, when they’re in a hotel.”

  She’d told Nav stories about bizarre or humorous incidents at Le Cachet, but never before commented about people changing. “How do you mean?” he asked. “Like actors playing a role?” Or like he was doing on this train, trying to reinvent the way he and Kat related to each other?

  “Not exactly, because there’s no script or director. They make it up as they go along.” She chuckled, warming to her topic. “And no cinematographer, so they’re more liberated. They do things in hotels they wouldn’t do at home.”

  He took another bite of cheesecake. “For example? Tell me a story.”

  “Mmm, let me see. Okay, there’s this dignified older couple who stay with us a few times a year. They dine out, go to the theater. They’re wonderful to the staff and we all love them. Anyhow, one night around midnight, the wife phoned the front desk in a panic, saying her husband was having a heart attack. The concierge phoned 911 and rushed up to the room because he has first-aid training. And what do you think he found?” She widened her eyes dramatically.

  “I hope nothing terrible.”

  “The wife was dressed up in a black leather dominatrix outfit and he was naked, handcuffed to the bed. She was hunting frantically for her glasses because she couldn’t see to unlock the cuffs.”

  “Must have been a shock for the concierge.”

  “Trust me, concierges have seen everything. He took it in stride. Unlocked the handcuffs, suggested she get changed, and even managed to get the man’s pajamas on before the paramedics arrived. It turned out to only be indigestion, thank heavens. After, she told the concierge that they never do that sort of thing at home because it wouldn’t feel right.”

  Nav gave a delighted laugh. “Talk about drama. There’s more in your work than in mine.” Then he snapped his fingers. “A hotel would be a great setting for a Bollywood movie.” For a moment, he felt almost as if he really were a producer.

  Kat nodded vigorously. “What a wonderful idea. Let me know if you need a consultant.” She sounded sincere, as if she really were talking to a Bollywood producer.

  “You’ll be the first person I call.” He gave her a flirtatious look and rested his hand on her forearm. “That is, if you give me your phone number.”

  Automatically she bent to reach for her purse. And then froze. When she straightened, purse in hand, her expression said she’d come back to reality. Remembered he was Nav.

  What would she do?

  Her hand fiddled with the clasp of the purse. “In the beginning, I expected you to ask for my number,” she said slowly. “Then I forgot about it.” The words were ones she’d address to Pritam, but she spoke hesitantly, as if debating whether to keep on with the game.

  He wasn’t going to break character. In Pritam’s voice, he said seductively, “I never forgot, chérie. But I wanted to make certain that, when I got around to asking, you’d be sure of your answer.” Trying to summon the go-for-broke ballsiness he’d always had on the rugby field, he added, “And you are.” Mak
ing it a statement, not a question.

  She gave a soft laugh. “You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “You want a confident man.” As he said the words, he realized they were true.

  Furthermore, he knew that when he’d first moved to Montreal, Kat hadn’t seen him as self-confident. Though it had taken guts to start a new career in a new city, not knowing a soul, his confidence was of the quiet, not showy, variety. It was his nature to find his way and make friends slowly, and he was happy being that way.

  But Kat had thought he was shy, and she had taken pity and pulled him into her world.

  She’d formed her opinion early and never changed it even as he developed his career and social life.

  Pritam, unlike Nav, was a cocky bastard. So he held her gaze and said, “Confidence is sexy.”

  “It is.” She stared into his eyes, again seeming open to the possibilities between them.

  He gave her his most charming, appreciative smile. “You’re sexy, Kat Fallon. Everything about you is sexy.”

  “Such as?” The breathy question told him she welcomed flattery.

  He didn’t want to give her the same lines she’d heard from every other guy who’d tried to hustle her. “Such as the way your lipstick matched your camisole. Before you ate it all off.”

  Her soft laugh trembled, and beneath that pink top her nipples tightened again. He ached to touch her breasts, but instead captured her hand, clasping it gently in his, feeling that tingly glow he always felt when he touched Kat. A glow that was arousal and love and tenderness all wrapped together. Without looking down at her hand, he said, “Such as those white-tipped nails, perfectly manicured except for one that’s broken. On your middle finger.”

  “I got them done yesterday.” Her voice was husky, wondering, turned on. “I caught one when I was zipping my bag. You really do notice things.”

  “I notice things about you. Now, let’s see what else I’ve discovered. For one thing, you don’t like sharing a man with another woman.”

  “Lucky guess. What woman does?”