Harlequin Presents--June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Dani Collins

  She orgasmed with a low cry, her nails clutching his shoulders, marking him. And in the hold and release of her climax, Dev chased his own.

  With one swift movement, he turned her back against the sheets, and then he lost himself in the arms of his wife.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE KOHLIS’ HOUSE in California was really a mansion. Even knowing that this trip was mostly about Dev and not her—which meant she was hoping she wouldn’t be under too much scrutiny from his big family—Clare couldn’t help being nervous.

  Fake marriages were not easy. Especially when you were married to a gorgeous hunk with kind eyes and complex emotional depths. Especially when she and Dev made it all too real when it came to passion. Especially when during the two weeks since their wedding, she’d seen how much they had in common.

  She tried to bury her anxiety by telling herself that he needed her to be confident and charming and perfect. Not because she needed to impress anyone in particular. But because that was the only way his family would believe that he’d fallen for her.

  She was all of those things, she reminded herself. The only playacting that they needed to engage in was convincing everyone that they were hopelessly in love with each other. That was the part she was looking forward to.

  She couldn’t wait to see how Dev was going to pull it off.

  Tall Oaks stood in solemn welcome, straddling a wide pathway with lush, green vegetation on each side for almost a few kilometers before they arrived at the residence.

  By this time, Clare was used to the grandeur and affluence that followed Dev wherever he went. But as she stepped out of the chauffeured Mercedes and stared up at marble facade of the gigantic mansion, Clare wasn’t quite as composed as she’d have liked to have been.

  A lump filled her throat.

  She couldn’t stop imagining Dev here as a little boy. Rambunctious and full of energy, yet confused by his incapability to understand the written word. Being surrounded by a genius brother and overachieving sisters, while letters and words escaped him.

  And when he’d finally begun to realize that there might be a reason for that, he’d already lost his champion—his mother.

  Tears filled her eyes as she recalled what he’d told her about his father’s treatment of him, and Clare blinked them back. She could imagine him here, running wild, losing himself in the woods. Trying to free himself from the stifling expectations and his own shortcomings.

  Feeling like he could breathe again.

  She sent him a sideways glance, knowing he’d hate to be pitied. But Clare had always known herself. Had always faced her truths.

  What she felt for Dev wasn’t pity at all.

  She reached out and took his hand in hers. He was stiff at first, his jaw tightly locked. But slowly, he tangled his long fingers with hers and his breath came out in a long, painful exhale.

  He met her gaze only once. But it was enough for Clare. It was more than enough.

  He knew she was here, in this moment with him. He knew he wasn’t alone. And with that one glance, he acknowledged it. It told her that her presence did make a difference to him.

  Clare knew he couldn’t give her any more than that. Knew that he might never look any deeper at what their marriage had morphed into. Knew that she might have to wait a long time, maybe even forever, to hear what he felt for her.

  But she didn’t care.

  She was happy to be here and share this moment with him.

  She was relieved to find that her father’s betrayal hadn’t put her off forging new connections with people.

  She was also ecstatic and a little terrified that she might be falling in love with her commitment-phobic husband whose scars ran so deep.

  * * *

  “So how did you and my brother meet?”

  Clare looked up from the intricate swirls the henna artist was drawing on her left palm with a dexterity that left her in awe of her talent.

  To find about twenty sets of eyes on her.

  Her heart beat to the rhythm of the Bollywood Hip Hop fusion music that was blaring out from cleverly hidden speakers in the backyard. Despite the noise, it felt as if everyone and everything around her had fallen silent just to hear her answer.

  And there was a lot going on.

  Whatever she had read previously about Indian weddings, Clare had discovered that the reality gloriously outmatched the theory. It wasn’t just people dressed in beautiful clothes, long-lost cousins greeting each other, kids from old family friends eyeing each other now that they were grown up, interfering aunties sizing up brides for their sons and vice versa, it was the sheer joy that pervaded the atmosphere. Diya had laughed and told Clare that by marrying Dev she’d apparently saved him from a huge peril in the form of a pushy auntie who wanted to matchmake for him.

  It was also the ceremony after ceremony of teasing the bride and the groom, of dancing and food, of being a part of something that was much bigger than yourself.

  Oh, Clare knew there were bound to be downsides too, but she didn’t care. Not when smiling aunties and uncles she didn’t know looked her up and down, kissed her cheek and demanded she—Dev’s lovely new bride—take their blessings for a long, prosperous marriage.

  It had taken a giggling Diya to explain that in this context, prosperity was all the children she and Dev might have in the future.

  And at the thought of children—her and Dev’s children—of a boy or a girl with their father’s twinkling eyes, his beautiful jet-black hair, and that sheer determination to conquer life, Clare had known it was too late for her.

  She badly wanted this marriage to be a real one. She wanted that future with Dev. She wanted...so much she knew she couldn’t have.

  Ever since they’d arrived here, he’d changed. Oh, he’d laughed and joked with people, played the doting uncle to a number of nieces and nephews, chatted with Diya for a bit, sitting in the lighted courtyard while the groom, Richard, and Clare had waited patiently.

  There was a sadness in him, Clare could tell. If he had expected to feel different returning here as a successful businessman, as a world-renowned billionaire, she knew he had failed.

  She saw it in his eyes.

  She felt it in the silence he imposed between them at night when she crawled into bed after a long day of festivities. When he reached for her and made love to her with a dark passion, as if he needed escape.

  Clare loved sleeping next to his large, warm body. Loved it when he cuddled her body against his, whispering soft endearments in her ear.

  But it was clear that being back in his childhood home had cast a darkening spell on him. Clare knew that his twin looked at him with concern. But he’d shrugged her concern away in front of Clare. Had then evaded a more in-depth conversation with Clare as if he didn’t trust his own words.

  As if he could only communicate with his mouth and his fingers and his body.

  So Clare let him. She let him take whatever he needed from her. Because she loved him with all her heart.

  She finally knew it for certain when she washed off her hennaed hand and saw that the artist had inserted Dev’s name so cleverly into the swirls on Clare’s palm.

  She rubbed at his name with her finger and took a deep, shaking breath.

  Knew that he’d carved himself into her heart too.

  Whatever she told herself, or however well she prepared herself for the worst didn’t matter.

  She’d fallen in love with Dev Kohli, and there was nothing she could do about it. Most of the time, Clare didn’t want to. Because loving him meant being her best self. Seeing herself through his eyes. Seeing the very fabric and future of her life shift with him in it.

  God, she wanted him in it so desperately.

  “Clare?”

  She looked up to see Dev’s older sister—and everyone else—still waiting for an answer as to
how they’d met. “Sorry, I drifted off there for a moment!” She strained her brain trying to think of the right story to tell while the artist took hold of her other hand.

  * * *

  She spotted the tall figure of Dev’s dad hulking against the back wall, listening. to whom apparently, appearances were everything.

  When Dev had first introduced her to Anand Kohli, he had greeted Clare with a warmth she hadn’t expected. And when she’d trotted out her qualifications as the CEO of her own company, approval had glinted in the brown eyes that were so much like Dev’s.

  But the similarities had ended there. The older man didn’t appear to have the warmth her husband did. Neither did he seem to possess the kindness and generosity of spirit that was so much a part of Dev’s personality.

  A tall, broad man like his son, he had retained his good looks and stature. Clare had tried to imagine him angry and impatient with a little boy who couldn’t put his troubles into words. As a hard man who demanded perfection instead of seeing the lonely, lost child.

  Clare had never felt an anger before like she had felt it then, on behalf of that young Dev.

  In a booming voice, he’d prodded Dev about not informing his family about his nuptials.

  And Dev had simply shrugged. Refusing to pretend as if everything was normal between them. As if he had any obligation to his father. He’s simply walked away, leaving them both staring after his retreating back.

  Clare had automatically turned to apologize to the older man for Dev’s behavior but managed to swallow it. This man didn’t deserve an apology. Not when he was responsible for all the scars that Dev bore.

  And yet...as she’d stood there facing him, she’d thought of her own father. Of how angry she’d have been if she had ever laid eyes on him again. How she’d have demanded an explanation for what he’d done.

  How, if he’d offered even a tiny excuse, she’d have tried to forgive him. Would he have been genuinely sorry was a question she was never going to get answered.

  But Dev’s father was here. Alive. Despite everything, there was something about him that had made her feel sorry for him too.

  “He likes you,” Mr. Kohli had said then, a hint of shock in his voice. Whatever flash of raw ache she’d seen in his eyes gone now.

  Her hackles had risen. “The last thing you should be doing now, Mr. Kohli, is criticizing your son’s choice of wife.”

  He’d smiled then, as if he was some maharaja granting a boon to a peon. “Oh, I wasn’t criticizing his choice, Clare. I was surprised, that’s all.”

  “By what?” she’d demanded, more curious than angry now.

  “I never thought he’d marry. But not only did he tie the knot, he seems to have traveled a different route to it than I or any of his siblings expected him to.”

  “Again, I’m not sure if you’re insulting me or complimenting me.”

  His gaze dwelled thoughtfully on where Dev had stood not a minute ago. “After all the women that have paraded through his life, I’m glad he’s chosen a wife that suits him so well. The real him. His mother would’ve been happy to see you with him.”

  Clare had been struck mute that father and son would think the same thing. “Why do you say that?” she’d asked, fishing for more.

  Mr. Kohli’s dark eyebrows had tied together. “It’s clear that he’s happy with you. Even though he thinks I don’t know him.”

  “But you don’t,” Clare had whispered. She’d walked away then, without waiting for his reply.

  “Clare?”

  Diya’s hand on her arm brought Clare back to the present once again. She forced a deep breath in and smiled. Lies were easier if they were mostly truth embroidered, weren’t they? Not that she’d ever come back here and see these lovely faces again.

  * * *

  “Oh, I...snuck onto Dev’s yacht,” she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

  A barrage of whoops and questions came back at her.

  She laughed. “I had one date with him and after that he blew me off. So when I had the chance to attend a party aboard his yacht, I crept into his bedroom. And demanded that he—”

  “She demanded that I either give us another chance or toss her overboard,” an amused voice finished behind her.

  Clare tilted her head back to find Dev looking down at her from his great height. He was wearing a half-white kurta with gold piping across the Nehru collar, and he looked gorgeous in a more subdued than usual kind of way.

  Laughter and cheers surrounded them. More questions came, but Clare couldn’t look away from his dark gaze. She must have moved her other hand to keep her balance because the henna artist was suddenly muttering away in Hindi.

  Her heart thumped wildly as Dev fell to his knees behind her. His arm came around her waist, taking her weight and keeping her hand steady for the artist. And then he was dipping his head—uncaring of all the eyes watching—and kissing her.

  More squeals abounded them, a deafening jumble of catcalls and whistles, and Clare thought she might cry at the tenderness with which he kissed her. Softly, slowly, almost reverently.

  As if he were seeking a benediction. As if he were asking for something he couldn’t put into words.

  Clare wrapped her free hand around his neck and held on. Her heart racing so fiercely that she thought it might pound right out of her chest.

  It had been like this ever since their wedding night. One kiss led to more. A hundred kisses led to everything. Everything led to her being suffused by emotions for this man.

  His fingers held her jaw for his tongue’s foray now. If he weren’t holding her steady, Clare knew she’d have melted right onto the marble floor. She sighed when he finally let her go.

  “What was that for?” she asked, rubbing her fingers tentatively over her swollen lips.

  He jerked his chin back for a second. As if he found the question unexpectedly daunting. As if he couldn’t think of the right words. Something shifted in his gaze and then he said, “Did I tell you how lovely you look in your lehenga?” he said, a smooth charm back in his voice.

  Disappointment flooded Clare. Not that she believed his compliment to be false; the traditional outfit Diya had presented her with was gorgeous, with gold embroidery enhancing the stunning pale pink color. But because he had pushed away whatever it was that had tugged him to her in this moment. Whatever he’d been silently telling her with that kiss was now neatly forgotten again.

  “Thank you,” she said inanely. “How did the male bonding go last night?”

  He grinned. “It was boring... Bhai doesn’t drink. Richard is quiet. Then Derek showed up and it felt like a party.”

  “Did you and your brother get a chance to talk?” she asked, knowing that Dev had been evading his brother too.

  A shutter fell over his expression. “Let it go, Clare.”

  Clare refused to indulge in the hurt that splintered through her. This wasn’t about her. This was about him.

  “I came to see if they were bothering you,” he said in a loud whisper that was intended to reach his sisters.

  Clare leaned back against his broad frame, feeling as if she was being torn between joy and a searing longing for more.

  “Oh...pshh...your bride is safe with us,” Diya answered her brother, while most of the crowd turned back to the business at hand. And then she dipped her head and planted a kiss on Clare’s cheek.

  Dev stared at his twin, while Clare felt as if she’d just been given a wonderful gift. She clutched Diya’s hand, a prickle of tears in her throat. “What was that for?”

  Diya grinned, and her eyes were glittering bright with their own wetness. “Just for coming into his life. He... I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. A very long time.”

  Before Dev or Clare could stay her, Diya walked away, leaving a sudden silence behind.

  Cla
re would’ve given anything, anything in the world, to have Dev acknowledge what his twin had just said.

  She willed him with everything in her to say one word. Something. Anything.

  Time ticked away, seconds to minutes, leaving her desperately aching.

  She shivered, the chill coming from inside her rather than out. His body was there instantly, warm and hard. She felt his chin touch her head, his kiss at her temple. But this time, Clare wanted the words. Needed them like she needed air to breathe.

  She was just beginning to think she was going to have to wait forever again. Just as she’d waited for her father...months upon months, melting away into years after years. Believing. Hoping. Sustaining herself for so long on so very little.

  His hands stayed around her waist. “I have something for you.”

  “My wedding present?” she said, asking the same question for the hundredth time.

  It had started as a joke between them. A game. But now, as his gaze met hers and held it, it became something more. Something portentous.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Even better.”

  Clare pouted playfully. “Tell me.”

  “My security team has been in negotiations with the mobster. He’s finally agreed to let me...” He trailed off then, looking slightly uneasy for a moment.

  “Let you what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Let me buy you off him.”

  “The absolute gall of the man!” she erupted. “I’m not a camel!”

  Taking her chin in his hand, Dev bent and dropped a brief kiss on her lips. “I know, sweetheart. But you’re forgetting the bright spot in all this. You’ll be free, Clare, very soon. You’ll never have to be afraid of anyone again. Ever.”

  Clare threw her arms around him. He held her through the shiver that went through her at the realization she was finally free. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  When he let her go and stood up, she couldn’t help saying, “But that pushes us one step closer, doesn’t it?”

  “To what?” he asked, looking confused.