Nicola Marsh - A Trip with the Tycoon

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.

‘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.