Chapter 1

One

T amara Rayne’s high heels clacked against the cobblestones as she strode towards Ambrosia , Melbourne’s hippest restaurant, a gourmet’s delight, and the place she would get her life back on track.

Her favourite patent leather butterscotch boots with a staggering heel—impractical yet gorgeous—never failed to invoke the stuff of her surname as plump drops splashed down from the heavens and lashed her in a stinging sheet.

With her laden arms and no umbrella, she needed a mythical knight in shining armour. She thought she’d had him once in Richard.

How wrong she’d been.

Blinking back futile tears, she rounded the last corner and almost slammed into her knight. More of a pirate, really, a corporate pirate in a designer suit, with rain-slicked dark hair, roguish blue eyes, and a devilish smile.

“Need a hand, Tam?”

Definitely devilish. Ethan Brooks had the smile down-pat if the constant parade of women traipsing through his life was any indication. He had a legendary playboy reputation and they’d never been anything more than acquaintances. Considering what had happened over the last year, at least he acknowledged her these days, which is more than he’d done before.

“A helping hand would be great,” she said.

He grunted as she offloaded the bag perched precariously on top of the rest.

“What’s in here? Bricks for the new tandoor oven I ordered?”

“You’ll see.” Her voice quivered a tad, and she swallowed, twice.

The mention of the tandoor oven did it. Her mum, Adhira, loved tandoori chicken, had scoured the chicken to let the spices and yoghurt marinate, had painstakingly threaded the pieces onto skewers before cooking, while lamenting the loss of her real oven back in Goa.

Adhira had missed her homeland so much despite living in Melbourne for the last thirty years. It had been the reason they’d planned their special trip together: a trip back in time for her mum, a trip to open Tamara’s eyes to a culture she never knew even though Indian blood ran in her veins.

Thanks to Richard, the trip never eventuated, and while her mum died three years ago and Tamara had come to terms with her grief, she’d never forgiven him for robbing her of that precious experience.

Bitter tears of regret stung Tamara’s eyes and she deliberately glanced over Ethan’s shoulder, focussing on anything other than the curiosity in his steady gaze.

“Can you get the door please? My arms are killing me.”

She knew he wouldn’t ask her what was wrong. He hadn’t pushed her when she’d become withdrawn and brittle in the weeks following Richard’s death while they sorted through the legal rigmarole of the restaurant together. He hadn’t pushed her when she’d started dropping into Ambrosia six months ago to kick-start her career.

Instead, Ethan had kept his distance, as he had all these years. At one time she thought he disliked her, his cool demeanour noticeable whenever she entered a room. And while he’d thawed towards her over the last few months, ready with a quick smile or a quip designed to make her laugh on the odd occasion, she knew their relationship focussed on business more than anything else.

It suited her fine. Ethan, like the rest of the planet, had thought Richard had been fabulous: top chef, top entertainer, top guy.

If they only knew.

“Hang on a second.” He slid a key into the deadlock, unlocked it, backed open the door, and juggled his load while punching in the alarm code. “Right, come on through.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice as she stepped into the only place she called home these days.

Ambrosia : food of the gods. More like food for her soul.

It had become her refuge, her safe haven, the last few months. Crazy, considering Richard owned part of it, had been head chef since its inception, and they’d met here when she’d come to critique Melbourne’s latest culinary hot spot.

For that alone, she should hate the place.

But the welcoming warmth of Ambrosia , with its polished honey-oak boards, brick fireplace, and comfy cushioned chairs that had drawn her here every Monday for the last six months, was hard to resist, and what better place for a food critic determined to return to the workforce to practice her trade?

Throw in the best hot chocolate this side of the Yarra and she couldn’t stay away.

As she dumped her load on a nearby table and stretched her aching arms, her gaze drifted to the enigmatic man lighting a match to kindling in the fireplace.

Unpredictable Ethan blew hotter and colder than a Melbourne spring breeze. There were times he seemed almost friendly—when he slipped into his pirate persona, as she’d secretly dubbed his charming side—yet some days he’d back off, morphing into the cool, ruthless businessman she’d always seen.

Strange guy.

Then again, considering how things had turned out with Richard, she was lousy at reading men. She had no idea what went through Ethan’s head and no interest in finding out.

He straightened and she quickly averted her gaze, surprised to find it had been lingering on a piece of his anatomy she had no right noticing.

She’d never done that, noticed him as a man. He was Richard’s business partner, someone who’d always been distantly polite the few times their paths had crossed.

So why the quick flush of heat, the flicker of guilt?

It had been a year since Richard’s death, two since she’d been touched by a man, which went a long way to explaining her wandering gaze. She may be numb on the inside, emotionally anaesthetised, but any woman with a pulse would’ve checked out Ethan’s rather impressive butt.

“What’s in the bags?” He pointed to the load she’d just dumped on the table.

“I’ll tell you on one condition.” She slipped out of her camel trench coat and hung it on the back of chair. “You have no idea how much I’d kill for a hot chocolate right now, so if you make me one, I won’t just tell you what’s in the bags, I’ll show you.”

She tapped the biggest one, stuffed to overflowing, and smiled. The first smile she’d mustered all day. Pathetic, considering it was after midday.

“You’ve got a deal.”

With a half salute and twinkle in his eyes, he strode towards the bar. Ah-ha, me hearties …the pirate was in top form today, full of swagger, cheek, and suave bravado. She was immune to his charm, of course, but it did her good to laugh every now and then, and Ethan in this mood would guarantee that.

While he headed for the espresso machine behind the bar, she sank onto a chair, stretched her legs, and wiggled her toes. She loved these boots, she really did, but they were nothing but trouble and her back gave a protesting twinge.

Though that could have more to do with the heavy load she’d hefted to the restaurant but she’d had no choice. She held her future in her hands—literally. And despite the gut feeling she was ready for this, she wanted to get Ethan’s opinion. If anyone knew this business inside out, he did.

“Right, here you go. One super duper hot chocolate with a double side of marshmallows.” He placed the towering glass in front of her, a strong espresso in front of him, and sat opposite, fixing her with that half-amused, half-laconic tilt of his lips only he did so well. “What’s going on?”

“A girl can’t think without a sip of hot cocoa first.”

She cradled the mug, inhaling the rich, chocolate-fragrant steam, savouring the warmth seeping into her palms. Closing her eyes, she took a sip, letting the sweet lusciousness glide over her tastebuds and slide down her throat.

Ethan made a strange sound and her eyes flew open, confused by the flicker of something darker, mysterious, in his eyes before he blinked.

“One sip, you said.” He tapped the nearest bag. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got in here.”

“You hotshot businessmen are all the same. Way too impatient.”

She softened her words with a quick smile while placing her mug on the table, unzipping the first bag and hauling out a folder.

He tilted his head on an angle to read the spine. “What’s that?”

“A list of every restaurant in Melbourne. The new list I’ve been compiling over the last six months.”

“You do know it’s easier to compile lists online, right? Ever heard of a spreadsheet?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m an old-fashioned girl, I like a hardcopy too.”

Her hands shook as she glanced at the folder, at what it meant for her future.

She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”

His eyes sparked with understanding and she wondered how he did that. For the short time she’d been dropping by here, he could read her mind, whereas Richard hadn’t a clue what she’d been thinking after three years of marriage.

Then again, considering what he’d been up to, he probably hadn’t cared.

“You’re going back to work?” His eyebrows rose.

“Uh-huh. Thanks to you letting me come here, getting your chef to whip up those amazing meals, and letting me get my hand back into critiquing, I reckon I’m finally ready.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip, worrying it until she tasted the gloss she’d swiped on this morning. “Think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy? I think it’s brilliant.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “It’s exactly what you need. Something to focus on, something to get your mind off losing Rich.”

She hated the pity in his eyes, hated that she had to fake her grief and pretend like she cared.

She didn’t.

Not since that first incident, four months into her marriage, when the man she’d married had given her a frightening glimpse into her future.

She thought Richard was the type of guy to never let her down, the type of guy to keep her safe, to give her what she’d always wanted: stability and security, something she’d never had since her dad had died when she was ten.

But Richard hadn’t been that guy, and by the accolades of his adoring public and co-workers, she was the only one who knew the truth.

Richard Downey had been a bastard, and it was times like this, when she had to pretend in front of one of his friends, that an all-consuming, latent fury swept through her.

If he hadn’t upped and died of a heart attack, she would’ve been tempted to kill him herself for what he’d put her through, what she’d discovered after his death.

“This has nothing to do with Richard. I’m doing this for me.”

Her bitterness spilled out in a torrent and she clamped her lips shut. Ethan didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her resentment towards Richard. She’d wasted enough time analysing and self-flagellating and fuelling her anger. That’s all she’d been doing for the last year since he died, speculating and brooding over a lot of pointless ‘what-ifs’.

What if she’d known about the affair?

What if she’d stood up to him rather than keeping up appearances for the sake of the business?

What if she’d travelled to India with her mum when Adhira had first asked her three years ago, at a time that could’ve changed her life for the better?

To her surprise, Ethan laid a hand over hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. She stared at his long, strong fingers, the light dusting of dark hair on the back of his hand. He’d never touched her like this, and while strangely uncomfortable, she liked the solid warmth.

“I didn’t mean to rehash any painful memories for you,” he said, his tone concerned.

Shaking her head, she wished the simple action could wipe away her awful memories. “It’s not your fault. I think about stuff every day anyway.”

He searched her face for—what? Confirmation she wasn’t still grieving, wasn’t so heartbroken she couldn’t return to the workforce after wasting the last few years playing society hostess to a man who didn’t give a damn about her?

What he saw in her expression had his eyes narrowing in speculation.

“As much as I think heading back to work is a great idea, maybe you should get away first. Take a vacation, a break before you get sucked back into the full-time rat-race.” He patted his chest. “Take it from me, a certified workaholic, once you hit the ground running you won’t have a minute to yourself. Going back to work is a big commitment.”

When she tried to slide her hand out from under his, he tightened his grip. “A friendly piece of advice you can take or leave, but I really think you should do it.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he held a finger to her lips to silence her, the impact of his simple action slugging her all the way to her toes.

It had to be her urge to speak, to drown out any potential rationale he could throw at her rather than the gentle brush of his finger against her lips causing her stomach to twist like a pretzel.

“You’ve held together remarkably well considering what you’ve been through this past year but it’s time.” He lowered his finger but didn’t release her other hand.

“For what?”

“Time for you . Time to put aside your grief and move on.” He gestured to the stack of folders on the table between them. “From what I’ve seen the last six months, you’re a damn good food critic, one of Melbourne’s best, but honestly? The way you are right now, holding down a regular job would be tough and 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 said. It hurt, all of it. But the truth often did.

She arched a brow. “Are you finished?”

He nodded, finally relenting and releasing her hand, and she snatched it out from under his. “You’re still here and you haven’t stabbed me with the nearest fork, so maybe you’ll think about what I said?”

Ironically, she’d been thinking about taking a trip. 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 about all she’d lost.

She’d contemplated taking the trip on her own before slamming the idea. The trip would’ve been emotional enough with her mum by her side, but without her? Tamara’s eyelids prickled just thinking about it and she blinked, not surprised when Ethan sat back, folded his arms, and put that devilish smile to good use in an attempt to cheer her up.

“Think sun, sand, and surf. Somewhere hot and 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 in every way.

Buoyed by Ethan’s encouragement, she rummaged through the top folder, wondering if the brochure was still there. She’d collected 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 Ranthambhor National Park, India’s best wildlife sanctuary to see majestic tigers—eager to see as much of the intriguing country as possible.

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

Now, 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.

She could do an online search on her phone but she wanted to hold tangible proof in her hands that she was really considering this.

She flicked to the front of the folder and dug her fingers into the plastic pocket, grinning when she pulled out a glossy brochure featuring the Taj Mahal and the legendary Palace on Wheels train on the front.

“Here.” She handed him the brochure. “Take a look at this.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re going to India?”

“I’d planned to visit a few years ago but it never happened.”

She stared at the brochure, captivated by the exoticness of it. 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, she could keep alive her mum’s indomitable spirit.

Every time Tamara 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 for Adhira and they’d pored over them during an Indian feast of 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. Tamara had wanted to explore a part of her history she knew little about, wanted to take the special journey with her mum.

Richard ruined that dream, and while she’d love to take the trip now, it wouldn’t be the same without Adhira.

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

“There’s a reason you still have that. You’re going to take the trip.”

Her eyes flew to his, startled by his absolute conviction. “I’ll think about it—”

“Do it.” Placing a finger under her chin, he pressed gently, tilting it up as she wondered for the second time in as many minutes why he’d become so touchy-feely all of a sudden. “You need to do this, Tam. It’s the best thing for you.”

She shook her head, dislodging his finger, using her hair to shield her face. “I’d planned to take this trip with my mum. This was her trip and it’ll be tough doing it alone…”

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.

He spun her around to face him, his stare direct and intense, the indigo flecks in his blue eyes gleaming in the reflected fire light.

“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 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 turned some of his legendary charm onto her. Beautiful companion indeed.

“Your mum would’ve wanted you to go.”

Oh, he was good. Worse, he was right. Adhira would’ve wanted her to go, to visit Goa and the beach where Adhira had met Tamara’s father, to take a magical train journey through India’s heartland, to visit the Taj Mahal, something her mum had craved her entire life.

“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 let him comfort her a few moments ago by holding her hand. It had given him the wrong idea.

What sort of guy went from a cool acquaintance to thinking she’d go away with him?

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

Leaning forward a fraction, invading her personal space with a potent masculine heat 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 over-reacting. He was trying to charm her.

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 value the peace of 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 over-rated.”

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

“Someone like you would think that.”

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

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

“Over-qualified 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 his input in professional matters, what he did in his spare time meant nothing to her.

Propped against the bar, he appeared more like a pirate than ever: all he needed was the bandanna and eye patch to complete the cocky 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 player like Ethan?

She’d rather walk the plank.