Chapter 11

Eleven

T amara took a deep breath and opened her eyes, the air whooshing out of her lungs as she caught her first unforgettable glimpse of the Taj Mahal.

The incredible monument shimmered in the early dusk, white marble reflecting in the long moat in front of it, casting a ghostly glow over the magical gardens surrounding it.

“It’s something else,” Ethan murmured, his tone soft with reverence.

She glanced at him, too choked to speak, grateful he knew how much this moment meant to her.

Sliding an arm around her waist, he hugged her close. “Your mother is here with you. She’d want you to enjoy this, to be happy.”

Gnawing on her bottom lip to keep from blubbering, Tamara searched his eyes, wondering if he knew how much of an integral part he played in her happiness these days. The caring, compassion and tenderness in those fathomless depths took her breath away.

She’d refused to entertain the thought of them being anything more than friends.

Until now.

Placing a hand on his cheek, she caressed the stubble, enjoying the light prickle rasping against her palm.

“I hope you know that sharing this with you is beyond special.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, tinged with wariness, before his characteristic sparkle obliterated both.

“I’m a poor stand-in for your mother but I’m glad I can be here for you.”

He turned, forcing her to lower her hand, and she followed his line of vision, blown away by one of the Seven Wonders of the World. The River Yamuna flowed nearby, and though surrounded by tourists, she felt like the only woman in the world to feel this incredible in the face of such beauty.

“It’s stood the test of time, hasn’t it?” He asked softly, unable to tear his gaze away from the monument.

She looked at the curved dome, the archways, the exquisite ornamentation. “Considering it took twenty-two years to build, I guess they made it to last.”

He did a slow three-sixty, taking in the gardens and the fountains, before fixing his gaze on the Taj again. “I knew it would be impressive, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“I know,” she whispered, closing her eyes for a second, savouring the moment, elated that when she opened them again she’d see the same incredible sight. “Do you know the story behind it?”

He held up his hand, and wavered it from side to side. “A little. Shah Jahan, a Mughal Emperor, had it constructed in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal. It took about twenty thousand workers to construct, a thousand elephants to haul materials, and used roughly twenty-eight precious and semi-precious stones to do the inlay work.”

She smiled. “Someone’s been reading their tourist guidebook.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants. Why don’t you tell me what you know?”

“My version reads like a romance novel.”

“I’m a sensitive new age guy. Go ahead. Try me.”

“Okay, but you better sit down. This could take a while.” She sank onto the ground, clasped her hands around her knees, and rested her chin on her knees, waiting until he sat next to her to begin.

“Shah Jahan was the son of the fourth Mughal emperor of India. He was fourteen when he met Arjumand Banu Begum, a Muslim Persian princess, who was fifteen. It was love at first sight.”

She wondered what it would be like to be swept away like that, to know in an instant you were destined to be with that person. Richard had charmed and blustered and cajoled his way into her affections, offering her the safety of marriage, a safety she’d craved since her dad had died. Their courtship had been quick and she’d fallen hard, but nothing like locking eyes with a person and knowing with the utmost certainty he was the one .

“But they were kids,” he said. “That’s not legal?”

She waved away his protest. “Different times. We’re talking about the early sixteen hundreds. Do you want to hear the rest or not?”

He smiled and gave her a gentle teasing bump. “Go ahead. I can see you’re busting to tell me.”

With a mock frown, she continued. “After meeting the princess, Shah Jahan went back to his father and declared he wanted to marry her. They married five years later. When he became emperor eleven years later, he entrusted her with the royal seal and gave her the title Mumtaz Mahal, which means ‘jewel of the palace.’ Though he had other wives—”

“What? That’s not romance, that’s bigamy.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s allowed in his religion. Anyway—”

He grinned at her obvious annoyance by his constant interruptions.

“—She was his favourite, accompanying him everywhere, even on military campaigns. But when she was giving birth to their fourteenth child—” Ethan winced and she couldn’t blame him,“—there were complications and she died. Legend has it she secured a promise from him with her last breath to build a beautiful monument in her memory.”

She gestured to the Taj Mahal. “And he did.”

Her glance roved over the towering dome, the intricate archways, the Cyprus trees nearby, as she pondered the depth of that kind of love, captivated by the spellbinding romance.

“That’s some story.” He stared at the monument, the sudden tension in his shoulders alerting her that something was bothering him, before he turned to her and fixed her with a probing stare.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

At that moment, with his intense blue eyes boring into hers, his forearm brushing her, his heat radiant and palpable and real, she wished she did.

“My parents did. They took one look at each other on Colva beach and fell in love.”

He didn’t let her off that easily. “I didn’t ask about them. I’m asking you.”

Here was her chance to tell him she’d been thinking about pushing the boundaries, seeing where their attraction could take them. But the reservations of a lifetime dogged her.

She’d always done the right thing, been the dutiful daughter, the good wife. She didn’t like rocking the boat or changing the status quo. She’d tried it once before, and was still dealing with the consequences.

Drawing a harsh, shaky breath, she forced her fingers to relax rather than leave welts from digging into her hands.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

He shook his head, disappointment clouding his eyes. “That’s a cop out.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. You’re a strong, resilient woman. You’ve coped with losing your husband. You’ve made decisions to move forward with your life. You’ve got plans to return to work.” He jerked his head towards the Taj Mahal. “You’ve come here when you knew it would be tough without your mother.”

He laid a hand on her arm and she flinched. “You’ve made all those major decisions but see how you just jumped when I touched you?”

He shook his head, his mouth twisting with disappointment as he released her. “You’re selling yourself short. You’re not being honest, with yourself or with me. And that’s not like you.”

She leaped to her feet, needing space—a continent’s worth—to flee the truth and the reckless pounding of her heart.

“This isn’t about honesty. It’s about taking a risk, and I hate taking risks.”

When a passing couple stared, she ran a hand over her face and lowered her voice. “I’m not like you. You’re brave. Fearless. Everything for you is clear in black and white, while I feel like I’ve been living in some alternate grey universe and I’m finally coming out the other side.”

He stood and reached for her, but she held her hand up to stop him.

“No, let me finish. I need to say this. You’re successful and accomplished, but you know what I envy the most? You know who you are. You know your place in the world, and right now, that’s something I don’t have a clue about…”

Her declaration petered out on a whisper, a taut silence stretching between them until she wished he’d say something, anything, to fill the tense void.

Finally, he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and she let him.

“I didn’t know.”

“That I’m such a loser?”

Her attempt at humour fell flat when he muttered an expletive under his breath and hugged her tighter.

“That you felt like that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s something I have to work through.”

Something she was determined to do. Everything seemed much easier here; away from the memories of Richard, and the shock of discovering the truth about him.

“You’ve had a lot to endure. You know you deserve to be happy, right?”

She’d spent years pretending to be happy when she was anything but: pretending Richard’s passive-aggressive barbs didn’t hurt, pretending his criticism was well-intended, pretending she loved him when inside she died a little every day.

The pretence had extended following his death, playing the grieving widow for appearance sake when deep down she felt like screaming at his treachery, at his selfishness in making her life miserable, while he had fun with another woman behind her back.

“I want to be happy…”

“Then let go.”

He made it sound so simple, but she knew the implication behind his advice, could read it in every tense line of his body. “Let go with you?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “Want to know why I came on this trip?”

“I thought it was business?”

He smiled at her sarcasm and released her, his expression inscrutable. “I came to India because of you, Tam. You’re the only woman I’ve met since I made it big that isn’t hanging around me for my money.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Surely not all—”

“All of them. Every single, money-grabbing one.” His sudden anger surprised her as much as his bitterness. “And do you know how I figured it out? Because those women didn’t give me the time of day when I was a struggling chef working an eighty hour week to invest in my first restaurant. They didn’t want to know me until I had an Ambrosia in Paris, New York, Tokyo, and London. Fake, the lot of them. And then there’s you…”

He gripped her arms, his fierceness overwhelming. “You don’t give a damn about how many millions I make this week or the size of my penthouse. You hang out at the restaurant for your work. We have the occasional chat. That’s it.”

But that wasn’t it and they both knew it.

She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, her gloss worn away long ago considering the amount of nervous nibbling she’d been doing since they’d started this conversation.

His hands tightened their grip, hauling her closer. “I barely knew you before this trip and spending time with you has changed everything. Yeah, I’m a red-blooded male and I want you. But now—”

He searched her eyes for—what? Approval? Some sign she wanted to see this through until the end?

What she said next would change everything. She could ignore what he’d just said, act like it didn’t change their friendship. But she was done pretending Ethan was nothing more than a travel companion. Done with lying to herself.

So tilted her chin up with newfound defiance and asked, “What do you want from me now?”

“This.”

Before she could blink his mouth swooped and captured hers in a hungry, rash kiss, blindingly brilliant in its savage intensity.

Her senses reeled as he deepened the kiss, stunned by the ferocity of her response as she grabbed at his T-shirt, clinging to him, dragging him closer, frantic with wanting more.

If he’d slowed down, been tender and gentle rather than commanding and masterful, she would’ve had time to think, time to dredge up every rational reason why she shouldn’t be doing this.

Instead, for the first time in a long time, she let go of her reservations and became herself, not some mouse-like woman worried about what other people would think of her for staying in a loveless marriage with a heartless tyrant if they knew.

Her knees wobbled as he pulled her closer, his hands strumming her back, his lips playing havoc with hers as he challenged her with every tantalising sweep of his tongue, with every searing brush of his lips.

It was the kiss of a lifetime.

A kiss filled with promise and excitement and wonder.

A kiss memories were made of.

An eternity later, when the initial blistering heat subsided and their lips eased, lingered, before releasing, the reality of the situation rushed in, the old self doubts swamping her in a crushing wave.

“Don’t do that.” He tipped her chin up and caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. “Don’t go second guessing yourself or what just happened.”

“I’m not—”

“This is me you’re talking to.” His mouth kicked into the roguish smile she loved so much.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured, smoothing his T-shirt where she’d gripped it so hard she’d wrinkled it to the point it needed a shot of steam or two to de-crease.

“Take that kiss at face value, as a first step.”

She was almost too afraid to ask. “A first step to what?”

Brushing a soft, barely there kiss across her lips, he said, “That’s something we’re about to find out.”