A Trip with the Tycoon

And she’d let him.

Slivers of ice chilled her to the bone as she tore her mouth from his, staring at him in wideeyed horror.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words to express how furious she was with him.

Though her anger was misplaced and she knew it. She was furious with herself for responding; worse, for enjoying it.

‘Don’t expect me to apologise for that.’

His eyes glittered with desire and she shivered, petrified yet exhilarated to be the focus of all that passion for a passing moment in time.

‘That should show you you’re a vibrant woman who needs to start living again. You should start by doing one thing you’ve always wanted to do before you return to work.’

He made sense, damn him, prove-a-point kiss and all. And while her body still trembled from the impact of that alarming kiss and her astounding response, at least it had served a purpose. If she’d been prevaricating about taking a trip before, he’d blasted her doubts sky-high now.

She had to go, had to leave Ambrosia, for facing him in the future would be beyond mortifying.

Mustering a haughty glare that only served to make his eyes gleam more, she shook her head.

‘I can’t believe you just did that.’

Shrugging, he sat back and crossed his ankles, the supremely confident male and proud of it. ‘Many people can’t believe a lot of the stuff I do, so don’t sweat it. Let’s talk about this trip of yours.’

‘Let’s not,’ she snapped, annoyed by his persistence, more annoyed by the glimmer of anticipation racing through her.

She’d already been thinking about a trip herself. 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 of all she’d lost.

She’d contemplated taking the trip on her own for all of two seconds before slamming the idea. The trip would’ve been emotional enough with her mum by her side but without her?

Her eyelids prickled just thinking about it and she blinked, wishing Ethan would put that devilish smile to good use elsewhere and butt out of her business.

‘Think sun, sand and surf. Somewhere hot, 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, would fit the bill in every way. Buoyed by an urge to escape, she rummaged through the top folder, wondering if a brochure was still there. She’d had 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 Ranthambhore National Park, India’s best wildlife sanctuary, to see the majestic tigers, eager to see as much of the intriguing country as possible.

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

Suddenly, 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.

Flicking to the front of the folder, she dug her fingers into the plastic pocket and almost yelled for joy when she pulled out a glossy brochure featuring the Taj Mahal and the legendary Palace on Wheels train on the front.

‘You’re one of those incredibly annoying, painfully persistent guys who won’t give up, so here. Take a look.’

She handed him the brochure.

His eyes widened. ‘India?’

‘I planned to visit a few years ago but it never happened.’ She stared at the brochure, captivated by the exoticism of it all.

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, it was as if she were keeping alive her mum’s spirit.

Every time she 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 and they’d pored over them during an Indian feast of spicy, 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.

She’d wanted to explore the part of her history she knew little about, wanted to take the special journey with her mum.

Richard may have put paid to that dream and, while she’d love to take the trip now, it just wouldn’t be the same without Khushi.

‘Guess I should explore all my options first.’

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.’