Read You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction Online
Authors: Ruchi Vasudeva
You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction
The last thing Rihaan needs in his life is to play a host to a woman who drives him crazy! Saira is gorgeous, yes, but she’s also widly infuriating. Yet every time she comes within an inch of him he finds his normally iron-clad control slipping further and further away…
Wanting to protect herself from more heartbreak, Saira knows she should keep her distance from Rihaan—but there’s something about him she just can’t seem to resist… Little does she know that Rihaan is hiding a secret! When it comes to light will it tear them apart—or raise their passion to new, more majestic heights?
What was it about that cool hauteur that made her want to play with fire?
‘Of course you’re no danger to me in a…’ deliberately she let her gaze run over him ‘…a sexual way, are you?’
He didn’t miss it, and nor did he miss the insolence she projected. She could see his mouth tighten in controlled annoyance. For a wild minute she wished he’d let loose, and the unreasoning thought made her heartbeat pick up.
‘Are you trying to challenge me?’
Her heart jumped up at the deep voice laced with mockery. Coward, she derided herself. Surely she wasn’t frightened of him?
‘No challenge for you, surely? You can hardly stand the sight of me,’ she reminded him.
‘Am I supposed to jump on you in fervent denial of that statement, swearing that I can’t keep my hands off you?’ A dark eyebrow rose. ‘Sorry, but your little game won’t wash, Sehgal.’
Irritatingly, he’d addressed her by her surname again. ‘Oh, how astute you are, Khehra!’ She widened her eyes. ‘You catch on so fast I guess I’ll have to watch myself more around you.’ She formed a pout, aware of his gaze moving to her mouth, feeling an unreasonable thrill as it did. She must be mad. Or starved of fun. But somehow she couldn’t
not
try to get a reaction out of that stone monument.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Whatever you’re trying to do, I’m not looking for trouble—and I’d advise you not to go poking around for it either.’
‘So disappointing!’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Here I was, getting thrilled to bits that we’re going to have this weekend. Just us. Lonesome twosome.’
Dear Reader
It seems trite to say this story wrote itself, but it’s true. Some stories are created, some you stumble upon and some are thrust upon you. The last is what happened with this book. The characters took over and the words just flew from the keyboard. It was a bit bumpy but a totally swell ride, and I was left breathless by the time I typed ‘The End’. My fabulous editor was equally enthusiastic about it, and scheduled its publishing in what I can only think is record time.
When I first met Saira in BOLLYWOOD FIANCÉ FOR A DAY she was a slightly spoilt twenty-year-old, guilt-ridden and defiant at breaking her sister’s engagement. Certainly not what you might consider ideal heroine material. Even then I was fascinated to know what motivated her, and eventually I realised she had to have her own story told. A story in which she meets her match, Rihaan, who is as compulsive a character as her in his way. At first I thought he’d make a great Beta hero, but he lost no time in setting me right by exhibiting his true Alpha colours. Still, I loved the shades of softness showing up in his character that made him more endearing… Of course you must read and decide if you agree.
I just want to take up some space to emphasise that for my royal background I’ve used an imaginary state and an imaginary family, and what I’ve depicted has no basis in the current lifestyle of any family. While I’ve used Rajasthani culture as a background, the twists and turns are intrinsic to my story and in no way representative of any existing culture or ritual, and I certainly have no intent to offend any person or community. And no animals were harmed in writing this book! I swear! *grin*
I hope you’ll enjoy reading this book and also that you’ll be in touch. You can reach me at
ruchivasudeva.weebly.com
Don’t chase happiness, chase your dreams.
Warm wishes
Ruchi
Ruchi Vasudeva
Growing up,
RUCHI VASUDEVA
wanted to be a doctor or a writer with almost the same amount of enthusiasm. It seemed the writing ambition would win when in her first medical exams she scored more in English than in any medical subjects! (The fallout from reading heaps of novels!) However, she persevered and became a doctor. But she knew she wanted to write more than just prescriptions. Winning the
Passions
contest became a thrilling opportunity and a doorway to realising her dream.
She lives with her Alpha-natured husband, patient in-laws and two mind-controlling teens! Juggling a medical career, writing and family life isn’t something she would recommend to anyone who wants peace and calm, but at the end of the day she finds it very fulfilling. She likes to take morning walks with her husband, watch cricket matches with her daughter, listen to her son raving about cars and go for movie outings with family. She spends her ‘me’ time listening to her favourite songs and social networking.
She loves to write about spirited heroines getting hurtled out of their daily lives as soon as they cross paths with their rather challenging heroes.
Previously by the same author:
BOLLYWOOD FIANCÉ FOR A DAY
Ruchi Vasudeva
To my lovely daughter
For the tech help and the morale boost
I
F YOU
WANTED
to forget what your life offered—or didn’t offer—this was the place, Saira reflected. The rooftop bar of the posh Mumbai hotel was poised far above the mad rush of the city. In the distance you could see the Arabian Sea stretching away, and overhead extended the endless ceiling of dark sky and stars. And in your hand—she looked down at her wine glass, a small smile curving her glossed lips—the means that made it all really sparkle.
She tipped the glass to her lips and downed the drink. It hit the spot and as though magically her vision became brighter, her shoulders losing their habitual tenseness. She turned to the bartender behind the circular glowing blue counter, giving him a wide smile. ‘A Bellini, please.’ Champagne, she decided, was appropriate to celebrate her first night out after what seemed ages. Her night of freedom. Escape…
The wine on top of the cocktails she had had earlier while downstairs had induced a feel-good haze. Another drink and she would rejoin the party below. She had been silly to feel so out-of-it.
‘Go easy on the mango purée,’ she suggested. ‘I don’t need it that sweet—’
‘You don’t need the damn drink. That’s all.’
The declaration made in deep, confident tones made her turn around. Her gaze alighted on chiselled features set in
stern lines. The dark dinner jacket fitting snugly over his massive shoulders, the man had the stance of a conquering warlord. She groaned silently. Oh God, not him. Rihaan Khehra, her brother-in-law’s bosom buddy. She saw him at every gathering her sister and her husband hosted. Vishakha had a soft spot for him. Of course
she
didn’t know that this guy was so full of himself he never bothered to talk to her, Saira. Hadn’t ever said a single word.
And now he had caused the bartender to move on to attend to other people. Leaving her to confront him.
‘Excuse me?’ She gave him a chilling stare.
‘I doubt I could,’ he came back brazenly. ‘However that’s beside the point. You’d better get going now. That is if you can still walk.’
His snide implication had her tipping her chin up. ‘If you’re implying that I’m drunk, you’re way off the mark. You really think a whole lot of yourself, don’t you?’ The comment escaped, making her grimace because it indicated slippery self-control. Seemed he wasn’t
that
off the mark after all. The connection between her tongue and brain seemed to have got loose.
He took a step closer, appearing to loom over her. Despite the high heels she wore, she didn’t measure up to his eye level and had to tip her head back a bit to look at him. ‘If I do, you can be sure it’s well-earned,’ he declared. ‘Now, I didn’t come here to listen to your opinion of my opinion about myself.’
That made her forehead wrinkle, trying to sort out the meaning. Anyway, why was he so bothered about what she did? ‘It isn’t that important, I’m sure. You just like to show it is,’ she said with childish recklessness.
His wine-dark gaze suddenly fixed on her, the pupils sharply focused, as though pinning her. Shock hit her somewhere in her midriff. For some reason her gaze strayed to his mouth, well shaped and sensual, the lower
lip slightly jutting. She found herself looking into those eyes again. So fascinating, this close up. The colour of sherry. Only more velvety. Some sense surfaced and she suddenly wanted to back off from the challenge she had deliberately given him. ‘You’re bothering me unnecessarily. I don’t quite get you. Why—’
‘And you’re not likely to either.’ The sensual mouth moved, gracefully delivering the comeback, ‘Get me, that is,’ he explained to her sluggish understanding as she gave him a perplexed look. ‘I don’t go for your type.’
Type? And what type was that? Incredulity had her speechless. Of all the—! If she hadn’t been a bit too foggy to deliver a diatribe of colourful vocabulary, he would get a piece of her mind.
‘It may not be within the circumference of your beliefs, but that suits me just fine.’ She had found something to say. Thank heavens! ‘And stop putting your own spin on my words,’ she added.
‘It wasn’t a spin on your words as much as on your body language,’ he told her outrageously. ‘In any case, stop dithering and let’s get back to your sister. How could you be irresponsible enough to leave the party without telling anyone?’
The party. She hadn’t liked the party. Being there had brought on an overwhelming rush of memories. Memories of
before.
When she had been another Saira, the golden girl of her group. The prankster, the wild,
fun
creature who never stopped laughing. It was infectious, her laugh, they all said. Light and bubbly, it showed she enjoyed life and it drew everyone within hearing like a magnet, their faces already alight with responsive humour.
But somehow that laughter wasn’t a part of her any more.
Vishakha had meant well when she’d brought her here tonight. Who wouldn’t enjoy a Bollywood star-sprinkled
bash? But wearing high heels and the inevitable LBD no longer gave Saira a surge of adrenaline. She had used to enjoy it. Hell, it had been her staple diet. Admiring looks from men, envious ones from women. She’d existed for parties like these. Scouting malls. Frequenting hair clinics, trooping through beauty salons.
But now it was different.
She
was different.
The knowledge bit her inside. She couldn’t go back to what she had been.
So what else remained?
She had toned down that laughter because Munish hadn’t liked it. Not when
Mummyji
began to object. She didn’t want Saira being so ‘loud’ and ‘unseemly’.
For three years she had played the dutiful daughter-in-law, the accommodating wife. The beseeching idiot hungering for their approval and her acceptance into the family fold.
To please her supposedly doting hubby, so she would forever be the star at the centre of his universe.
If her marriage had taught her anything, it was that you couldn’t win anyone making a martyr of yourself.
Been there, done that.
And look where it had left her…
To think that she had hurt her sister in order to marry Munish, when she’d broken Vishakha’s engagement with him after imagining she’d fallen headlong in love. To think she had gone against her parents to form that bond with him. Never dreaming that it could end up like this.
Oh God, she didn’t want to think of it. Not now.
The frustration inside her spilled into her voice as she shot back. ‘Who appointed you to look after me?’
He sighed as though his patience was ending. ‘Do you realise people are worrying about you? You’re a relative stranger to the city. If something happened to you…’
So what? The uncaring thought flashed in her mind. Had he seen the recklessness in her eyes? She hoped not. She tried to tone it down.
‘Of course it wouldn’t. I only came up here to have a look around. Vishakha only had to call me if she wanted me.’
‘She did. Why didn’t you pick up the phone?’
‘I…’ Suspicion climbed and she grabbed her clutch purse and opened it. ‘Oh God, I’ve left it at home.’
Her wail earned her an exasperated look. She looked at him tragically and perversely that finally seemed to relax his cast iron expression. He actually smiled with amusement, the corners of his lips lifting in an attractive way. ‘
Bhawani
, what a minx you are!’
She stiffened, shame staining her cheeks. How useless and brainless could you get? All she had to do was remember to keep her cell phone with her and she couldn’t even do that.
‘I’m glad you find it amusing.’
She blinked away weak tears. She knew her barriers were down because of the alcohol. The awareness of her condition wasn’t enough to keep the sense of failure from enveloping her. Only twenty-four and already divorced. Even her parents hadn’t been able to take it that she couldn’t keep her marriage together after just over three years.
Maybe they were right. Maybe she should have stuck it out with Munish and his mother. Wasn’t it true that she had married both of them? Not married even, she amended darkly. She’d been in a prison camp run by
Mummyji.
A prison where the dress code was set to flaunt wealth in the society. She’d been given silk sarees to wear, gold to adorn herself with. Gold that lay heavy on her neck and lacerated her earlobes.
And wasn’t that symbolic of what her marriage had
been? All it had left her with were the scars—some physical and innumerable mental ones.
She came back from her pondering and found that his attention was fixed on her, recording every nuance of her expression. The keenness disturbed her and she moved back instinctively, wanting to escape it. The alcohol and the stilettos unbalanced her and she stumbled. A large hand snaked out and closed around her upper arm, even as shameful heat climbed her skin resulting from the ignominious lurch. She flushed even more because she was forced to clutch him to regain her balance.
She let him go as soon as she could. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words were hard to get out. ‘I didn’t know I was putting people to so much trouble. I’ll go to Vishakha
didi
now.’
‘You’re in no condition to face her,’ Rihaan pronounced. ‘Do you think she will be able to concentrate on social mingling when you’re tottering all over the place? I’ll call her and take you home.’
She hated to feel like this, like excess baggage to be taken care of. ‘Of course you won’t.’
‘But yes, I will,’ he said. ‘How would your sister feel if she learns you’ve been drinking alone in the bar rather than enjoying the evening? It might be your idea of fun but she’ll think you’ve been brooding over your divorce.’
And that statement had to be the icing on the cake for this evening, she fumed. Of course he knew about her divorce. He was practically family to Zaheer and Vishakha.
Rihaan got out his cell and touched the appropriate number. ‘
Bhabhisa
, I’ve located Saira. Yes, I’m with her and she’s fine. I’m going to take her home but don’t let that spoil your evening. She’s absolutely fine. No, I won’t be coming back. She… just wants some fresh air. Enjoy yourselves, that’s an order.’ White teeth flashed as he grinned. ‘Goodnight,
bhabhisa.’
He looked so wonderfully relaxed talking to her sister.
Saira could see the fondness soften those stern features. His crisp accent still managed to give the words a warm, caring note. He’d added the Rajasthani suffix
sa
, a touch of his local dialect that somehow made Saira’s throat tighten. The way he’d reassured Vishakha made an unreasoning dart of envy shoot through her.
She must be more messed up than she realised to feel like this. In the past she’d never had a speck of bother. Unless it was that she had no jewellery to match her dress. Now every day she wanted to go out, get a life, but didn’t quite manage to take the first all-important step. It felt easier to just lie around, drawing circles in the sand at her sister’s Versova beach house than try to reorganise the pieces of a life she wasn’t supposed to have had.
A wave of dizziness made her head swim. Added to the cocktails she’d had at the party, her final glass of wine had really packed a punch. She held onto the nearby chair. Rihaan pocketed the cell, crisp white shirt cuff flashing a contrast with his dark suit. At his lapel he wore purple carnations, an odd festive touch that made him stand out. He looked more like a star than the scriptwriter he was. In fact he didn’t fit her conception of a writer at all. Weren’t writers supposed to be hunched from bending over the keyboard all day, featuring scraggly beards and dreamy eyes? The gaze that found her was anything but dreamy. She had the weird feeling it saw too much. Yet the moment she looked back she found it hard to tear herself away from the magnetic spell he wove over her. It must be the wine. She must find reason somehow. Reason to stop this fascination. Fascination led to attraction. And attraction could be very, very treacherous. It made you forget others.
Forget yourself.
She stood stiff and unmoving. ‘I will see myself home, thanks,’ she said. ‘There’s no need for you to put yourself out.’
He stood implacable. ‘Any time you are ready to dispense with the time-wasting, we’ll go.’
‘You’re being bossy—’
‘And you’re being unreasonable. I’m not leaving till I can tell Zaheer and
bhabhisa
in all conscience that I saw you home safely. Not when you’re in the state you are.’
And what was that? Slightly bright, that was all! She gave him a disdainful look. All that proclamation needed was an official seal, the way he stood, feet planted squarely.
‘You’ll have to carry me out of here then. Because I’m not going.’ She folded her arms against her chest, lifting her chin as high as she could manage. Of course, even with heels she couldn’t beat those inches. But what she lacked in height she would make up with grit—and, what was it? deter—heck—determination.
‘Right. Which would you prefer—a fireman’s lift or a baby cradle?’ His mouth quirked, a dark eyebrow lifted mockingly as he gave her an all-encompassing up and down glance.
‘Neither.’ Heat swept up her skin in response to that bold look. She fought hard to suppress her reaction, but somehow her senses seemed to tune out the danger this man represented.
He hadn’t meant to check her out so thoroughly, Rihaan acknowledged.
It was to be a snide reaction to put her on the defensive, that was all.
She carried herself with an air of aloofness that had triggered it. Not to mention the stubbornness flashing at him from dark eyes.
In a black sheath doing justice to her pale skin and defiant red highlighting her swollen, angry lips, she looked not just beautiful but something infinitely more.
Striking.
He’d always wondered how, even without the inches, Vishakha’s sister managed to draw the gaze. And hook it.
He remembered how she had been at Zaheer and Vishakha’s wedding. Short and curvy in the inevitable
lehanga-choli
. Water-straight black hair falling to her waist. And of course those full pouting lips painted red.
Now her cheeks were leaner, giving her a more classical air. Sleek side knot on her shoulder, with curled strands escaping, added a womanly style.
