You Can't Fight a Royal Attraction (16 page)

She frowned, trying to shake herself out of the hypnotism she was in danger of immersing herself in.

‘What’s the matter? Not angry about that kiss earlier?’ he teased, catching her frown.

No, not angry. Just too horrendously confused for words.
Why was she feeling so much when she didn’t even want to get involved with him?

‘That kiss…’ Rihaan drawled. ‘I took you by surprise. In fact I rather jumped on you both times. I won’t apologise for that… But can I say you go to my head? That’s the only excuse I have.’

Her heart tripped. First he defied convention for her then he said something that sweet. Not to mention that she was already drooling at the fact he had remembered, even in the crush of people surrounding him, to send her flowers.

How was she going to get her turned head screwed back the right way?

She couldn’t allow herself to be susceptible to him. She just couldn’t. But her mind had no control over the words uttered in a husky voice as she said, ‘Can I say it’s mutual?’

His gaze darkened and her pulse instantly skidded in response.

Oh God, what was she doing, reacting like a teenager with her first crush?

‘What I mean is… it was very pleasant.’ Damned by faint praise, wasn’t that what they said? As long as he believed the kiss had been an enjoyable interlude and nothing more for her, she’d be all right.

Dark brows rose. ‘Pleasant enough that you won’t lose any sleep over it? No, don’t answer that. It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’ll sleep well.’

Was there hidden mockery in there? She disengaged from the velvet challenge of his gaze.

‘I’m sure too,’ she lied blatantly, tipping up her chin in defiance. ‘Goodnight, Rihaan.’

She was sure he had been about to say the same and turn away but something made him pause and, with an impatient sound, he caught hold of her.

‘Don’t pretend it’s something that easily brushed aside, Saira, when we both know it isn’t.’ His dark eyes bored into hers. ‘We both know why I persuaded you to come here—and why you agreed. We couldn’t just leave
us
like that, could we? Tell me, isn’t that the truth?’

The words hammered into her, destroying her flimsy defences. She could feel the intent emanating from him and it excited her almost beyond her caution and care about the future. About the present. About anything… except the live pulsating want thrumming between them.

It buzzed around her nerves. The mere touch of his fingers made her respond like iron to a magnet. Which was something too alluring to break free of.

But she had to fight it. She wasn’t going to jump from one failed relationship to another which had almost equal potential for failure. He had to fight it too. Already just a kiss had invited his father’s wrath. Could he afford to jeopardize this reunion before it had even a chance to be fully realised?

They were both in the midst of a crucial period in their lives. And there would be nothing more wrong than giving in to the wild impulses that raged between them.

‘What if it is the truth, Rihaan? It doesn’t change that at the moment we both need to keep our heads screwed on the right way.’

‘Playing safe?’ he mocked. ‘This from the girl who used to dance around exploding fire-crackers at Diwali?’

‘Vishakha told you that?’

‘I believe it came up sometime. She admired your courage.’

‘Recklessness,’ she corrected. ‘And I’ve got burnt enough not to try it again…’ she said with as much conviction as she could muster. ‘Playing safe is underrated.’

‘Great. Then maybe we should just limit ourselves to talking about the weather from now on.’

‘Cool,’ she came back. ‘Why don’t you check out the meteorological news so we can have a nice topic of conversation for tomorrow?’ She smiled sweetly and turned towards her bedroom.

His laughter followed her, spoiling her regal exit. Oh damn, she thought, closing the door behind her. He was going to ruin all her fine resolutions.

She woke to a loud banging at her door and wondered if it was the Rajput army she had dreamt of all night long. Led by a man with an inviting sherry gaze…

‘Coming.’ She jumped out before whoever it was brought the palace down.

A girl sporting short hair contrasting with her traditional
ghagra
stood there and for a tense moment they stared at each other. Then she burst out, speaking rapidly though she was half out of breath, ‘I’m Ayesha, Rihaan
bhaiya’
s sister. Got back from the hostel today because I
had exams, you know. Boring!’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Anyway, you’re Saira, I know. Hi!’

‘Hi! You look great,’ Saira replied honestly. The blue
ghagra
fell to the younger girl’s feet in a shimmering flow.

‘Thanks! You will look even better. Because, you know what?’ A wide grin split her face. ‘When I’m home, no one refuses to celebrate
Holi
! Happy
Holi
!’

Too late Saira realised the hands hidden behind Ayesha’s back weren’t there out of shyness. She brought them out, holding out fists smeared with red colour, and swiped them swiftly down Saira’s face. Chortling at her victim’s stunned expression, she stepped back. ‘Get ready and come downstairs. You can have your revenge!’ Almost doubling with laughter, she rushed past, pausing for a moment to add, ‘Remember to wear something ethnic.’

‘Just you wait!’ Saira called after the girl.

She chose a white top and an ankle-length red wrinkle skirt to go with it. That was about as ethnic as she had with her, so it would have to do.

Once in the courtyard, she could see Ayesha was right about no one refusing to celebrate the Festival of Colours with her, though it was doubtful they ever did, judging from the faces already rendered unrecognisable by the smeared powders when she joined them. Viren had a similar trick to pull on her, amiably greeting her and sneaking up with colour, but she was already forearmed with bright yellow powder and so got the better of him. Chuckling over her victory, she didn’t have long to celebrate. The ladies cornered her, forming a circle. And within minutes the erstwhile white top became spotted with red, yellow, green, purple and a merging of all the colours.

She searched for and located Rihaan, dressed in white traditional
kurta dhoti
and red turban. Head and shoulders dusted with red colour.
Pichkari
in hand. He saw her and let out a shout to his henchmen at the sighting of an as yet
unattacked target. They advanced towards her, fountain guns in hand, belting out what sounded like a traditional song about
nakhrali chhori
, the recalcitrant maiden. She rushed away, threading between people, and ran smack into Ayesha.

‘Got you!’
Arrgh!
She got a purple blast full in the face.

Still avoiding Rihaan, she took water balloons from the kids nearby and got her revenge against Ayesha by belting her rapid-fire with her watery grenades. Gleefully, the kids joined in. Together they lambasted Ayesha till she begged for mercy. But then Saira’s high-fiving friends became turncoats and started targeting her as well till she ran off.

At a corner of the courtyard, the musicians, also sprinkled with colour, played traditional
dholak, flutes and sarangi
like stringed instruments. They wore huge turbans. A troop of women in colourful
ghagras
, upper arms covered with ivory bangles, danced.
Bandini dupattas
flared out along with their full-skirted
ghagras.
Saira watched the steps and then joined in, revelling in the beat of the
dholak
, the fluid notes of the
sarangi.

‘Khallaas!
Finished,’ Rihaan yelled, running up the steps. The women shrieked and skittered as he raised the
pichkari
and a shot of water hit his target.

Saira squealed, whirling in the jet of water, letting the water soak her. Then playful changed to earthy in seconds as his gaze met hers and he continued the watery tirade, moving closer. For once his neat hair was tousled, falling on his forehead. He even had stubble, giving him a rakish look. The man she’d looked for behind the the outward cool was revealed.

The beat of the music and the gleam in his eyes mesmerised her and she went round and round, letting everything go in the moment but the rhythm of music, the hit of water. Joy, pleasure, surrender filled her.

The earth spun and she slowed and collapsed against
him, laughing. She laughed like she hadn’t for a long time. Unrestrained, free, looking into the sparkling eyes and resting her head against him to get her breath back. Her head still whirled. The courtyard zoomed upward. The women came back. Swirling
ghagras
filled her vision. Colour. Everywhere there was colour. Patches on the stairs.
Bandhej
patterns on the
dupattas.
Dazzling. Shimmering. Enthralling. She closed her eyes, inhaling colour, the scent of it mixing with the scent of the man who held her.

Rihaan felt the same rush of gentle amusement he had before, resisting the urge to crush her closer as his hands lifted to support her. Not gentle amusement, he realised, looking into the joyful gaze she raised to his. Tenderness. That was what he’d felt for her all along.

Was it right to feel it? Desire he could handle—not relish, but handle. Frustration he had been managing on a daily basis. But emotion? Was it even in his plans?

But since coming here he had been questioning his plans. Life was no longer on the route he had formulated for himself.

For years he had existed on temporary associations with women. So short-term you couldn’t even call them affairs. Women who were as career-minded as him, so that they both knew to expect nothing to come out of it. The last starlet he’d dated had even tried to make use of him to advance her career by getting more news coverage.

Nadira, the only woman he had wanted to have a permanent place in his life, had gone behind his back to have an affair. At the time he had wondered why.
Why not him?
It had left him with a distrust of women and a resolution not to take any relationship too far.

Saira… she wasn’t like the others. For one thing, she was more honest than any female he’d ever known. Despite her glamorous air and her love of dressing as well as
any model, she had no deceptive wiles like the high fashion women he had known. No tricks to mislead him. From the start she had been candid and open about her desire… and her reason to keep away from him.

It all came back to that.

The next morning, with the women all busy in the Gangaur worship of Shiva and Parvati deities, the time was used up in taking a round of the estate and the Trust institutions with Viren.

Later that afternoon, he stood in his father’s chamber. He had expected another futile episode in father and son bonding. But what he hadn’t expected was his father to make an announcement that would stagger him.

‘Rihaan, I am really sorry for all that happened six years ago.’ It wasn’t really pleasant to see his father eating humble pie. He had put Nadira’s confession out of his mind, but obviously his father hadn’t been able to. Now regret etched more worry lines in the thin face. ‘All I saw was that I needed to keep my word. I didn’t think… and there you were, sacrificing your happiness protecting my ward. I have been wrong. So wrong.’

There was no doubting the sincerity of his father’s admission. A knot released in his chest.

‘Hukum
…’ He went and knelt by his father’s knee. They had never been demonstrative. His father had always been held by his rigid beliefs but now the monarch made an awkward effort to hug him. Rihaan overcame a wall of formality to return the embrace. His father had always appeared so powerful but now he could feel the skin sliding over knobby bones and an unexpected fierce surge of emotion gripped his throat.

Despite what had happened, this man loved him in his own way. Rihaan remembered, as a child, playing nearby while his father carried on his work, when in unexpected
fond moments he would pick him up and place him on his knee. His father’s face flushed with pride when he had returned from college with his degree… going to fairs holding his finger… a jumble of memories rose and filled his mind.
‘Hukum
, don’t think of it. It’s in the past.’ He blinked away the moisture and faced his father. All the resentment he had felt towards this man had perished like rock turning into a heap of salt.

‘You still called me, Rihaan.’ His father was crying too. Unashamed tears ran from his eyes. ‘I can never repay you for getting in touch with me. After all I did, I didn’t deserve it.’

He clasped the thin hands in his. ‘We are one. Blood can’t be separated.’ Fiercely Rihaan wiped his eyes, but they filled again. This time he let them. Maybe only tears could wash away his pain. The pain occupying his heart for so long, the pain of loneliness, the pain of being shut off from those he had once belonged to.

‘Sriji.’
They hugged. Had he ever hugged his father? Not the childish instinctive hugs but comfort he knew he was giving or receiving? ‘I love you, Papa.’ The old childish address broke through the formality.

‘I love you too. You’ve honoured the name Rathore. You’ve earned it. I wish to call you
hokum.’

‘Sir!’ Rihaan stilled in surprise.

‘This hasn’t happened in our lineage. But it will now because I wish it to happen. A Maharaja will crown his son with his own hands.’

‘No,
Hukum
, I couldn’t…’

‘Son, the people are still uncertain. They don’t speak but they whisper. What happened? They wonder. This will banish their doubts absolutely. When you wear the highest
paggar
that this land has to offer, they will stop their head-shaking. They will honour you because it won’t be by any natural course that you become king but by my own hand.’

The pride in his voice echoed in Rihaan’s escalating heartbeat. To own the crown he had been stripped of the right to even hold. To be a part once again of the land he had once longed to even touch. The thought was dizzying.

‘I have more good news. You will have everything you deserve, Rihaan, my son, even the bride of your choice as well.’ He added, ‘Six years ago you were a youth, a bit on the wild side, and marriage to a princess was a desirable recourse to raise your esteem in the minds of the people. Now it will be a consolidating factor again. We should forget about what happened in the courtyard. Nadira is ready to overlook it too. In fact, I can hardly believe it. She has agreed to marry you!’