Married for One Reason Only Read online

  Vijay made himself release Oriel’s wrist and rolled to his feet on the far side of the bed. “If you give me an hour, I’ll have all of this sorted,” he promised. “I need to fetch a few tools.”

  He wasn’t a certified electrician, but he could rewire a fan.

  “I actually have an appointment.” She glanced at the clock.

  “I can let myself in.” That’s what he’d been planning to do with his ill-gotten, all-access housekeeping card. He had taken a chance, hoping she would already be out for the day. The mop had been a prop, the knock a precaution.

  “I suppose.” Her doubtful gaze dropped to the name tag on his borrowed coveralls, then came back to his eyebrow. “You’re still bleeding. Did you realize that? Please sit down.” She nodded at the edge of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

  He touched the wet trickle that was winding its way down his temple. When he saw the blood, he swiped the sleeve of the coveralls across it, leaving a dark streak on the heavy blue cotton.

  “I’ll survive. Don’t worry about it,” he called.

  “No, let me.” She came back with a small bag marked with a red cross. “I asked you to fix the fan. This is my fault.”

  He hesitated, then sat on the bed and closed his eyes, trying not to picture the way the suspenders framed her breasts and cleavage so enticingly. He briefly thought about coming clean and saying, Look, I need your DNA.

  A container ship of worms would open at that point, and for what? The chance that Oriel was related to Lakshmi Dalal was near zero. As far as Vijay could discern, a con man was leaping on Oriel’s resemblance to Lakshmi to get his hands on the money Vijay and his sister would make as they merged ViKay Security Solutions with a bigger, global enterprise.

  On the very slim chance that their “client” was telling the truth and Lakshmi did have a lost child out there, Vijay owed the man his utmost discretion. The mystery seemed too coincidental to be believed, though. When Vijay had booked this trip to Europe, he had seen an opportunity to get to the bottom of things. He’d tacked on this side trip to Milan so he could intercept Oriel. All he had to do was pretend to be a hotel worker for another few minutes, steal her toothbrush, and get on with his life.

  There was a tearing sound, the pungent scent of alcohol, then a cool swipe on his brow that left a sting in its wake.

  He couldn’t help his small wince.

  “Sorry.” She blew on it, making his eyes snap open.

  Her blouse gaped, and he was staring straight down the shadowed valley between her lace-cupped breasts. Lovely, abundant breasts that his palms itched to gather and massage.

  He deliberately set his hands onto the blankets next to his hips, but he could still smell the fragrance of tropical body wash clinging to her skin and wanted to rub his face into her throat. He wanted to keep going, dislodging the edges of her shirt so he could find her nipples—

  “There.” She set a bandage over the cut, cupped his face in her cool hands, and kissed the injury.

  He was so shocked, he snapped his head back.

  “I’m sorry.” Her hands fell away, but she was frozen, still leaning over him, as shocked as he was. “I didn’t mean to— I have a little cousin who— Obviously, you’re not a child. I’m so embar—”

  “Do it again.” The words shouldn’t have left his chest, but there they were, rumbling up into the space between their lips. He didn’t lower his attention back to her breasts. He kept his face tilted up and his gaze on her mouth.

  For endless seconds, they were held in that state while she made up her mind. Then slowly, slowly she lowered her head. Her mouth pressed to his, delicate as a butterfly landing on a rose. He lost his sight. Impressions came to him in flashes as her lips slid against his—the softness of flower petals and the crushed scent of them filling his head. Velvety heat in her breath and the dark, sweetly sensual flavor of her as they both opened their mouths wider to deepen the kiss.

  He skimmed his touch along her forearms, catching lightly at her elbows, inviting her closer. She braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned against him, slanted her head and sank into their kiss, stealing every thought in his head.

  It was the most frustratingly delectable kiss of his life. He wanted to drag her in and take control, but he was too enthralled by letting her have her way. She sipped and experimented and decided what she liked before she pressed deeper. Tasted him more boldly.

  He groaned and signaled more firmly on her arms, urging her to be more aggressive.

  Her knees dug into the mattress on either side of his hips. The warm weight of her settled on his thighs. Gratification rumbled in his throat. He swept his palms to her shoulders and roamed his touch over the warmth of her body through silk. He followed the straps of the suspenders, enjoying the lithe flex of her back and the furrowed texture of her trousers where he made circles on the flare of her hips.

  She sighed and inched her knees on the mattress, settling more deeply into his lap. She switched the slant of her head to the other side with barely a breath for either of them.

  This boiler suit was a size too small. It pulled tautly across his back and shoulders and against his knees as he splayed his legs and looped his arms around her, trying to drag her even tighter into his lap. Her hair tangled in his fingers as he cupped the back of her head and gave in to the craving taking over him. He swept his tongue into her mouth and sucked on her lips, wanting to absorb her into himself.

  She made a noise that was a helpless pang of pleasure, pure seduction, and shivered. Her arms folded behind his neck and she pressed even closer, so all he could think was how badly he wanted the heat of her sex scorching where he had hardened to titanium.

  His hands cupped under her bottom and, purely on instinct, his arms hardened around her. He rolled, setting her beneath him on the bed. Now he could kiss her throat the way he’d been dying to, tasting the small hollow at the base. Her hands went into his hair and—

  “Mon Dieu. Stop.”

  He lifted his head. Her horrified gaze was pinned to the ceiling. When she met his own, she pressed her head more deeply into the mattress, expression appalled.

  Bloody hell. He wasn’t a hotel employee, which would be bad enough. He had lied his way in here.

  Vijay pushed himself off her, feeling as though he left a layer of his skin adhered to her. It hurt. He didn’t dare look down to see whether these damned coveralls were disguising his arousal.

  She was sitting up and smoothing her hair, ensuring her blouse buttons were secure. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It shouldn’t. I’ll leave.” He did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT WAS A good thing Oriel’s appointment this morning had only been a fitting. The main requirement of her had been to stand still and be quiet. She would have been useless at anything else. Her mind had been completely occupied by the most salacious kiss of her life.

  Apparently, she harbored fantasies of making love to strange men who appeared at the door like the mythical pizza delivery hookup. What else could explain the way she’d crawled into his lap and practically offered herself? If she hadn’t blinked open her eyes to see the bare wires in the ceiling, and been reminded where she was and that he was a complete stranger, she might have gone all the way with him!

  Maybe it had been a dream, she tried telling herself as she looked around. The fan was back in place, the spare blanket gone, the bed made and the pillows fluffed. The suite wore the tidy polish of an efficient housekeeping visit.

  When she tried the switch, the fan was perfectly silent, not rattling the way it had last night.

  Should she call down and leave a message to thank him? Leave a tip with a note? What would she say? You left me rattled. Can you fix that?

  The part that was torturing her most was, why? Why had she lost any sense of decorum? Was she that starved for
affection?

  She did have yearnings for a serious relationship, but she also knew she had to love herself. She couldn’t expect someone else to make her feel loved.

  Maybe she should start dating herself, she thought, smirking around the mouth of the bottle of water she was drinking. Rather than seek outside validation, she could take herself out for dinner. It was her birthday, after all.

  Actually, maybe she would do that, she decided, and started to search for a restaurant to make a reservation. She was distracted by an email from her agent. Payton had sent through a confirmation on her trip to Cannes in May. Magnifique, she thought dourly.

  Her mother had also left a message about Oriel’s gown for the anniversary party. Madame Estelle would be annoyed when Oriel told her she wouldn’t arrive until the morning of, thanks to her red carpet appearance with Duke Rhodes.

  She bit back a sigh and threw her phone down while she began to change, still irritated by this Cannes idea. She was trying to make her mark without riding her mother’s famous coattails, but she would be riding the coattails of a one-time heartthrob who wanted to look as though he could still get off-camera action in the form of a twenty-five-year-old model. Payton would say it was how the game was played, but Oriel felt like a sellout.

  She didn’t have time to stand around brooding, though. She had a casting call for a luxury eyewear brand in an hour. Such things ran notoriously late, but she was always five minutes early. It was mid-March and the breeze still sharp, but she changed into a filmy summer dress that showed lots of her long, tanned legs.

  She moved into the bathroom to brush out her hair and fix her makeup and found a note where her toothbrush ought to have been.

  The scrawled handwriting took her a moment to work out.

  Apologies. I dropped your toothbrush while washing the dust from my hands. The fan is in order now. Call me if you have further concerns.

  There was a phone number in place of a signature.

  Hmm. Was he offering his number in a professional capacity or giving her his number?

  She tucked the note in her bag while she applied a bold red to her speculative smile, pondering whether she would text him and what she might say.

  After a quick check that she had a pair of heels, and a romance novel to read while she waited, she threw on her overcoat and hurried out.

  * * *

  Vijay ordered a beer while he waited for a table at an upscale restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. When he checked his phone, he saw a text from his sister, Kiran, asking how the merger discussions had gone and why he wasn’t home yet. He replied,

  Good. I was delayed. Will fly home tomorrow.

  He didn’t mention that the offer they’d received was so generous, he was more concerned than ever that she was being targeted for her fortune. He also skipped telling her that he’d stolen a toothbrush to prove it.

  Vijay had sent the toothbrush overnight to a DNA lab. When he returned to Mumbai, he fully expected their client, Jalil Dalal, to refuse to give up his own sample to determine whether he was Oriel’s uncle. Vijay was calling the man’s bluff, dismantling the excuse Jalil was using to spend so much time with Kiran.

  Jalil had seen Kiran speak in Delhi at a symposium about women in business where she had relayed how she and Vijay had grown their security company from a scrappy start-up to acquisition offers. Jalil had followed her to Mumbai, where he had asked her to help him with a “highly confidential, very personal assignment.”

  Kiran was beautiful and intelligent and successful enough for any man to want her on her own merit, but Jalil’s request was not in their wheelhouse. Vijay and Kiran had started ViKay Security Solutions to protect themselves after taking a difficult stand that had destroyed the life they’d grown up in. A few years ago, they had accidentally developed a facial recognition system that accounted for skin tone, scars and makeup.

  Their system was so accurate, global powerhouse TecSec wanted to acquire it. The owner was prepared to make Vijay the VP of his Asia division, and Kiran would have an executive role overseeing programming and development for the entire organization. They could finally put their past behind them and redeem their reputations.

  This was not the time to run private investigations searching for imaginary children of deceased Bollywood stars.

  That’s what Kiran had been asked to do, though. Jalil Dalal had seen a model who resembled his dead sister and claimed Oriel must be his secret niece. Jalil didn’t have proof Lakshmi had been pregnant. She had gone to Europe around the time of Oriel’s birth and made a few remarks before she died—of a broken heart, according to Jalil—but that was all he knew.

  It was the kind of tale that appealed directly to Kiran’s soft heart, though. She had swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

  Vijay sipped his beer, almost wishing the story was true. It would give him an excuse to see Oriel Cuvier again. He’d been in a state of low-key arousal all day thinking about their kiss. It shouldn’t have happened, but he was not nearly as remorseful as he ought to be.

  Oriel definitely possessed the same sensual allure as Lakshmi Dalal, he acknowledged sardonically, but it was beyond outlandish that she could be the screen queen’s secret child.

  For starters, the beloved actress wouldn’t have such a scandal in her past. Lakshmi Dalal was India’s didi, first charming her way into hearts with a portrayal of an older sister who was determined to give her kidney to her ailing younger brother. In a later film, she disguised herself as a young man, both becoming a symbol of feminism to girls and indelibly imprinting herself into adolescent male fantasies when she put on a sari and danced in the rain. From there, she became a mainstay in romantic musicals, a seal of wholesomeness that reassured all parents it was safe to allow their children to watch.

  Jalil claimed that’s why this had to be handled so delicately. He didn’t want his sister’s memory tainted, but Jalil lived off what remained of Lakshmi’s earnings. That had to be running low by now. He was looking for fresh income, and Kiran was a convenient target.

  That might be a cynical view, but Vijay didn’t trust anyone except Kiran. And after his failed engagement, he would do anything to protect Kiran from similar disillusionment.

  He flicked to the next email and saw his presentation to the hotel had resulted in an agreement in principle to move forward with the security package he had pitched to them.

  Vijay was the king of multitasking. He’d detoured here on his way home from the merger meeting, booked himself into Oriel’s hotel and wrangled a tour of the security system by pitching his own. That had given him the knowledge to break into a maintenance area undetected. He’d finagled himself a housekeeping card, talked his way into the room of a hotel guest, and retrieved what he needed to expose his sister’s paramour as the fraud he was.

  A man in his position should behave more honorably, he supposed. By misleading his sister and going behind Oriel’s back, he was perpetuating the sorts of lies and betrayals he’d suffered.

  As if karma wished to offer him a chance to make better choices, he absently lifted his gaze to the door and watched Oriel walk in. A jolt of electrical thrill went through him.

  Dusk was closing in, but she looked as though she’d just left a beach with her hair windswept and her skin glowing. She wore makeup that emphasized her wide eyes and lush mouth. As she stood in the doorway, she unbelted her coat to reveal an airy dress with a ruffle across her chest. He leaned down slightly and caught a glimpse of her slender calves.

  He was definitely in the throes of a sexual crush, but she had climbed into his lap this morning as though it was where she was meant to belong.

  Heiress, his brain reminded him starkly, but his lap twitched with lascivious memory.

  He watched her glance around uncertainly. Meeting someone? Who? The most intense aggression punched him in the gut, but he already knew that jealousy was a point
less emotion. If the person you were committed to wanted someone else, they were already gone.

  Oriel smiled as the maître d’ greeted her. She must have been informed the restaurant was full, because her smile fell away. Like him, she seemed to be invited to wait at the bar until a table became free. She sent a considering look his direction, and her eyes widened as she met his gaze.

  Don’t, he told himself, even as he stepped off his stool and nodded at it, inviting her to join him. Hot tension invaded his belly as he waited for her to decide.

  Her dark red lipstick briefly disappeared as she rolled her lips together.

  Oh, those lips. So soft. So hungry. How would they feel traveling other places?

  With another faltering smile, she pointed and told the maître d’ she would join him. She moved like a ballerina as she approached, hair bouncing as she seemed to float on air. Her coat fell open, and her dress seemed to be made of something delicate like gossamer. It clung subtly to her breasts, and he had to exert all his control not to ogle her.

  “Hello again.” Her cheeks might have stained with color, but it was difficult to tell in this light. “I should apologize for this morning.”

  “No, I was out of line.” Way, way out of line. “It was excellent taste on my part, but poor judgment.”

  Her mouth twitched with reluctant humor. Her gaze flickered over his collared shirt and tailored pants, then widened with startled comprehension.

  “Are you on a date?”

  “I had a meeting.” He debated how much to tell her. “I pitched my security company. I’m Vijay.” He offered his hand, deliberately withholding his surname.

  “Oriel.” Her wariness dissolved into a bright smile as she put her hand in his. “You didn’t sign your note. Did you think I would get you in trouble if I knew your name?”

  He practically fell into the dark, sensual pools of her eyes. The soft feel of her hand in his was the only thing keeping him from drowning.