Page 22 of Journey to You

“I come bearing gifts.” He waved the champagne and brochure to tempt her. Like he wouldn’t be enough to do that, and the thought had her gripping the door, ready to close it.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired.” And confused, drained, and a tad excited.

He’d showered too, and with this slicked-back wet hair and sexy smile, he looked more like a dangerous pirate than ever. Too glib, too smooth, too gorgeous.

At that moment, she knew exactly why she found him so attractive. She’d married Richard because he’d made her feel safe. The older guy who loved her, took care of her, made her feel special, and while it may not have lasted, that hadn’t stopped her from cherishing the feeling of security he’d brought to her life.

Which explained why she now found Ethan so appealing. That edge of danger, of unpredictability, was something she’d never experienced, and for someone who’d played it safe her entire life, she understood the appeal.

He held up the brochure, cleverly homing in on her weak spot. “Share one drink with me, whet my appetite for the Taj Mahal, and I’m out of here. Promise.”

Her instincts screamed she should refuse, but he’d been nothing but helpful in organising their rooms, transport fortomorrow, and entry to the bird sanctuary and the Taj. The least she could do was appear grateful rather than churlish.

“Okay.”

Besides, having one drink together would barely be enough time to make small talk let alone anything else happening. Not that she wanted anything to happen. If only she believed it. Her cheeks heated again and she opened the door wider to usher him in.

“Is your room okay?”

“Are you kidding?” When she’d wanted to stay here, she had no idea the rooms would be this gorgeous: the cusped archways, the carvings, the bohemian crystal lights, the miniature paintings. Like living in a fairytale, being a princess for a night. “It’s fantastic.”

“Good. For a while there, I thought you’d slug me for making us miss the train.”

“It wasn’t like you did it on purpose.”

A flicker of guilt tightened his features as he turned away to uncork the champagne and pour it into the exquisite crystal flutes that were standard room supplies, but it disappeared when he handed her a flute and she must’ve imagined it.

“Here’s to the rest of the trip being as eventful.” He raised his flute to hers, tapped it, and took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers.

She glimpsed something in his stare… something resolute, unwavering, and it made her shiver. She had to look away to break the spell cast over her the moment he’d walked into the room.

Though in reality, he’d cast a spell on her the moment he’d landed in India and railroaded her trip.

Lowering his glass, he placed it on a nearby table and did the same with hers before leaning forward, way too close.

“Tell me. Is my being here making you uncomfortable?”

“A little.”

She settled for the truth, hating how gauche and out of her depth he made her feel. She hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t fostered this attraction or encouraged it, but it was there all the same, buzzing between them, electrifying, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

“Why?” He didn’t back away. If anything, he leaned closer and her skin tingled where his shirt cuff brushed her wrist.

“Because you’re the type of guy any woman in her right mind should stay away from,” she blurted, silently cringing at her blunt outburst.

Rather than offending him, he laughed, the deep chuckles as warm and seductive as the rest of him. “You keep coming back to the playboy thing. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a ladies man?”

“Let’s just say my reputation may be embroidered somewhat.”

His laconic response made her smile, because while Ethan tried to downplay his reputation, she had little doubt every word was true. She’d seen his passing parade of women, either in the tabloids or at the restaurant, and while she should be the last person to judge who he paired up with—look at the monumental mistake she’d made in marrying Richard—the vacuous women didn’t seem his type.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? My past?”

She shrugged. “Not really. It’s none of my business.”

“I’d like it to be.”

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