Page 37 of Journey to You

Being in control ofAmbrosia, seeing his business grow to international stardom status, never failed to give him a kick, a solid reminder of how far he’d come.

From loitering around the back door ofMa Petitehoping for food scraps, to being taken under the wing of the great Arnaud Fournier and given an apprenticeship in his world class restaurant, to running at famous chain of restaurants in the world, was heady stuff for a guy who could remember the pinch of hunger in his belly and the dirt under his fingernails from scrabbling for the last stale bun out of a dumpster.

From bum to billionaire and he couldn’t be prouder.

Then why hadn’t he told Tam the truth?

They’d discussed her family, her career, but he’d neatly sidestepped any personal questions she’d aimed his way, reluctant to taint her image of him.

Why? Was he ashamed? Embarrassed? Afraid she’d see him as less of a man?

Hell yeah. The less said about his sordid past, the better. She’d taken a huge step forward, career-wise and personally, and he’d be a fool to risk it by giving her a glimpse into the real him.

“Something smells good.” She stepped into the kitchen, wearing a simple red sundress with tiny white polka dots, her hair wet and slicked back into a low ponytail, her skin clear andglowing, and he slammed the hot dish onto the bench before it slid onto the floor courtesy of his fumbling fingers.

She had that effect on him, could render him useless with a smile, with a single glance from beneath those long, dark lashes that accentuated the unique green of her eyes.

She sashayed across the kitchen, lifted the lid on the fish, and waved the fragrant aroma towards her nose. “Wait until you try this fishmoilee. It’s fabulous.”

Thankful she’d given him a chance to unglue his tongue from the roof his mouth where it had stuck the moment he caught sight of her, he set the table.

“How’smoileedifferent from curry?”

“Different spices, different method of cooking.” She gathered a jug of mangolassi, a delicious yoghurt and fruit drink he loved, glasses, and placed them on the table. “You add a little salt and lime juice to the fish, and set it aside for a while. Then you fry mustard seeds, curry leaves, onion, ginger, garlic, green chillies, and turmeric, before adding the fish, covering the lot with coconut milk and letting it simmer.”

She inhaled again, closing her eyes, her expression ecstatic, and he cleared his throat, imagining what else apart from a tasty curry could bring that look to her face.

“My mouth’s watering,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

Her eyes snapped open at his abrupt response and he busied himself with transporting the hot dishes to the table under her speculative stare rather than have to explain why he’d lost his cool.

For a couple who’d chatted amicably during every meal on their Palace on Wheels journey, they were strangely silent as they devoured the delicious fish and rice, darting occasional glances at each other over thelassi, politely passing theraita, focussing on forking food into their mouths.

Tension stretched between them, taut and fraught, as he wished he could articulate half of what he was feeling. Overwhelmed. Awkward. Out of control. He’d dated many women; most had left him cold. He’d told himself he liked it that way, choosing fickle women because he didn’t want to get emotionally involved.

So what was he doing here, hoping Tam would let him into her heart when he knew that would be an irrevocable step down a dangerous road, a road less travelled for him, a road peppered with emotions he’d rather ignore?

Tam must’ve had a good marriage with Richard. She’d grieved for so long, had closed down emotionally, hadn’t dated let alone looked at a guy since his death. Yet here she was, opening her heart to him, welcoming him back despite acting like a jerk in Delhi. Which could only mean one thing.

She was already emotionally invested in him, willing to gamble her heart.

Hell.

He had no idea if he deserved it.

“That was delish.” She patted her mouth with a napkin, and refolded it, before sitting back and patting her stomach. “I don’t think I can move after that, which gives you plenty of time to start talking.”

So much for being let off the hook. She’d lulled him into a false sense of security, yet he’d known it would come to this. He had to tell her the truth, some of it, if they were to have any chance of moving forward.

Wishing he hadn’t eaten so much—it now sat like a lump of lard in his gut—he sat back and crossed his ankles, wondering if she’d buy his relaxed posture while inside he churned with trepidation.

Opening up to anyone let alone the woman he cared about didn’t sit well with him and he’d be damned if he messed this up considering what had happened in Delhi.

Folding his arms, he looked her straight in the eye. “You want to know why I backed off at India Gate.”

“For starters.”

She didn’t look angry, far from it, if the gentle upturning of her lips was any indication. Yet she had every right to be, every right to kick his sorry ass out of here after the way he’d treated her.

---