Page 27 of The Surprise Bollywood Baby

He’d come far from that man-child she’d once known. And the man he was now was more than a match for her.

It was that man that Zara was interested in. That man she’d so openly admitted to wanting. And the last thing he was going to do was deny himself.

As if pulled toward him, Zara looked up at that exact moment. Sweat shimmered on her brow, her chest falling and rising with fast breaths.

Heat arced between them across the room, amid dancers laughing. She was the one to break the contact and look away. The stubbornly tense set of her shoulders betrayed her awareness of him, however.

Virat smiled, the challenge in her stance riling something awake in him. He wanted to walk up to her in the midst of all the gaggle and press his mouth to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He wanted to gather her up against him until all that icy fire melted and she pressed into him with that wanton need that made him crazy.

A grimace crossed her face as she straightened her legs from the complicated ground pose she had to strike at the end of the dance. The choreographer’s assistant, a young man clearly besotted with Zara and possessing the sort of unending energy that made Virat feel a hundred years old, offered her a hand, and she pushed herself up. Zara thanked him with a bright smile but the young scamp didn’t let go of her hand. He was complimenting her, clearly, as the color in her already pink cheeks deepened. Then he spread his arms wide and Zara pointed to herself, telling him that she was sweaty, Virat guessed, but the man shook his head and off she went into his embrace.

You’re so possessive of her that you glare at any man who looks at her or smiles at her or generally moves in her direction. They’re all terrified of you biting their head off just because they might have looked at Zara for too long.

His brother had looked deeply amused while he’d explained why one of the spot boys always dropped whatever he was holding anytime Virat was close by.

“Jealousy’s a good color on you, Virat,” he’d muttered before grinning, as if there was nothing more gleeful than seeing his younger brother make a fool of himself over his fiancée.

And Virat knew Bhai had spoken the absolute truth. While it had been easy to reject Zara’s quietly spoken words in a moment of childish anger—she’d clearly been as surprised as him at her own admission—he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Of how much he wanted to take her up on her offer to make love to her again. How much he simply...wanted her.

And he was tired of fighting it.

He’d behaved like a grumpy bastard, throwing his accusation at her when she’d openly admitted that she’d wanted him. And he knew it hadn’t been easy for her. She’d been vulnerable and he’d hurt her. Either he forgave her for the past and moved on, or he walked away now.

But the thought of never touching Zara again, of never bandying words with her again, was unthinkable.

Tormenting a woman because he was incapable of controlling his own emotions was something his father had excelled at. And Virat had spent an entire lifetime molding himself to be anyone but the man who could hold a lifetime’s grudge toward his wife and an innocent little boy.

There was nothing to do but make amends to Zara.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“CANIHAVEmy fiancée back now?”

The gravelly voice at her back made Zara’s spine tingle. Sensation washed over her skin, as if her every cell recognized the warmth emanating from the man behind her.

Apparently, her errant fiancé didn’t even have to touch her for her body to start melting into a wanton puddle.

The choreographer’s assistant froze. Even as she tried to control it, her mouth twitched at the man’s horrified expression that he’d been caught mooning over their grumpy director’s fiancée. Virat took another mostly non-menacing step, and the younger man let go of her so fast that she stumbled back, her legs nothing more than mush after three hours of dance practice.

His arm reaching out around her waist, Virat caught her easily. As if seeing the mother ship, her body fell neatly against his, sending all kinds of happy signals to her brain. Her heart thudded in her chest, her entire body trembling for a completely different reason now. Zara knew she should step away from the warm weight of his fingers over the bare skin of her waist.

Being near him and not having him, and pretending like she had him while he rejected her and went off to play with his numerous exes was already driving her bonkers.

But the greedy sponge that she was, she couldn’t. Her shoulder leaning into his chest, his hard thigh pressed against hers. He was a thoroughly masculine presence she wanted to drown in.

God, where was this chemistry when she’d wanted it with another man? Why did she react like this to, of all people, the one complicated man she didn’t understand? The one man who felt he was beyond her reach forever?

The poor assistant’s face stayed in an awkward smile and then he backed away from both of them without turning. As if presenting Virat with his back might be an unnecessary risk.

Zara picked up a fresh towel and pressed it to her face. The coolness of the wet towel felt like heaven against her flushed face. But nothing could help corral the fluttering butterflies in her belly. Or the heightened anticipation that prickled across every inch of her skin.

She wasn’t going to act like a clingy fiancée. She wasn’t going to behave like a hormonal teenager whose teenage crush had turned out to be a total flop. She wasn’t going to...

“I’m not going to disappear if you simply mutter things under that towel,shahzadi.”

Zara mumbled, “Go away,” before she realized she was doing exactly what he’d said. She pulled the towel away and redid her lopsided bun on top of her head. Virat’s gaze swept over her in a quick survey, and when it met hers, it was warm and made something gooey erupt in her belly.

Dear God, wasn’t she a little old for gooey things to happen anywhere in her body?

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