don’t need to take me there.’
‘Someone will have to.’ He was already inside and making his way to the stairs. Judging the likely location, he climbed up.
As he did, he resisted the urge to draw air deep in his lungs. Not because of the muscular exertion. She hardly weighed anything. In fact she felt soft and delicate in his arms. So impossibly fragile that her very femininity was calling out and evoking an answering flood of male hormones in his body, setting his heartbeat hammering like the thud of horses’ hooves on dry ground.
Only the expression in the eyes fixed on him was anythingbut soft. The belligerent brilliance made his anger seep away, even causing a quiet chuckle to escape.
‘Oh, this is really amusing, isn’t it?’ she whispered fiercely, obviously incensed. ‘I guess it gives you a kick to see me helpless.’
‘Any woman would think it romantic.’ He kidded her, ‘Your arms are wound around my neck, I’m manfully bearing the burden of roughly fifty kilos. What could be more mushy? I thought you must be enjoying it.’ His mouth quirked in mockery.
‘Fifty kilos would hardly matter to you,’ she muttered. ‘However, I’m sorry to wrinkle your suit.’
‘The suit is the least of my worries,’ he dismissed. ‘Which one?’ he asked of the closed doors.
She indicated the door and he adjusted her weight to find the handle.
Inside, he put her on the bed. ‘You’re lucky. It escaped serious injury.’ He examined the ankle, which showed only slight redness. ‘How’s your headache?’
‘I’m fine.’
She didn’t look fine, so pale that she almost matched the white embroidered coverlet, her hair showing blacker in contrast.
‘Only your tongue that’s the problem then.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ll get the maid to keep an eye on you in case you get sick or something.’
‘I told you—’
‘Yes. But claiming you don’t get hangovers won’t hold one off for ever.’ Gentle amusement crept into his voice.
She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temples. ‘You’re sabotaging me. I don’t usually feel this bad after a few cocktails. Damn, everything’s spinning.’
She submitted to being held. He felt her forehead. Hot. He moved his palm, trying to cool it, feeling the smooth skin, the vulnerable line engraved between her eyebrows.
‘Lie down.’ Slowly he eased her back. In a gesture of comfort, he smoothed the strands back from the curve of her cheek. Dark lashes made shadows against pale skin. This close, he could see a bluish tinge above her cheekbones, evidence of sleepless nights.
Escape
, she had said. Had she meant it? What demons chased her to give in to the need for alcohol? What demons did she want to chase away? So young, so vulnerable.
Vulnerable? He frowned and withdrew the hand still caressing her cheek.
‘I’m sleepy, not unconscious. Don’t try anything funny,’ she muttered.
‘Oh, for God’s sake—’ But Rihaan couldn’t hold back a smile at her sleepy expression, oddly endearing and so innocent.
All that was a mirage, surely he knew that. Her shocking past—the way she had usurped her sister’s fiancé, only to ditch him—he found that hard to understand, let alone forgive.
Being part of an affluent society, he shouldn’t be sentimental enough to take loyalty as a matter of course. The word ‘family’ didn’t automatically guarantee sanctity of feeling. Who knew that better than him?
The thought had crept up on him. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to think of the way blood ties could be unravelled, like frayed rope rubbed against rock.
Didn’t want to think of the way he had become an empty shell. Devoid of human warmth. Dealing with a rejection that hit harder than he ever had expected it to.
He knew as a result of that he tended to keep people at a distance. But Zaheer and Vishakha had somehow found the inner person and drawn him out. They had shown him again the feeling of knowing someone cared.
His gaze