Bollywood Comes to The Chatsfield. Tara Pammi
the route in the GPS device. You know the protocol with a high-profile client, right?’
‘Yep. I’ll sign the confidentiality agreement and the rest. Any particular quirks of this client that I should know about?’ she asked, remembering an American businesswoman she had driven around three years ago who wanted to be addressed as Ma’am.
‘Nothing,’ her brother replied, shying his gaze away from her, ‘That we know of. It’s the first time he’s hiring us.’
Nodding, Tanya ran her sweaty hands over her slacks. ‘I still have my uniform.’ Reaching for him, she threw her arms around her big brother’s solid frame. ‘Thanks, Raj. Where is the client going first?’
‘The Chatsfield first. Then it’s going to be As Directed.’
Her eyes widening, Tanya smiled. ‘Wow. Isn’t that the posh hotel that everyone in London’s talking about? I saw a quick feature on the telly about it. Oohh…I can’t wait to see the inside of it.’
‘You probably won’t get to see the inside of it,’ Raj added, and then winked at her. ‘But I’m sure you’ll have a great evening anyway.’
Tanya went upstairs to get ready. During the first few months after Sunny had died, it had felt like she would never smile or laugh or feel anything ever again.
Tonight, the small thrill of seeing the grand hotel felt like a blessing. ‘One day at a time,’ she whispered to herself.
Grinning, she looked up at John Patel’s poster on the wall, and started humming one of the hit songs from a movie of his.
Tanya parked the car at the private airfield, stole a quick look in the rearview mirror and straightened the collar of her black suit jacket. She had braided her hair into a tight plait and was glad to see her unruly, wavy hair had stayed put with the mousse Jessie had lent her.
Switching off the ignition, she stepped out just as the Lear jet hit the runway. She walked around, straightened her shoulders, linked her hands together and waited.
Slowly, the thundering of the aircraft abated and the air stairs pulled out. An air hostess appeared first. Her arm extended, her face turned upward, she smiled at her tall passenger. The wide swathe of his black jacket was the first thing that Tanya noticed.
Her breath stuttered in her throat as the man turned and she caught his profile.
The tight cast of his face felt eerily familiar. She heard the gasp of disbelief that fell from her mouth as she noted the chiseled jawline, the familiar tilt of his head to one side.
Jet-black hair flopped in the breeze as he nodded at some comment the air hostess made and turned around, giving Tanya a view of his face. Wraparound shades sat on a distinctive nose. And the mouth…
It was a mouth that had been oohed and aaahed over by millions of women in India as it engaged in a shockingly erotic kiss that had startled and surprised and made him a fantasy lover to an entire generation of women.
She had been only sixteen, but she remembered the sensation it had caused in the Indian media and the discussion among her own family members. Tanya had been one of the millions who had adored him in that movie. God, she had watched the clip of him begging the heroine for a kiss and then touching his mouth to hers…
Something akin to a molten fire started in her belly and she bit her lip. Damn it, it had been a movie from a decade ago. It had been a manufactured moment, a kiss on demand. Nothing about it had been real.
And neither was he the perfect guy he had played in that movie.
His dark good looks just as compelling in real life as on the silver screen, John Patel looked so gorgeous that keeping her posture straight as he approached was hard. It was as if the wind could knock her down.
Suddenly, the twinkle in her cousin’s eyes, the barely hushed enthusiasm of her family, her brother Raj giving her a job after months of keeping hawk eyes on her, why, even after repeated questions from her, no one had told her the name of the client…
Everything made sense.
Glad that her star-struck expression was hidden by her shades, Tanya forced her shaking knees to move forward, one step at a time.
Her throat felt dry, her hands tingled as she neared him. A laugh bubbled up inside to accompany her anxiety. In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined she would one day see John Patel, stand close enough to touch him. Not that she was going to.
Six feet tall, with an imposing physique that neatly filled out the white dress shirt underneath the black jacket, he was incredibly real. She studied him greedily.
But that sexy mouth was twisted into the most ferocious scowl she had ever seen. It cut through the silly haze that shrouded her senses.
Her neatly manicured fingers staying his arm, the air hostess whispered something that Tanya, standing at the bottom of the steps, could not hear. Another air hostess, who seemed barely out of her teens, stood next to her, her excitement palpable in her twitching form.
‘Sorry, no pictures please,’ Mr Bollywood replied and goosebumps settled over Tanya’s skin, as if that deep, rasping timbre was embedded into her psyche to invoke only one kind of reaction.
God, she needed to forget about that kiss.
As Tanya watched with mounting anxiety, the second woman made a sudden movement, linked her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Or at least tried to.
Her mouth landed somewhere on his neck/jaw and instantly, the easy charm fell away like a mask. With a controlled violence that had Tanya’s heart ratcheting in her chest, he disengaged the woman from him and said something.
Her smile disappearing, the woman looked as if she had been slapped.
Without a backward glance, John stepped down.
Tanya was about to step forward and introduce herself when she heard an expletive fall from his lips. Straining to examine his neck, he tugged at his expensive shirt. And that’s when Tanya saw it. The blood red lipstick stain on the inside of his collar.
Instant heat crawled up her neck and by sheer will, she resisted the urge to look up.
Stepping forward, Tanya extended her arm. ‘Welcome to London, Mr Patel. I’m Tanya Singh, your chauffeur.’
If he was surprised at seeing a female chauffeur, he didn’t show it. His fingers resting on his collar, he gave her a quick once over and every square inch of her body tingled at the perusal that lasted barely two seconds. He finally took her extended hand and shook it.
His hands were rough, almost abrasive against her smooth palms. She fought to keep the curiosity, and the unbidden awareness flooding through, her at bay.
That was all he needed, his chauffeur making googly-eyes at him. Swallowing the rumble of shock flooding through her, Tanya quickly looked behind him and grabbed his small briefcase.
‘Let’s get one thing clear, Ms Singh,’ she heard him say in cutting tones, and slowly turned around.
He sounded gloriously annoyed. His shades were gone, and the brilliance of his brown gaze stilled her. ‘This trip to London is my escape after a year of acrimonious divorce proceedings. All I want is privacy tonight as I conduct my business. If there’s even a remote chance that you’re going to lose your sense around me, as that newly-fired air hostess up there just demonstrated, know that I’ve zero tolerance for being mauled just because women can’t keep their hormones in check.’
Shock, dismay, fury, everything cycled through Tanya.
The nerve of the man! That woman had definitely crossed the boundaries of professional behaviour, but did he think all women were like that?
Of course he did.
A