Free Busted in Bollywood by Nicola Marsh Page A

truth would shock anyone in our little foursome.
    As for Drew being controlling, call it a gut instinct. Guys like him—mega wealthy, well-put-together, the whole package—thrived on power and his peremptory email summons last night reinforced the fact. Not to mention the tour he’d deliberately organized to get Anjali and Rakesh out of the way.
    I’d come to realize one small gesture in this city had a ripple effect: pose as fake fiancée, get blackmailed by guy to meet real fiancée, meet intriguing guy, can’t do anything with intriguing guy because of stupid role-playing and the fact I couldn’t—and didn’t—like him, etc… etc… It went on and on. If I didn’t confront him now, the fallout would be disastrous.
    I could toy with him and tag along on the tour, but why prolong the inevitable? If he didn’t interrogate me here he’d arrange some other time. Best to get it over with.
    I rubbed at my temples, not needing to feign the tension squeezing my skull in a vice. “I’m actually feeling a bit light-headed from the heat. Maybe I could have a cup of chai and catch up with the tour later?”
    Rakesh smirked at my ploy to be alone with Drew. If he only knew. “You sure, honey—”
    “She’s fine.” Anjali slipped her hand through the crook of Rakesh’s elbow so fast she almost toppled both of them. “You rest, my dear, we’ll see you later.”
    Anjali dragged Rakesh—who gave a helpless shrug—as they left the marquee and disappeared from view.
    Despite the bustle of people moving around us running errands, reading scripts, and toting refreshment trays, risking a glance at Drew only exacerbated my feeling of loneliness. His dour expression, compressed lips, and deep frown made him a formidable adversary.
    One I had every intention of taking down.
    “If you’d like chai , I’ve got afternoon tea waiting.”
    “How very civilized,” I muttered, trying to pick up the pace when he insisted on sticking to my side like I was a fugitive about to bolt.
    Normally, I would’ve loved having a cute guy cozying up to me but I knew he was after one thing and it wasn’t my body—he wanted the truth and I’d be damned if I gave him either.
    Not that I should be viewing him as anything other than the enemy. If his resemblance to Brad Stoddard wasn’t enough of a warning, the fact I’d been dumped three months ago should boost my immunity against guys, attractive or otherwise.
    We reached the refreshment trestle in a corner of the marquee, quiet and far from eavesdropping ears, and I braced for the incoming inquisition.
    “I’m surprised you had the guts to stay behind.” He handed me a cup of chai , his speculative stare sending a jolt of unease through me.
    It had been dark on the Ramas’ veranda last night so I hadn’t noticed the incredible color of his eyes, a startling cross between cobalt and sky, a shade that could never be imitated by artists or technicians or any number of digital experts. I had a thing for blue eyes and Drew’s could melt a woman at twenty paces or less, depending how lucky she was in getting close to him.
    Blue-schmoo . I was here for one reason and one reason only: get Detective Drew to keep his big mouth shut and keep the heat off Rita in the process.
    “I read your email. The old ‘we need to talk’ line didn’t do it for me.”
    “What does?”
    I fought a rising blush and plowed on, ignoring his innuendo and wondering when I’d become such a party-pooper. In my pre-Toad days, I would’ve lobbed a witty comeback straight at him, continuing the flirtation until one of us capitulated. I hated how Tate had dented my self-confidence, hated how my experience with him had left me wary and suspicious, whereas before I’d confront any situation head-on.
    Getting involved with a married guy had been dumb and delusional despite the lies he’d fed me, but the residual self-doubt was what I loathed most. Was my judgment that off? Was I that gullible? The thought alone