to risk it?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Sam replied and flung himself into the seat. ‘I loved living in Los Angeles, but you cannot get real Indian food unless you cook it yourself. Pass it over and tell me what you ordered.’
‘Vegetable curry, chickpea masala, coconut rice and a thick lamb curry for you. And just this once we are allowed to eat it using a fork and plates instead of fingers and a banana leaf. Go ahead and tuck in. I ordered plenty. What do you think?’
Sam held up a fork and dived into the nearest dish, speared some lamb and wrapped his lips around it.
Flavour and texture exploded on his tongue and he moaned in pleasure and delight before smiling and grabbing each dish in turn and loading up his plate with something of everything.
‘This is seriously good. But now I’m curious. How do you know the owner of a Keralan restaurant in London? That doesn’t seem to fit with a career musician.’
Amber swallowed down a mouthful of vegetables and rice and gave a tiny shrug before taking a sip of water.
‘The orchestra I tour with has an amazing cellist who has become one of my best friends in the business. Parvita is one of those totally natural talents who has been winning awards all over the place—but it was only when I got to know her that I found out just how remarkable she really is.’
Amber topped up her plate as she spoke, but there was just enough of a slight quiver in her voice to make Sam look at her as he chewed. ‘Parvita was left at an orphanage for girls when she was only a toddler. Her widowed mother was too poor to feed another daughter. She needed her boys to work their farm in Kerala and knew that the orphanage could give a little girl an education and a chance to improve her life.’
Amber chuckled. ‘I don’t think that Parvita’s family were expecting her to win scholarships to international music schools and then build a career as a concert cellist. But she did it, against all of the odds.’
Amber raised her water glass. ‘And along the way my friend introduced me to real home-cooked food from Kerala. The chef who runs this restaurant is one of her cousins and is totally passionate about fresh ingredients and cooking with love. I think it shows.’
Sam lifted his fork in tribute. ‘This is probably the best Indian food that I have ever eaten. Although it does make me wonder. Aren’t you going to miss your friend Parvita? Now that you have decided to retire?’
Amber closed her lips around the fork and twirled it back and forth for a second before replying. ‘Not at all. She is still my friend so I will make the effort to keep in touch. She even invited me to her wedding next week and sent me a fabulous hot pink sari to wear.’
‘Now that is something I would like to see. Just tell me which fabulous and exclusive London venue is having the privilege of hosting this happy event and I’ll be right there with my camera.’
‘Oh, she isn’t coming to London. The wedding party is in Kerala. I’ve already sent my apologies—’ Amber shrugged ‘—but the newlyweds will be passing through London in a few weeks, and we can catch up then.’
‘So you are not going to the wedding after all?’
She shook her head as she chewed and pointed to her plaster.
‘That’s interesting.’ Sam nodded. ‘If one of my friends was getting married I wouldn’t let a simple thing like that stop me from going. Unless, of course, there is more to it than that. Hmm?’
Then he leant back and crossed his cutlery on his plate and shook his head from side to side.
‘Well, well. Why do I get the feeling that some things have not changed that much after all? Let me guess. Your mother ordered you not to go, didn’t she? Or was Heath Sheridan worried that his little stepsister is going to get sunburnt if she goes to India? How is your stepbrother doing these days? Still trying to interfere in your life? Um. I take that glaring scowl as a yes.’
He sniggered off her rebuke, and dived back into his food. ‘You surprise me, Amber. You’re twenty-eight years old, with a brilliant career, an international reputation and the kudos to match, and you still cannot get out from under their thumb, can you? Well, shame on you, Amber DuBois. I thought you were better than that.’
‘Shame on me? Shame. On me?’
Amber felt the heat burn at the back of her neck which had nothing to do with the Indian food and she crashed her hand down onto the table hard enough to make both Sam and the plates jump, and leant forwards towards him.
‘How dare you? How dare you tell me that I should be ashamed of the fact that my family love me and care what happens to me? No, I don’t always agree with what they tell me, but at least they make an effort to be part of my life. But you know all about that, don’t you? How are you getting on with your dad these days? And remind me of the last time you saw your mum?’
The words emerged in harsh outbursts which seemed to echo around her patio and reflect back from the stone-faced man sitting opposite. And she instantly regretted them.
It shocked her that Sam was capable of making her so spiteful and hard. She was one of the few people who knew how hard it had been for him when his mother abandoned her husband and son. But that didn’t mean that she had to throw his pain back in his face.
She was better than that. Or at least she was trying to be.
‘In fact I don’t know why I am even listening to you in the first place.’ She blinked and tossed her head back and calmly sipped her water. ‘You are hardly qualified to take the moral high ground. I certainly don’t need a lecture on making decisions from you, Sam. Understood?’
‘Perfectly.’ Sam nodded, then leant forward and rested his elbows on the table while his gaze locked onto her face. ‘Is your little tantrum over now, Miss DuBois? Because I would really like to get this so called interview over and done with as soon as possible. I have a real assignment waiting for me back at the paper, so can we move on, please?’
‘Absolutely,’ Amber replied, trying to calm her heart rate and appear to be more or less in control again. ‘But it does make me wonder. What are you really doing back here in London? Because whatever it is must be very important to persuade you to go through with this little game of charades.’
* * *
Sam tried to savour more of the delicious food as slowly as he could while his brain worked at lightning speed, trying to form an answer, but his appetite was gone and he pushed his meal away.
Amber had fired her arrow and hit her target right in the centre.
Strange how this girl was one of the few people alive who knew just what his emotional hot buttons were and was not afraid to press them down hard when she needed to.
Just as he had pressed hers.
That was the problem with working with people who understood you.
Touché Amber.
If this was a game, then it was one point to each of them.
Sam sat back in his chair and watched Amber as she turned away from him and looked out over the city, all joy in her food and apartment forgotten.
The warm sunlight played on her pale skin and delicate features. Up close and personal, she was even lovelier than the girl on the magazine cover. Her chest rose and fell and he could sense the emotional strain these last few minutes had cost her.
Strain he was responsible for.
Shame on him.
Amber DuBois was gunpowder and those few minutes they had just shared in the dressing room had proved just how explosive getting within touching distance could be.
Any ideas he might have had about staying distant and professional