Tall, Dark and Handsome [Paperback]

Nisha Minhas (Author)

Book Description

Publication Date: December 3, 2007

Forever unlucky in love, Saffron Harris has vowed never to fall for a good-looking rogue again. From now on, she'll only date plain men; men who'll appreciate her; men who won't cheat on her; men who won't break her heart. So when she meets the gorgeous Cory Roswell, Saffron decides he's not her type at all. Too tall, too dark and way too handsome. Multi-millionaire Cory, on the other hand, has tired of women after only one thing: his wallet. All he desires is a woman who'll love him for himself rather than his bank balance. He's therefore decided to be less than honest about his past. Despite this unpromising start, romance begins to blossom. But does a relationship based on lies ever stand a chance? It's only a matter of time before the mismatched lovers' secrets come bursting into the open - with surprising, and sometimes hilarious, results.

Editorial Reviews

About the Author

A former employee of the Inland Revenue and an avid reader, Nisha couldn't find any novels that really appealed to her, a young woman born in the UK of Indian parents. So she bravely left her job, determined to write the book that she herself would love to read. The result was Nisha's first novel: the hilarious CHAPATTI OR CHIPS? Visit www.nishaminhas.co.uk

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

You can be sure that there are no vampires on any planes coming back from India owing to the overpowering smell of garlic on the passengers' breath. Although, judging by the number of women covering their faces with burkas, one could not say the same about Frankensteins.

Many of the passengers were sweating profusely before they'd even set foot on the plane; nothing to do with the heat, more to do with the worry. Worry that the very large-bellied man with the very large yellow turban, who they'd spotted earlier, sitting in the Departure Lounge at Indira Gandhi International Airport (taking up nearly four seats), was going to be their neighbour for the nine-hour flight back to England.

Cory Roswell watched the huge shadow lumber up the aisle and plant his meaty buttocks on the red seats directly in front of him. A genuine sigh of relief whispered throughout the cabin, with Cory sighing the loudest. The sigh turning to a yelp as the man in front tested out the recline on his seat -- crushing Cory's kneecaps in the process.

'Thank God you only weigh forty-five stone,' muttered Cory under his breath, wondering how much the keyhole surgery was going to cost to regain the use of his legs. 'Or that might have hurt.'

'Pardon?' answered the yellow-turbaned man, shifting his bulky frame to face Cory. 'Forty-five stone?'

Shit, he spoke English. 'Erm, I was saying that...erm...I really do hope they show an Oliver Stone movie, don't you?' He cringed. 'On the in-flight. I just love Sharon Stone movies, don't you? And the Rolling Stones, what a band, hey? What...a...band. Their album Forty Licks, mind-blowing. LICKS rules.'

A pretty Indian woman, dressed in a turquoise-coloured, beaded kaftan top and jeans, plonked herself in the seat next to Cory, sharing the briefest of looks with him. A nine-hour flight sitting next to a man whose first word was 'licks'. Should be interesting, thought Saffron, giving him another cautionary glance out of the corner of her eye. She could think of at least three friends who would drop their knickers in a flash for this type of guy (and one who would drop his boxers). Immensely good-looking, tall, dark, tanned and fit. But not her. She'd had her fill of handsome bastards. They'd always let her down. Nowadays, she was on the hunt for ugly men -- Britain was full of them. As far as she was concerned ugly was the new black. Which meant that hunks were 'out' and photos of Mick Hucknall could now be seen on her screensaver. Along with pictures of Chris Evans and John Prescott. Although when she tried to load a picture of Andrew Lloyd Webber, her computer crashed.

'I would offer you the window seat,' began Cory, eyeing the Indian woman, 'but I like the view meself. I'm Cory, by the way.' He held out his hand. 'And you are?...Don't tell me.' He checked her up and down, seemed to make a few calculations in his mind then with a smirk announced, 'Sharon...Sharon from Essex.'

Shaking his hand, Saffron couldn't hold back her laughter. 'Actually it's Saffron.' She paused. 'Saffron from Essex. But what gave me away?'

Apart from the West Ham United football scarf, the four-inch-high pink leopard-skin sandals (on a plane?), the white handbag and her white wristband with the words ESSEX GIRLS DO IT ONLY IN STILETTOS, what gave her away?

'Your blonde hair.'

'Blonde Nicky Clarke highlights, thank you very much,' she corrected, opening up the Virgin complimentary amenity kit, removing the Virgin complimentary lip balm then digging out her compact mirror and giving herself a complimentary compliment: 'Awesome! India's toasted these lips of mine. I thought I'd never be able to kiss again.' She air-kissed the air. 'How embarrassing would that have been, to kiss some guy and my top lip falls off?'

'Ask a leper.'

Cory looked out onto the blistered tarmac. Already he was restless and they hadn't even taken off yet. He hoped the delay had nothing to do with the contents of his suitcase -- he supposed he'd only know that the contents hadn't offended anyone if the suitcase was still in one piece on his arrival back in the UK. And on any other day he would have been arriving back in first class. Normally his lifestyle demanded he flew Upper Class. No expense spared; no cost too high. Rarely was he reduced to flying in Economy Class. And rarely would he have accepted the airline's only cancellation -- he wouldn't have accepted it today if it wasn't for the tight schedule he was under. A schedule that required he be in London no later than 8p.m., or risk losing out on a major deal. Major deal! God, he had to pinch himself sometimes at where he'd landed in life. Only thirty years young and already a multimillionaire. Yet, thirty years old and already weighed down with the firm belief that money doesn't buy love. How could it? Wasn't love supposed to be priceless?

Ignoring the Essex Girl's wails of 'I think I'm going to wet myself when the plane takes off', Cory watched the runway thunder underneath. This morning's curried breakfast threatened to take flight itself as his belly flipped when the Boeing 747 lunged up into the air. A sharp pain lanced his left arm and thoughts of a lads' magazine article he'd once read, titled HAVING SHARP PAINS IN YOUR LEFT ARM? THEN HERE ARE THE WORST PLACES TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK, circled his brain. If he remembered rightly, aeroplanes were just below mountains in the Top Ten Worst Venues For Heart Attacks. The worst being: in a Little Chef restaurant while eating a full English breakfast (nothing is more embarrassing than being found dead with a pork sausage in your mouth). The pain deepened in his arm and so did his fear. He was too young to die of heart failure and if ever there was someone he didn't especially want to die next to then it was a blonde -- 'highlighted' bimbo from Essex. He snuck a look at her and nearly had to laugh. Die from a heart attack? More like a Chinese hand burn. She was squeezing his arm harder and harder as the plane soared upwards. It was Saffron causing the pain.

'Saffron, keep your mitts off me bits.' He sensed she didn't understand as her grip tightened. 'Remove your hands from me arm, please. Your ten-inch nails are cutting off me blood supply.' He prised open her fingers and in a soothing voice declared: 'It's okay, we're in the air now, most crashes happen on the ground.' He casually checked the floor by her feet. 'Still dry down there -- well done! You didn't wet yourself at all!'

'I thought I was a gonna then. Did you hear that awful vrooming noise?'

'The engines. They have to be that powerful to lift the enormous weight of this bulky beast.'

The yellow-turbaned man in front turned around with a scowl. 'I beg your pardon. Are you referring to me as the bulky beast?' He shook his head despondently. 'It will take more than a few quips to put me off my food. Which reminds me.' He raised a flabby arm to grab a stewardess's attention. 'Excuse me, when will dinner be served?'

Oh, for the comfort of Upper Class, thought Cory. He had a vision of chilled champagne being served while he lounged back in a convertible flatbed, watching the latest film and floating in first-class splendour. Yet here, down on lower deck on Virgin flight VS301, he was sitting next to a chatterbox who was scared of the turbulence while sitting behind the bulky beast, who no doubt had a few turbulence surprises of his own. Things could only get better.

A baby started crying.

...or worse. An amateur traveller missed the sick bag, spewing partially digested extra-spicy onion bhajis all over the gangway floor. While the passengers were getting used to the smell of puke at altitude, two teenagers with attitude thought that now was the apt time to don their Bin Laden masks and yell at the top of their voices, 'Al-Qaeda is here. Prepare to die!' Unfortunately the quality of rubber-mask making in their home village of Bulandshahr wasn't up to much and many of the passengers would swear blind at the subsequent police investigation that they thought the aircraft was being held up by the newsreader Trevor McDonald (and his younger twin brother, Lenny Henry).

'I find it so hard to concentrate on a plane, with death just a few thousand feet below. See her over there?' Saffron pointed to a middle-aged Indian woman two rows down. 'How she can read a book up here I don't know. Or watch a movie. Or anything, really, apart from good old-fashioned chit-chat. And how you, Cory, can even think about working away on your computer I'll never know.' She patted Cory's laptop tucked between his legs. 'Dirty sod, I bet you've only got that for porn pictures.' She nodded knowingly. 'I'm right, aren't I?'

'Yeah, I spent close on two grand for a top-grade laptop so that I can look at some woman's minge. Every spare moment and out comes the laptop. I'm only ever a mouse click away from nude heaven,' he said sarcastically. 'Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day to satisfy me cravings. Even now, look at me fingers.' Cory held out his exaggeratedly shaking hand. 'I'm twitching to have a look, or a fix, or a dribble. Oh, if only I could be normal again.'

Spotting sarcasm was an art neither learnt nor inherited by 28-year-old Saffron; and she wasn't helped by her gullibility. She wasn't stupid -- not by a long shot -- but she did have this unfortunate personality trait of seeing the good in people who didn't warrant it. She thought Hitler's moustache was cute! A sweet girl who possibly needed to harden up a little, that's all.

'So, what do you do for a living?' Saffron asked, just as the FASTEN SEAT BELTS lights flickered on.

Oh, here we go, thought Cory; it's that interesting time of the journey when we ask each other questions and make out we're really interested in the answers. Well, not this traveller. Christ, some of his best mates had been left in the dark for years regarding how he made his millions. He was hardly likely to blab it all to the first woman he could find. Even his own mother was disgusted by...

Product Details

• Paperback: 528 pages
• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Intl (December 3, 2007)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1416527532
• ISBN-13: 978-1416527534
• Product Dimensions: 1.2 x 5.2 x 7.8 inches
• Shipping Weight: 12.6 ounces
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #3,254,689 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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