Chapter 2: Khushi

A mistake. The most beautiful night of her life, and he was calling it a mistake.

Khushi trembled, her eyes on where her hand met his jacket. Against his heart. That heart had beat strong and fast against her palm on the night of their Bali-in-Delhi honeymoon as he'd held himself above her.

She closed her eyes against the memory.

"I want–"

"–no, you don't," he interrupted her again, "Stop this."

"I can't."

The night of their Bali-in-Delhi honeymoon had shown her what could be – should be – between them. Heat and tenderness and passion and … for her at least … love.

She slid her hand across his chest, aiming for his tie, but he caught it in his strong grasp.

"Stop it," his eyes flashed with anger and what she now knew was desire.

If this is all I can have from you, then this is all I will ever ask of you, no matter how much I want more.

It would only be about physical need for him, she knew, but when he was with her in that way, she could pretend they had more. Khushi lifted her hand – and his with it – and placed both over her heart.

"Our heartbeats are one," she reminded him, "You want this too."

He wrenched his hand away and spun around, presenting her with the broad expanse of his back. She remembered the way those muscles had flexed and rippled under her touch. Her arm rose and she reached for him without being fully aware of her actions.

He turned at the lightest of touches to his shoulder, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted into a furious grimace.

"Look Khushi, I–"

Khushi leaned forward and pressed her lips to his jaw, inhaling the sandalwood-cedar scent of him. He stilled – his breath stalled as his pulse raced under her palm – and then roughly pushed her away.

She watched him walk away.