He pushed open an adjoining door with his shoulder.
The sight inside stole the rest of her breath.
The room glowed.
Hundreds of candles flickered across the floor and along low surfaces, their light pooling in warm gold against pale walls. Rose petals trailed in soft curves across white linen and polished wood. The air was thick with a promise of something Ishani dared not name.
Beyond the room, glass doors opened to a private terrace. Mumbai shimmered outside—a sea of lights stretching into the dark horizon like scattered stars.
Soft music floated through the space, low and steady, almost like a heartbeat beneath the silence.
Raghav stepped fully inside and nudged the door closed behind them with his foot. The world outside disappeared.
“I told you I researched,” he murmured, his voice rough against her ear as he set her down in the center of the room.
Her heels barely steadied on the carpet before his hands were at her waist again. His fingers spread across her lower back, drawing her forward until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. The silk of her dress did nothing to shield her from the heat of his palms.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted slowly. Possessive. Focused.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
She inhaled to answer—to tease, to challenge—but he closed the distance before the words formed. His mouth found hers with intent. It was hunger long restrained finally allowed to surface.
He kissed like he meant to memorize her.
Her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, gripping hard. He adjusted instantly, one hand sliding higher along her spine, the other tightening at her waist, anchoring her as if he’d anticipated the exact second her knees would soften.
When he broke the kiss, it was only to look at her.
Dark eyes. Heavy-lidded. Devouring.
Then his mouth moved again, this time along the curve of her jaw. Slow. Deliberate. He traced the line of her throat, breath warm against her skin. Ishani’s head tilted back without permission from her brain, offering him more.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“You have no idea,” he said against the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, voice thick with desire, “how long I’ve imagined this.”
His lips brushed the base of her throat, right above the diamond resting against her skin. The faint scrape of his stubble sent a shiver through her that felt dangerously close to surrender.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders.
He began to move them then—not in polished ballroom steps, but in something closer. Slower. Controlled. His palm at her hip guided the rhythm. A subtle pressure forward. A slight pull back. His body lead hers with confidence.
“I couldn’t concentrate the day you wore this shade,” he murmured, eyes flicking down the burgundy silk before returning to her face. “You walked into my office and expected me to discuss numbers.”
A faint, dangerous smile touched his mouth.
“I barely survived it.”
His thumb traced the curve of her waist, just enough to make her gasp softly. He felt it. Every reaction. Every shift of her breath.
And he tightened his hold.
To remind her she wasn’t slipping away.