“Yes,” she admitted. No apology. “I knew.”
The confirmation should have fueled his anger.
Instead, something else flickered through him—dark, possessive, hungry.
She had seen him at his most vulnerable. Had watched him want her, fight it, surrender to it.
And still, she stood here. Chose him.
What he didn’t expect was for her arms to lift, to loop around his neck. The movement brought her body closer, silk brushing against his shirt, creating friction that sent heat pooling low in his stomach.
“I didn’t want a boring relationship,” she said, eyes meeting his challenge for challenge. A hint of a smile played at her lips. “Life needs spice, don’t you think?”
The response blindsided him completely.
He stared at her—this woman who had orchestrated everything, who had evaluated him for six months, who had the audacity tostand caged between his arms and look at him like she was the one in control.
Something inside him broke loose.
A laugh rumbled from his chest, low and rough. “Spice,” he repeated. “Is that what you call it?”
Her fingers played with the hair at his nape. “What would you call it?”
“Strategy,” he said, throwing her word back at her. His hands finally left the wall. One gripped her waist. The other cradled her face. “Manipulation.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Brilliant.”
Surprise flashed in her eyes. Pleasure. Heat.
“I underestimated you,” he admitted, voice a low rumble. “It won’t happen again.”
Then his mouth came down on hers.
This wasn’t like the careful kisses in his office. This was claiming, consuming—months of restrained desire unleashed. His lips pressed against hers with bruising intensity, demanding a response she gave without hesitation.
Her hands slid into his hair, gripping, holding him as if afraid he might pull away. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—not when her mouth opened beneath his, not when her body arched into him with the same hunger that had been burning him alive for months.
His hand at her waist slid to her lower back, pressing her closer until there wasn’t even air between them. The silk created delicious friction. Her soft gasp was swallowed by his kiss.
When he finally let them breathe, he didn’t go far. His forehead pressed against hers, both panting. His thumb traced her reddened lower lip.
“Six months,” he said, voice rough. “Six months watching me, evaluating me, planning this.”
“Not the whole thing,” she corrected, breathless but composed. “I didn’t plan Valentine’s Week. That was all you.”
His hand slid to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, careful of the jasmine flowers. “You let me think I was in control. That I was pursuing you.”
A small, victorious smile curved her lips. “Weren’t you?”
“You manipulative—” He cut himself off, unable to muster real anger when her body was pressed so perfectly against his.
“Genius?” she suggested, eyebrow arching.
“Witch,” he growled, but there was no heat in it. His fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her face up. “You got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Not yet,” she murmured, hands sliding to rest against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. “But I’m getting there.”
Raghav stared down at her—at this woman who had outmaneuvered him at every turn. Who had seen through his defenses before he knew they were being tested. Who had chosen him based not on arrangements but on who he really was when no one was looking.
Something shifted in him. Not surrender. A realignment. A recognition that they were perfectly matched because she could meet him strength for strength.