His hands continued to rest on the armrests of the chair, fingers relaxed but unmoving.
“You enjoy provoking people,” he said.
His voice was neutral. Controlled.
“Miss Mehta provoked me first,” she countered.
It was ridiculous that she was having the conversation from his lap. She knew she should get up, but her legs didn’t seem to move.
Her fingers were still looped loosely behind his neck. She became aware of how intimate that position looked. How intimate it felt.
Why did this feel more intimate than the nights?
She realized that she had only seen him up close during nights in low lighting. During the day, there was always a distance.
Now, she stared. He looked stunningly handsome. And a bit too perfect. His hair was neatly styled with not a strand out of place. Even the short stubble grew in perfect lines along his well-defined jaw.
Her hand itched to mess up his hair as she did at night, unknowingly during passion. But she stayed still.
His gaze lowered to her lips. And her breath hitched before she could stop it.
He didn’t move closer. Didn’t touch her.
But the awareness grew until it felt like a live wire.
Her heart slammed.
She recalled Pooja’s words asking her to kiss him first.
She felt tempted to do just that. She wanted to pull his head down and touch his perfectly shaped lips in a deep kiss.
Will he kiss me back? Or will he push me away?
But before she could give in to the dangerous impulse, she inhaled deeply and hurriedly stood up from his lap.
The movement was too quick. Too abrupt. She nearly stumbled, catching herself against the edge of his desk.
“I—” She cleared her throat. “Tina Mehta won’t say anything.”
He was silent.
“She won’t speak about seeing us… together,” she said. “She’s hoping to become the Jogra maharani. She won’t risk damaging her own prospects. So, there won’t be any rumors before your mother’s formal announcement.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t particularly seem to care or worry about the possibility of rumors.
His attention went back to the document on his desk.
“Return to your work,” he commanded.
Yamini’s face burned at his cold dismissal. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said in a sarcastically sweet tone.
She turned and walked toward the door.
But before she reached it, his voice stopped her.
“Yamini.”
She froze. He rarely used her name.
