“Careful,” he said, voice dropping low, roughened by something unspoken.
Her pulse kicked hard against her throat.
“Sorry, Boss.” The phrase slipped out softer than usual, breathy.
He didn’t release her.
His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs resting just at the curve where her body dipped inward. Not gripping. Not gentle either.Simply there. Claiming balance. Holding her steady long after she no longer needed it.
His gaze moved slowly across her face.
Not the quick professional glance he used on set. This was unhurried. Intent. Thorough.
He saw the flush rising from her collarbone to her cheeks. Saw the way her lips had parted slightly. Saw the faint tremor where her breath hitched.
Her chest brushed his when she inhaled too deeply.
Neither stepped back.
The cramped doorway held the moment between them. The noise of the set dulled into background hum. Even Farhan’s presence behind them faded.
Vikram’s thumbs shifted, pressing into the soft give of her waist as if testing that she was real, that this moment was happening. The touch was subtle but unmistakably intimate. His jaw tightened with the effort of restraint.
Her hands hovered uncertainly near his chest, not quite touching, not quite withdrawing. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. The strength in his frame. The restrained energy coiled just beneath the surface.
His eyes darkened as they traced her face, the curve of her cheek, the glasses slightly askew, the rapid pulse visible at her throat.
For a dangerous moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to the exact space their bodies occupied.
His head tilted down fractionally. Not enough to close the distance. Just enough to make the possibility real. His breath ghosted across her forehead.
Her fingers flexed against air, wanting to touch, not daring to.
The heat between them built with each passing second. Each shallow breath. Each point where his hands pressed into her waist with increasing certainty.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Lingered there.
Her lips parted further in unconscious invitation.
The air between them felt combustible.
And still, neither moved. Caught in the terrible, exquisite tension of wanting and not taking, of standing at the edge and not stepping over.
His thumbs traced small circles against her waist, barely perceptible movement that sent electricity racing up her spine.
She made a small sound. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a sigh.
His eyes snapped back to hers, suddenly sharp, focused with an intensity that made her knees weak.
Reality crashed back.
She stepped back abruptly, breaking the spell. Breaking the contact that had lasted far too long to be accidental.
The sudden space between them felt almost violent after such closeness.
Her hands came up to adjust her glasses, fumbling, shaking slightly. Her notebook pressed tight against her chest as if it could steady her racing heart.
