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Her heart felt as though it was breaking inside her very chest. For Nikhil.
She could have just taken him into her arms and made it all okay, Isla realised in that instant. He wanted it—her—she could tell. She could read that hunger in his eyes, and it echoed within her.
But that was just sex. He might want it, but he didn’t need that. Not just yet. He needed something else entirely.
Shoving aside her own desire for him, as well as every shred of grief she felt on his behalf, she steeled her voice and glowered at him.
‘You’re an idiot, Nikhil Dara.’
His head jerked up, but she couldn’t relent now. She had to stand her ground.
‘This isn’t about what you remember; this is about the fact that you always have to be in control.’
He frowned. ‘I’m second in command of a floating city. It’s my job to be in control.’
‘And you always do that too,’ she made herself snap out.
His voice might as well have been laden with ice. It was so cold. And hard.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You use your job, your career, as a convenient excuse.’ Still, she had to remain unmoved. ‘But I don’t just mean in control of your professional life. I mean in control of everything. Even the night we slept together, you still had that hint of restraint. It has just taken me until now to recognise it for what it was.’
‘You’re reading too much into too little,’ he ground out.
But this time she refused to be deterred.
‘I don’t think that I am. That’s what you do, Nikhil. You’re taking on the guilt of killing your father because a part of you would rather that than admit that you had no control in that situation. Everything with you is about control. You hold it around you like a shroud. Like armour.’
There was a beat of silence. Long. Promising.
‘You’re wrong.’ Abruptly, Nikhil jerked his head out of her hands and took a step away. ‘I’m going for a shower. I suggest that, when I come out, you aren’t here.’
She watched him stalk across the room; every long, edgy line of his magnificent body was taut with suppressed emotion.
Her mind turned over for several long minutes after he’d closed that bathroom door behind him. But, far from feeling pushed aside, his actions had only underscored how right she was about him.
She could hear the sound of the shower running, a sign of Nikhil trying to claw his way back to normality. But Isla knew, even if he himself didn’t realise it, it was too late for him to regain control. She’d already read the maelstrom of emotions in those rich cocoa depths of his eyes. She was so, so close to reaching the real Nikhil.
Slowly at first, then gaining confidence with every step, she crossed the room and slipped into the bathroom, letting the door click loudly behind her.
‘What are you doing, Little Doc?’ Raw emotion sliced through his words, his eyes darkening as he watched her.
‘I’m not wrong,’ she said. Softly this time. ‘You wear so much armour that it’s practically suffocating you, and you don’t even know it.’
And if she wanted to pierce it—if she wanted to reach him—then she was going to have to create a weak spot.
Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, and he swallowed but didn’t speak. His jaw locked, a tiny pulse betraying his otherwise still appearance.
The rest of her clothing followed. Then she stepped into the large cubicle with him.
‘I’ll ask again.’ His ragged breathing bolstered her confidence all the more. ‘What are you doing? Is it that you won’t answer, Little Doc? Or that you can’t?’
She cocked her head on one side, her eyes meeting his boldly.
‘I thought you used to call me that nickname to be sweet. Now I realise it’s your way of reminding yourself of my job; reminding yourself to keep your distance; reminding yourself to stay in control.’
‘I don’t need nicknames to stay in control.’
