In a house that gleams with wealth but echoes with silence, Aisha Carter lives on her own terms - bold, sassy, untouchable. But the moment her father arranged her marriage to Naveen Malhotra, heir to a global empire, her freedom came with a price.
N...
I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. "Maybe stop trying to control what I do, and it won't be so hard."
He moved then-fast and fluid. In one stride, he closed the distance between us. His hands came to my hips, his grip firm and undeniable, his long fingers splaying against the thin satin. The heat of his palms seared through the fabric, branding my skin.
My entire body went rigid. In a year of marriage, he had never touched me like this. Never with such raw, unvarnished possession.
His head dipped, his breath a warm caress against my ear as he murmured, his voice a low, velvety threat, "Don't be difficult, Aisha."
The words, coupled with the shock of his touch, stole the air from my lungs. In my abrupt movement, the delicate strap of my dress had slid down my shoulder, baring a crescent of skin. His gaze dropped to it, and before I could react, his hand left my hip. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed against my collarbone as he slowly, deliberately, hooked the strap and pulled it back into place. The pad of his thumb grazed my bare skin, a whisper of a touch that sent a lightning bolt of sensation straight through my core.
It was the most intimate thing he had ever done.
My heart thundered, a wild, trapped bird against my ribs. The air grew thin, charged with a dangerous, unfamiliar current.
"Naveen-" My voice was a broken whisper. I brought my hands up, planting them flat against his solid chest and pushing, hard. "Don't."
He blinked, stepping back as if I'd burned him, his hands falling away. His face was an unreadable mask, but his eyes-his eyes were dark with something I couldn't name.
"Please," I said, the word trembling out of me. I wrapped my arms around myself, the spot on my shoulder where his thumb had brushed still tingling. "Don't touch me."
For a long, suspended moment, he didn't move. He just looked at me, and in his gaze, I saw the chasm between us-wide, deep, and filled with a thousand unsaid things.
I didn't wait for a response. I turned and fled down the hall, the ghost of his touch burning on my hips and my shoulder, the echo of his voice a tremor in my bones. The gala, his apology, his hands-it was all too much. The carefully constructed walls around my heart felt like they were cracking, and I was terrified of what might get in
....
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By the time I finally pushed through the heavy, industrial-style door of the studio, the morning sun had climbed high, bleaching the downtown LA streets outside. I was two hours late, and the air inside crackled with the particular brand of chaos that only Ezra could orchestrate.
