Aarav
There she was alone while her friend vanished into the crowd, and she followed her.
Bathed in midnight lights and sharp edges, a glass in hand, surrounded by noise—and still the quietest, most commanding presence in the room.
Meera Shah.
God, she moved like temptation tailored in silk.
Her hair was half up, the rest cascading down one shoulder like she didn't even know how seductive it looked. The red on her lips wasn't subtle, and it wasn't trying to be. And those legs—crossed with intent—could ruin empires.
My pulse kicked up before I took a single step.
She hadn't seen me yet.
But I wanted her to.
I wanted her to feel me across the room like a second skin. And when our eyes finally met—when that precise, perfect head turned in my direction—it was like oxygen igniting inside my lungs.
The corner of her mouth curved.
Dangerously.
I moved.
"Ladies." I reached the edge of her booth, drink in hand, gaze locked on hers. "You're wasting all that beauty in a corner."
Yuri arched a brow. "This corner was peaceful."
Meera didn't look away. "This corner was chosen."
"You know what else you could choose?" I leaned in, dropping my voice for her ears alone. "To stop pretending you don't want to come sit with me."
I let it hang there.
She could say no. Shut it down. But she didn't.
Instead, she took a slow sip from her glass, set it down with calm finality, and stood.
Yuri followed with a dramatic sigh. "If we get dragged into testosterone chaos, I blame you."
"I'm chaos in a suit," I told her, grinning.
"No," Meera murmured, eyes flicking over me. "You're worse. You know it."
The music shifted as we joined my group—Karan, my cousin brother and neurosurgery prodigy, and Omar, our head of ortho, tattooed, sharp-jawed, and two tequila shots into mischief. The table was wide, couches on either side, dim lights casting shadows. I made sure Meera sat beside me.
Close.
Too close.
I didn't hide the way I looked at her legs as she crossed them. Or how my fingers brushed her thigh when I handed her a drink. It was intentional. Every move.
I could feel her pulse through her skin.
I leaned in, voice low. "You wore this to torture me."
She turned to me, lashes heavy. "I wore this to forget you."
"Then why are you sitting next to me?"
Her gaze flicked to my lips. "I forgot."
God help me.
The others dispersed soon after—Yuri dragging Omar to the dance floor after a sarcastic wink in my direction. Karan laughed and disappeared into the haze with someone from Columbia-Presbyterian.
Now it was just the two of us.
The beat pulsed like a second heart. The crowd blurred into bodies and shadows.
Meera shifted closer, her knee brushing mine.
And then she whispered, "You like control, don't you?"
I turned my head, lips nearly brushing her ear. "I like watching powerful women unravel."
Her breath hitched.
I continued, slow and deliberate. "You walk into boardrooms like you own the oxygen. You wear sharp heels like you want to draw blood. And then you look at me like you want to see what happens when someone doesn't beg to touch you."
Her fingers curled on the cushion.
"You want control, Meera," I whispered. "But not with me."
She swallowed hard. "You think you can break me?"
"No." I turned my face to hers. "I think you want me to be the only one who could."
Her lips were parted. Her eyes—wild, dark, hungry.
I leaned in closer, close enough to feel her breath stutter.
"Say it," I whispered.
"Say what?"
"That you've been thinking about that kiss."
She didn't speak.
So I pushed, gently—fingertips grazing her knee beneath the hem of her dress.
"I've been thinking about it," I murmured. "About the way you gasped against my mouth. About the way your hands trembled."
"Stop," she whispered, but she didn't mean it.
My hand slid higher. Just an inch.
She caught my wrist.
Her grip wasn't forceful.
It was trembling.
"I hate that I want this," she said, so quietly it was barely audible over the music.
"And I love that you do."
She stood suddenly. Steadying herself with one breath. Then looked down at me with fire in her eyes.
"You're playing a dangerous game, doctor."
I leaned back, grinning. "Tell me when it stops being fun."
She turned. Walked toward the dance floor with hips swaying like they'd been built to punish me.
And I?
I followed.