Chapter 22
Night - Kushal’s Penthouse
Kushal tossed on his bed, the duvet now crumpled at his waist, his bare chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.
The AC was on. The temperature was perfect.
His body was tired, and aching. But sleep?
Once again, nowhere close. His head and heart wasn’t on this bed, it was a few streets away, spinning in circles around one woman.
His wife, Arundhati.
It wasn’t even the Dalhousie memories that kept crashing over him tonight, though there were enough of those to make any man lose his sanity. No, this time it was what she had said that morning to Kamya:
“I already have everything. I just don’t intend to lose it again.”
That kind of declaration didn’t need context to hit where it hurt. And it hit him hard in the centre of his chest.
She had meant him. She didn’t want to lose him.
That sentence had wrapped around his mind like a noose ever since. He smiled at the thought. Hell, he grinned like an idiot, like some teenager with a crush.
When he had heard her say that, a part of him wanted to reach her, scoop her face in between his palms and kiss her senseless right then.
Right there. But she’d ruined it like always.
She’d turned away, shut him out with that perfect, infuriating voice, stating, “Don’t read too much into it, I just wanted the upper hand this time. ”
Upper hand, my a*s.
He grabbed a pillow and threw it across the bed, sighing into the silence. It was twelve minutes to midnight. He had court at 9:30. Testimonies to prep. Clients to brief. Witness cross-examinations to run through. None of it mattered. Not tonight.
Because he was too busy thinking, he had ten more hours until he could see her again at the office. Ten hours felt like ten goddamn years.
He dragged his hand across his face, the stubble scratching against his palm. “This is madness,” he muttered, kicking the duvet off completely. “I’m losing it.”
But the truth was, he already had. In their three days at Dalhousie, he’d become completely, stupidly addicted to her again.
He tried shutting his eyes again, forcing his thoughts to detangle. But the moment his lids fell, he saw her—barefoot, standing next to his bed in that silky nightwear, her hair loose, those eyes looking up at him like they always knew too much.
Enough.
With a grunt, he threw the sheet aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. No more waiting. No more pretending that she hadn’t burrowed her way under every nerve ending in his body.
He got up and put on his T-shirt again, which was lying lifeless on the other side of the bed. He then ran a quick hand through his hair, grabbed his phone and wallet from the dresser, and headed out of the bedroom.
The penthouse echoed with each purposeful footstep he took. He snatched the keys from the console table with more aggression than necessary, and pushing open the door, he walked out…into the night, into the city, and toward the only woman who could undo him this effortlessly.
****************
Arundhati’s Apartment
Arundhati sat cross-legged on the study table next to her bed, trying to read through her notes from the day’s court sessions.
She had opened the file over an hour ago, but none of the legal jargon, statements, or arguments had managed to imprint themselves in her mind.
Her fingers were turning the pages, but her thoughts were stuck elsewhere.
Or more precisely…on someone.
Kushal.
After escaping the office post her court sessions, she hadn’t returned to Verma & Associates.
She didn’t want to face him again. Instead, she came home, hoping the solitude would give her clarity, and since then, she had been just trying hard to focus.
Be it in the household chores or now in these case papers.
Nothing worked, though.
And just when she had finally decided to close the file and call it a night, the doorbell rang.
She frowned, turning to the digital clock on her side table.
12:15 a.m.
Who the hell could it be?
She walked to the door, still in her sleeveless soft pink satin nightwear with a subtle slit down one side. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders as she peeked through the peephole, and her breath caught.
Kushal?
She opened the door before her brain could catch up.
He stood there in a fitted grey night set—a fine cotton T-shirt clinging to his chest, paired with matching trousers. Tired eyes. A stubble dusting his jaw. Although exhausted… still looking heartbreakingly handsome. For a few minutes, they just looked at each other.
But then reality crept back in, and her expression shifted. Her brows arched, silently demanding an explanation. What was he doing here after all? At this hour?
But before she could ask, he stepped past her, walking in like he owned the place…like he belonged here.
Seriously?
She closed the door behind him, watching, as he made his way through the living room, locating her bedroom, and once he saw it, he walked right in, without any hesitation.
“Kushal,” she called, confused. “What are you doing here?”
But he didn’t answer.
He entered her room, peeled off his T-shirt in one smooth motion, tossed it on the recliner, then began straightening the duvet on her bed like it was the most natural thing to do.
She stood frozen, breath catching in her throat, watching the lean ripple of his back as he tugged the duvet straight for him to get in.
Once the bed was made, he then turned to her.
“I couldn’t sleep alone,” he finally spoke, like the answer should have been obvious. “Not after the last three nights in Dalhousie.”
He looked dead serious and intimate in the most disarming way.
Her mouth fell open, but no words came. Because honestly, she got it. She hadn’t slept well either. Her body missed the warmth of his. The raw feel of his arm draped around her. The way he’d murmur something teasing in her ear and then hold her close when the night grew cold.
Still, she managed a half-hearted scoff. “You couldn’t sleep at your place, so you just show up at mine? What do you want me to do? Sing a lullaby or something?”
Kushal walked back to her, slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her flush against him.
“No,” he said, his voice low, rasping. “Just let me hold you and sleep. One night, Aru…that’s all I ask. With you beside me.”
She should have stepped back. She should have said no. But instead, she breathed in his cologne…the same warm, intoxicating scent from those nights in Dalhousie. The scent that turned her knees to water.
“I need to sleep, Aru.” He leaned in closer, forehead brushing hers. “I’m losing my damn mind and focus. Please.”
Her breath shuddered. Every nerve in her body seemed to respond to his nearness.
And then, just like that, he walked back to the bed and lay down, settling into the sheets like he had every right to be there.
“Come,” he said softly, looking at her with that maddening calm.
She glared at him, lips parting with a protest. Everything had changed between them. And yet, not enough. Because he acted like everything was still the same. Like he could still claim her. Anytime!
She stood by the bed, trying to act unaffected while every nerve ending in her body betrayed her.
Her satin nightgown clung too closely to her skin.
She had worn it expecting no visitors…no bra beneath, no extra layer of defence.
Her nipples, pebbled from the room’s slight chill and from the effect of his presence, poked through the thin fabric.
And the neckline….God, why was it cut so low?
She shifted slightly, folding her arms, trying to shield the exposed curve of her cleavage.
But Kushal still saw it.
His eyes moved over her slowly, unhurried and unashamed, before landing squarely back on her face. That half-smile…cocky, fond, and utterly dangerous…tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Stop hiding,” he said. “I have seen them before, Aru.”
Her cheeks flamed. A flash of heat surged through her belly as her mind involuntarily replayed the memory of his mouth on her soft breasts in Dalhousie and the way he had explored her body with his mouth and fingers, like he knew it better than she did.
She fake-glared at him, trying to cover up the fact that her thighs had pressed just a little closer together. Yet she didn’t move an inch from the spot near the bed.
Kushal exhaled quietly before turning to the light switch and dimming the room to a soft amber glow. The shadows offered her some comfort, some protection from the intensity of his gaze. She liked the gesture, more than she cared to admit, but it wasn’t enough to make her fold.
When she still didn’t join him in bed, Kushal sighed again, this time with a bit of irritation. That man really needed to rest.
“I’m not here to sleep just on your bed,” he said. “I’m here to sleep next to you. Don’t make me wait.”
Damn him.
Still, she didn’t budge.
That’s it. She had tested his patience enough.
He rose from the bed and then, in two purposeful strides, he closed the distance, bent down, and without warning, scooped her into his arms. She let out a surprised gasp and immediately started to protest, but he had already placed her on the bed, pulled the duvet over both of them, and pinned her there with his warmth.
“Kushal—!” she began, but his palm pressed gently over her mouth as he hovered over her, eyes half-lidded and exhausted, but still gleaming with hunger.
“Not tonight,” he whispered. “Please. Let’s argue, scream, dissect the meaning of this, but tomorrow. Not now. I haven’t slept properly since Dalhousie. I need rest… and I can’t get that unless I’m cuddled to you.”
She stilled beneath him because there was something about the way he said it. Not dramatic. Not demanding. Just honest and vulnerable.