Chapter Breathlessness
Breathlessness
SITARA
I don’t regret kissing him.
If that even counts as kissing—because it was brief, soft, barely there. A moment that could have passed as accidental if either of us were dishonest enough to pretend it meant nothing.
But it did.
And now I can’t look him in the eye.
Which would be manageable if we weren’t currently trapped together in a very expensive, very quiet flying tube with leather seats, soft lighting, and entirely too much proximity.
Closed spaces are doing me no favors today.
I sit curled slightly into my seat on Dhruv’s private plane, tablet balanced on my lap, stylus poised like I’m in the middle of something important. I am not. I haven’t been. I’ve reread the same line on my screen at least twelve times, and it still makes no sense.
Because Dhruv Singhania is sitting across from me.
Not beside me—no, that would be too merciful. He’s across, legs relaxed, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up just enough to expose forearms that should honestly be illegal. His posture is deceptively casual, but his attention is anything but.
It’s on me.
Fully. Entirely. Unapologetically.
I feel it like heat.
Every time I shift, I’m aware of his gaze following the movement. Every time I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my skin prickles as if he’s touched me himself. I don’t need to look up to know he’s watching. I can feel him watching.
Which is unfair.
Because he knows. He knows exactly what effect he has on me. And instead of being a decent human being and giving me space to recover from my own poor life choices—like kissing my husband and discovering that, wow, I might actually like it—he’s doing the opposite.
He’s leaning into it.
Literally.
At some point—when did this happen?—he leaned forward, elbows resting loosely on his knees, chin tilted just enough that I can see his eyes even from my peripheral vision.
He looks so focused and amused it’s almost infuriating. I stab at my tablet a little harder than necessary.
Focus, Sitara. You are a grown woman. You draw romance for a living. You have survived worse than one attractive man with boundary issues.
Except he’s not just one attractive man. He’s my husband. He’s kind. He’s attentive. He smells good in that unfair, subtle way that makes you want to inhale deeply and then slap yourself for doing so.
I shift in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me hyperaware of everything. The leather creaks softly. I hear his breath change.
Traitorous body.
Enough.
I finally snap my head up and glare straight at him. “What?”
The word comes out sharper than intended, but I don’t care. I’m done pretending I don’t notice him staring like I’m the only interesting thing in the cabin.
His lips twitch.
Not a full smile. That would be too easy. This is worse—a slow, knowing curve that suggests he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Nothing,” he says mildly.
I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been looking at me for ten minutes.”
“Twelve,” he corrects, without missing a beat.
My mouth opens, then shuts. I exhale through my nose. “You’re distracting.”
He tilts his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
He shrugs, a smirk forming on his lips. I roll my eyes and drop my gaze back to the tablet, though my heart is now doing an enthusiastic sprint. “Don’t you have… I don’t know. King things to do?”
“Mm.” He leans back slightly, stretching his legs. “I cleared my schedule.”
“For this flight?”
“For you.”
I look up again, scowling. “Stop saying things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” I gesture vaguely in his direction. “That.”
He watches me for a second, something softer slipping into his expression. “You’re flustered.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am irritated.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Interesting. Because you look like you’re one sentence away from combusting.”
I grip my stylus tighter. “Dhruv.”
“Yes, Sitara?”
“Please,” I say, trying very hard to sound composed, “stop flirting with me.”
He studies my face, really studies it, as if deciding something.
Then he stands. My breath catches despite myself.
He crosses the small space between us unhurriedly, stopping just short of my seat.
I tilt my head back to look up at him, pulse thudding loud enough that I’m convinced the entire plane can hear it.
He braces one hand on the armrest beside me, leaning in—not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can smell him. “You kissed me,” he says quietly.
I swallow. “Yeah…um...”
A smile ghosts over his lips and he ignores my incomprehensible response, “And you’ve been avoiding my eyes ever since.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sitara.” His voice dips. “You haven’t looked at me properly since that dinner.”
I hate that he notices everything and I absolutely hate that he understands me so well. I shift, suddenly aware of how small the space feels. “Maybe I just don’t like being stared at.”
“Then tell me to stop,” he says gently.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. His eyes soften—not triumphant like I expected. He looks so… fond. “That’s what I thought.”
He straightens, stepping back before I can spiral any further. “Relax. I’m not going to push.”
“Good,” I mutter.
“But,” he adds, turning slightly toward the small bar at the side of the cabin, “I’m also not going to pretend nothing happened.”
He pauses, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “You started something, princess.”
My stomach flips.
Before I can respond, he walks away, pouring himself a drink with infuriating calm. I stare after him, heart racing, mind buzzing, body humming like it’s been tuned to a frequency I didn’t know existed.
I exhale slowly, pressing my palm against my chest.
Get it together.
I force my eyes back to the tablet, even though the words blur. I’m halfway through convincing myself that I can survive this flight without further emotional damage when he returns.
I feel him before I see him.
He stops beside my seat again. This time, he doesn’t lean in. He just stands there, close enough that his presence is undeniable.
“Sitara.”
I don’t look up. “What.”
He chuckles softly. “You really do that when you’re overwhelmed.”
“Do what.”
“Pretend you’re busy.”
I finally glance up, prepared to argue—and freeze.
He’s closer than I expected. Too close. He reaches out, slow and deliberate, giving me more than enough time to pull away. I don’t. His fingers brush my cheek, knuckles grazing skin in a touch so light it barely counts. My breath stutters anyway.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
I inhale. Then—before my brain can catch up—he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek. Not rushed or playful. It’s warm. Lingering.
When he pulls back, my entire body feels like it’s buzzing. “There,” he says quietly. “Now we’re even.” I stare at him, stunned.
He smiles gently and turns back toward the bar as if he hasn’t just unraveled me with a single, stupidly gentle kiss.
I sink back into my seat, breath shallow, heart pounding.
See?
Left breathless.
Again.