His Reckless Temptation (Midnight Promises #3)

Chapter 1

The persistent hum of the jet engines finally died down as the aircraft taxied to a smooth stop at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport in Mumbai.

Shruti Malhotra let out a long, heavy breath and slumped back into her leather seat.

After four long months of traveling across Southeast Asia, trekking through rainy tropical forests in Vietnam, taking late-night buses through quiet towns in Thailand, and sleeping in rustic beach huts, she was finally back home.

She stretched her stiff arms above her head and checked her wristwatch.

It was seven o'clock in the evening. Outside her oval window, the Mumbai skyline was lit up in a dazzling sea of golden and amber lights.

The warm, humid air of the city seemed to leak into the cabin as the plane doors opened, bringing with it a familiar comfort that made her smile.

Shruti adjusted her casual denim jacket, adjusted her messy high ponytail, and hoisted her heavy backpack over one shoulder.

As a twenty-seven-year-old independent travel journalist, she prided herself on living out of a single bag.

She did not care much for designer dresses or fancy luggage sets.

She loved freedom, raw adventure, and telling real stories through her articles.

But right now, after sixteen hours of back-to-back flights and layovers, her body felt like it was made of lead.

"All I need is a steaming hot cup of my mother's ginger tea and twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep," Shruti muttered to herself as she navigated through the crowded terminal towardss the arrivals gate.

Her elder brother, Raghav, had promised to pick her up. She scanned the wall of waiting people outside the glass doors, fully expecting to see Raghav waving his arms or checking his watch impatiently. Instead, her eyes landed on a figure standing near a sleek black SUV in the VIP pickup lane.

Shruti froze in her tracks. Her heart gave a sudden, embarrassing flutter.

Standing there, leaning casually against the polished hood of the luxury vehicle with his arms crossed over his broad chest, was Akhil Raheja.

At thirty-five, Akhil looked like he had walked straight off the cover of an international business magazine.

He was wearing a tailored navy-blue suit with the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his bronze skin.

His dark hair was neatly styled, his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his intense dark eyes held a permanent hint of quiet authority.

He was a self-made billionaire, the owner of a vast empire of luxury boutique hotels across Europe and India, and without a doubt, Mumbai’s most eligible bachelor.

He was also her brother’s absolute best friend, and the man Shruti had been hopelessly, secretly in love with since she was nineteen years old.

Akhil spotted her through the glass panels. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his handsome face as he pushed himself away from the car and walked towards her with effortless confidence. Every movement of his carried the power of a man who owned the world around him.

"Look what the wind blew in," Akhil said, his deep, smooth voice cutting through the noisy airport chatter. "I thought you promised to stay in the jungle for another month, Shorty."

Shruti rolled her eyes, quickly burying her fluttering pulse behind her usual protective wall of stubbornness and quick wit. She stopped right in front of him, placing her hands on her hips.

"First of all, do not call me Shorty, Akhil. I am five feet five inches tall," she retorted, adjusting her heavy backpack. "And second of all, where is Raghav? Why are you here?"

Akhil stepped closer, taking her heavy bag off her shoulder before she could even protest. He didn't even flinch at the weight that had been breaking her back for the last hour. He tossed it easily into the back seat of his car as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Raghav had an urgent emergency board meeting at the office," Akhil replied, turning back to face her.

His dark eyes scanned her face, lingering for a fraction of a second on her tired eyes and dry lips before he masked his expression.

"So he asked his best friend to play chauffeur for his little sister.

You should be grateful. Most people pay millions just to sit in my car. "

"Oh, please," Shruti snorted, folding her arms across her chest as she stepped into the cool, leather-scented passenger seat of his car. "Your ego is bigger than the entire Mumbai airport. You could have just sent your driver, Mr. Billionaire."

Akhil closed her door smoothly, walked around to the driver's side, and slid into the seat next to her. The rich scent of his expensive cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood, fresh cedar, and subtle spice, instantly filled the quiet vehicle, making Shruti’s senses go on high alert.

"And miss the golden opportunity to roast you after four months?" Akhil asked teasingly, starting the powerful engine. The car glided smoothly onto the bustling Western Express Highway. "Not a chance. Look at you. You look like you got into a fight with a wild backpack and lost."

"I was working!" Shruti snapped playfully, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "I was hiking through ancient temples and sleeping under the stars. Something a pampered hotel owner who sleeps on silk sheets wouldn't understand."

Akhil glanced at her through the corner of his eye, his expression softening just a bit as he navigated through the thick Mumbai evening traffic. "I’m glad you’re safe, Shruti. Your mother was worried sick about you. You barely called."

"I was out of network coverage most of the time," she said softly, looking out the window at the familiar streetlights. "Besides, I can take care of myself. I’m twenty-seven, Akhil, not seven."

"You will always be seven to me," Akhil said smoothly, though there was a subtle tightness in his jaw.

Shruti turned her head to look at him. That was always his answer.

That was always his shield. To Akhil, she was just Raghav’s feisty younger sister, a kid he had watched grow up, someone he felt obligated to protect, but never someone he could look at as a woman.

She swallowed the quiet pang of heartache that surfaced every time he reminded her of the boundary between them.

She had tried for years to erase her feelings for him.

She had dated other men, focused intensely on her journalism career, and traveled to the farthest corners of the world.

But every time she returned to Mumbai, one look at Akhil Raheja was all it took to pull her right back into his magnetic orbit.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Shruti asked, changing the subject to distract herself from her thoughts. "Is Mom cooking dinner?"

"Of course," Akhil replied with a grin. "A full royal feast. Aunty Kavya spent the entire afternoon preparing all your favorite dishes. And after dinner, we are all heading to the Grand Imperial Hotel."

Shruti groaned, leaning her head back against the soft leather headrest. "The Grand Imperial? Akhil, I am completely exhausted. Why are we going to your hotel tonight?"

"Because tonight is the annual charity gala hosted by the Raheja Group," Akhil explained, his voice turning professional.

"Half of the city's business elite will be there.

Your father and Raghav are key guests, and your mother insisted that the entire family attend together to celebrate your return.

Besides, as the host, I need to make an appearance. "

"Fine," Shruti sighed. "But I reserve the right to fall asleep on one of your expensive plush sofas in the VIP lounge."

"Deal," Akhil chuckled. "Just don't drool on the velvet velvet upholstery."

"I do not drool!" Shruti exclaimed, hitting his shoulder playfully.

Akhil laughed, a rich, deep sound that echoed through the car, making Shruti’s chest tighten with a warmth she couldn't suppress.

***

An hour later, Akhil’s car pulled into the driveway of the spacious Malhotra family residence in South Mumbai. The house was decorated with warm garden lights, and as soon as Shruti opened the front door, the delicious smell of fresh cardamom, fried puris, and aromatic chicken curry greeted her.

"Shruti!"

Before she could take off her shoes, her mother, Kavya Malhotra, hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She wrapped Shruti in a tight, warm hug, kissing her cheeks repeatedly.

"Look at you! You’ve lost weight! Didn't they give you proper food in Vietnam?" Kavya complained lovingly, cupping Shruti’s face.

"Mom, I was eating amazing food every single day," Shruti laughed, hugging her mother back tightly. "I missed you so much."

"Welcome home, beta," a stern yet warm voice called out. Devendra Malhotra, Shruti’s father, walked down the wooden staircase holding a newspaper. Though he was a serious and traditional businessman, his eyes crinkled with genuine pride as he hugged his daughter.

"Thanks, Dad," Shruti smiled.

"Where is Raghav?" Kavya asked, looking around.

"He's right behind us, Aunty," Akhil said, entering the house while carrying Shruti’s heavy backpack with total ease. He placed it neatly near the hallway closet.

At that moment, the front door swung open again, and Raghav Malhotra walked in, loosening his silk tie. Raghav was thirty-four, handsome, sharp, and intensely protective of his family. As soon as he saw Shruti, a huge grin broke across his face.

"There's my favorite annoying traveler!" Raghav shouted, wrapping his sister in a massive bear hug that lifted her feet off the floor.

"Raghav! Put me down! I can't breathe!" Shruti giggled, slapping his back until he finally set her down.

Within minutes, the living room was filled with noisy laughter. Akhil’s younger cousin, Vihaan Arora, a charming twenty-six-year-old who worked in marketing and loved stirring up trouble, arrived shortly after, along with Myra Khurana, Shruti’s glamorous and outspoken best friend.