Chapter 19 #2
“I get it,” he said, his eyelids lowering to half-mast as he watched her take a long sip.
He leaned back against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest, body loose and relaxed, but his gaze was intense.
“Even though you’re getting what you want, it’s still going to rock your world.
I felt that way when I flew here for the first time.
I’d wanted to come to North America my entire life, and while I was ecstatic to finally be here, it was a lot to take in.
It was a shock, and it took a long time for things to sink in and for me to find my footing. ”
“You immigrated, by yourself, across the world while I’m freaking out about making headway at work. It’s not comparable and I’m an asshole.”
“No, you’re not. It’s change,” Rohit said simply, reminding her that he’d said something similar earlier that day when she’d asked for his help.
It had been mortifying, admitting her weakness, trying to contain her agitated nerves over something as ridiculous as being on the receiving end of her coworkers’ interest and excitement.
But he’d understood and she hadn’t felt weak, stupid, or incapable. She couldn’t resist moving a little closer to him as if drawn forward by a force much stronger than her will.
Or maybe she was just done fighting it.
“Change is hard, and unexpected even when you’re expecting it,” Rohit added.
“So, what do I do?” Cynthia reached around Rohit to put the glass back on the counter, trying not to notice the press of his arm against hers. She didn’t linger but she didn’t edge away from the contact, either.
Rohit inhaled deeply. “I don’t have an answer for you,” he said, his voice a little strained. “But I do know you deserve all these good things. That you’ve earned them.”
Something swelled against the inner walls of Cynthia’s heart and the lump was back in the base of her throat.
She’d worked her whole adult life to believe those words, and hearing them said out loud by Rohit of all people robbed her of the ability to speak.
It was like a gift she was afraid to touch, dared not look at too long.
But it pulled her in as if her body had detached itself from her brain completely in favor of living on instinct alone. She moved closer and searched his dark, distended pupils for an answer she wasn’t surprised to unearth: desire, mirrored back and beckoning.
“Do you really believe that?” Her voice was husky.
Rohit’s lips parted, his body so still as she slinked even closer. Even through the thick material of her sweater, Cynthia felt the firm planes of his chest against the subtle, hardly-there brush of her breasts.
“Yes,” he murmured, his lips barely moving.
Although Cynthia’s heart pounded, the tension and heat in Rohit’s body beckoned her forward and unleashed something in her that echoed the woman she’d embodied in the bar on a night that suddenly didn’t feel that long ago.
Fueled by tequila and disappointment, that woman had been reckless and greedy, even while out of her element in that bar. That woman had worn red.
“I thought I was the Ice Princess,” Cynthia teased, her body following suit as she risked another barely-there brush against his chest.
Rohit’s eyes flew down to her mouth and he shook his head. “I was wrong when I called you a princess,” he said, his voice pitched low, his head curving toward hers. “You’re a queen.”
Cynthia caught the tail end of Rohit’s words when she pressed her lips against his. She was rewarded by those slow, steady hands rising to caress the bottom of her rib cage before sliding to her back and splaying wide, like an anchor.
While her mouth remembered his with unabashed enthusiasm, it was the insistence of his arms pulling her closer that let her body revel in his, a welcome return to warmth and defined muscle that she’d explored over a year ago.
Physically, she remembered him well, and yet her brain was mesmerized anew.
Had his chest always been so wide? Had the push of his hips against hers been so wonderfully persistent?
The tightening in her core thought so.
Rohit’s tongue gliding over hers was the smooth slide of their wine, full-bodied and intoxicating.
Every cell in Cynthia’s body was wrung dry for him, and this kiss that walked the line between familiarity and raw, unabashed relief quenched every thirsty nerve ending.
He explored everything her mouth had to offer, the bow of her top lip, the eager slide of her tongue.
His fingers flexed against the middle of her back as if he was reminding himself to maintain control, to not burn himself on the lick of fire Cynthia always kept at bay.
But she wanted to give it to him. Wanted to pull Rohit into her, feel his strong, steady hands on her heat. Cynthia poured herself into their kiss. She wanted to goad him, challenge him for all he was worth.
How wet could he make her? How desperate?
Her hands were pressed against his chest and Cynthia couldn’t resist slipping the index finger of her left hand in the slim space between the buttons of his shirt.
A part of her brain cautioned against this decision, that she was trespassing into dangerous territory.
For the past year, the two of them had been separated by suits and boardrooms and the eyes of others judging their worth.
This was more than crossing a line—her touch might scorch him, send him running.
But when the pad of her finger made contact with his bare skin, Rohit responded with a full-body shudder and pulled her even closer, his mouth hard, hungry, and impossibly hotter.
His tongue grew wild and unpolished against hers, the hands on her back possessive.
And still she wanted more.
Cynthia wasn’t sure if she had voiced her desire out loud, but Rohit pulled back roughly, his breathing uneven and his eyes heavy-lidded. “I want to kiss you everywhere.”
Cynthia’s mind was three steps ahead of Rohit’s, already picturing them in her bed, half-undressed in twisted sheets. “Then do it,” she challenged, taking his hand and leading him down the hallway.