Page 47 of Addiction

She rained a series of punches.

“Now right, left, right,” he instructed. “Come on, hit harder.”

“This is dumb,” she complained. “I’ve learned to fight with free hands.”

“We’ll get there, once you know how to box properly. Right now, you suck at it. So, keep quiet and focus.”

She punched his pads harder, again and again, with Armaan barking instructions. Hours passed, or was it minutes—she knew not. The next time she stopped to take a breath, she was drenched in sweat.

She sank onto the floor and tossed the gloves to the side. “I’m done. No more.”

“Let’s stop today.” Armaan pointed to the side. “The shower is there. Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. I want us to have breakfast together. Okay?”

She nodded, heading in the direction of the shower. Once she was ready, she stared at herself in the mirror. Even with the most basic makeup, she thought she looked good. Her blue torn denims and plain grey cami top looked chic.

Her heart tripped. God, what was she doing? She was actually studying her reflection, checking to see if she looked good enough for him. For a man? When had she ever done this? Never. That was the answer. And here she was, behaving completely different from her core nature. God. What was she getting into?

For years, she’d stayed away from men. She’d dated only a few over the years, and those were the tamest and mildest of men—those who weren’t too rich or too handsome or too cocky—even though those men didn’t make her blood run hot. Armaan was the complete opposite of all that. Her choosing him over all of them already was a massive change from her own beliefand thought process. Yet, none of this seemed to deter her. She was all set to break her self-imposed rules for him. For Armaan Oshnov. Which begged the question: how much more was she going to change when all of this with Armaan was done?

If her family learned about this, they’d think she’d lost her mind. Rajiv wouldn’t let her out of his sight ever, and Ananya would probably murder Armaan. However, none of this, even the questions her own mind was raising, was going to dissuade her.

Armaan Oshnov wasn’t going to be her destination; she knew that. However, he could temporarily be her journey—the road she walked on for just a short while. She’d read somewhere that sometimes the experience of the journey was far better than the destination. And no matter how short, she was certain the journey she’d embarked on with him was going to be exciting and, hence, totally worth it.

And that was enough for her, wasn’t it?

12

The butler, who’d introduced himself as Dmitri, was waiting for her when Navya stepped out of Armaan’s home gym. Speaking in accented English, he asked her to follow him. The man looked to be in his late fifties and walked with a slight limp. He had a thick mop of salt and pepper hair, and it seemed like he ran the house with an iron fist, considering how every staff member they passed literally squirmed in his presence. She smiled to herself, as she took everything in.

When Navya had walked inside the house an hour back, she’d been so nervous that she’d barely glanced around. But now she could appreciate the sheer magnitude and grandeur of everything around her. The living room was huge. Expensive artwork adorned the walls, soft rugs were spread on the floor, all the furniture, the accessories—everything was perfect. She noticed how a touch of gold was present in every artwork, every rug, and accessory. Even the beige sofas had a few gold cushions on them. The dining table, a massive edifice that sat eighteen, had a golden streak running through the white marble. Everything looked rich and classy.

Dmitri guided her to an open terrace, and from there, down to a garden where Armaan was waiting for her under a white pergola covered with purple and pink bougainvillea flowers. A table for two was set under it, with a pitcher of orange juice on it.

Armaan held a chair for her. Like her, he too had changed and was dressed in white linen pants and a light blue shirt, left loose, its top three buttons undone. His hair was slightly damp, and his jaw held an overnight shadow. Uff. He was a treat to the eyes. A thrill shot down her spine. For the next few days, this gorgeous specimen of a man was going to be solely hers.

“This is beautiful,” she said, taking the seat.

She looked to the side. Much ahead of them, she could see the sea rumbling, its waves foaming and crashing. It truly was stunning.

Crossing her, he took the seat opposite her. At Armaan’s nod, the butler went back into the house.

“He looks intimidating,” Navya remarked of the old butler.

“He is.” Armaan watched Dmitri’s departing form. “He’s been with Alexander for decades, and he chose to work for us after Papa passed. He’s our main butler and dotes on all three of us, but he’s exceptionally fond of Mihir. He stays in whichever of our homes Mihir stays in.”

“How many homes is that?” Navya asked.

“Well, you’ve seen our London home. We own a penthouse in Moscow and a home in the countryside there.” He spread a hand out. “And this is obviously our home here in Dubai.”

Navya looked beyond him. If the house was huge inside, then the outside was even more overwhelming. Three large wings jutted out of a central structure. All the three wings were positioned such that they had equal breath-taking views of the sea behind her.

Noting her interest, Armaan explained, “The left wing is Vedant’s, the middle one is Mihir’s, and the right wing is mine.”

“Impressive.”

As she scanned her surroundings, she noted the armed guards stationed everywhere. From the side, she saw Vasily doing the rounds with two other guards. He’d been called by the guard at the gate when she refused to leave. Even though he’d recognized her, he hadn’t allowed her to enter until he had gotten permission from his bosses. He gave her a slight nod as he passed them.

“Those are our three main guards. The one on the right is Arlo, the left one is Checkov and Vasily is the head of our security,” Armaan explained. “Our fourth guy, Tyrion, is with Vedant in London.”

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