Page 51 of The Unwanted Husband
She let out a moan when his hands slid under the hem of her dress, skimming the soft skin of her thigh. Her breath was coming fast as she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around him as he pressed her harder against the wall.
Their mouths crashed together again, all restraint abandoned. Months of tension, of heated glares and careful distance, exploded between them in a tangle of desperate kisses and wandering hands that couldn’t get enough of each other.
“Ashok,” she said with so much desperation he wanted to rip her dress to pieces. But in that moment of lust and desire something hit him hard.
He pulled back and saw her blink in confusion. “You have a fucking boyfriend. Stop this.”
She saw the anger in her eyes flare and saw her hand go up, before he felt her palm strike the side of his face. “Don’t you dare slut shame me for wanting you. I don’t have a boyfriend, not anymore.”
He had an inkling something was off for a few weeks, a couple of months back but didn’t know what it was. The new information further angered him. “I have no fucking desire to be a rebound guy.”
With those words he left her standing in the middle of the room, frozen.
He was painfully hard as he walked into his room. It would have been so much easier to just take her against the wall but not yet. Not like this.
CHAPTER 18
The next morning, Isha woke up with a pounding headache and fragments of memories that made her stomach clench. The restaurant. The drive home. And then... she pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the taste of wine and him. The anger, disappointment, embarrassment and his words hit her hard making the headache worse.
The humiliation burned through her as she got dressed, taking extra time to choose her outfit and fix her hair and anything else that would delay the inevitable encounter. How was she supposed to face him after throwing herself at him like that? After he’d had to physically pull away from her? Slut shame her?
When she finally made it downstairs, she found Ashok in the kitchen, already dressed and reading something on his phone while sipping on his coffee. He looked up when she entered, and she braced herself for the awkwardness.
“Good morning,” he said casually, as if nothing had happened. “I just made Coffee.”
She stared at him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of discomfort or anger. There was nothing. Just his usual calm demeanor.
“Morning,” she managed, moving to pour herself a cup of Coffee. Maybe he was going to pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe that was for the best.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, not looking up from his phone.
“Like a log,” she lied, then added quickly, “I had such a great time last night. The restaurant was amazing. I remember having so much fun.” She paused, then emphasized, “That’s allI remember clearly, though. The wine hit me harder than I expected it to.”
He glanced up at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Good. I’m glad to hear you had fun.”
The careful neutrality in his voice told her everything she needed to know. He was giving her an out, letting her pretend last night never happened. She should have felt relieved.
Instead, she was oddly disappointed.
“I remember the fun,” she said again, maybe trying to convince herself as much as him. “But everything after dinner is pretty much a blur.”
“That’s probably for the best,” he said quietly, then cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to show you something.”
Ashok turned his phone screen toward her, and she nearly choked on her coffee. There, on what looked like a page3 article, was a photo of them from the previous night. They were at the restaurant, and Ashok was leaning in close to say something to her, his hand close to hers on the table. The way the photographer had captured it, they looked completely smitten with each other.
“Mission accomplished,” Ashok said with a slight smile. “Look at the headline.”
She read it out loud like she needed to hear it. “Mystery Wife of Business Tycoon Ashok Dev, Finally Revealed.” Her eyes widened as she skimmed the article. “They’re wondering when we got married... and oh my God, they’re trying to guess how much the ring cost.”
“Apparently, rubies are having a moment,” he said dryly.
She looked down at the ring on her finger, the one he’d purchased the prior night. “I guess I’ll be walking around wearing a small fortune on my finger.”
He silently took his phone back, scrolling through for more photos. “There are three more pictures here. One of us, walking to the car from the restaurant, one of me helping you into the passenger seat, and one of us on the driveway.”
Her heart skipped and dropped to her stomach. “You mean, here. Downstairs.”
“Don’t worry,” he said quickly. “The photographer was too far away to capture anything viable.”
