CHAPTER 8: Part 2 (FIRST DATE PART 1)
Recap:
The engine purred to life, a low rumble beneath us, and the car glided forward, taking an unexpected turn down a narrow, unlit lane, leaving Saanvi's house and its fading lights behind in the darkness.
My breath hitched. This wasn't just a date; it was an abduction wrapped in velvet.
~ ISHIKA (POV) ~
The car hummed, a low, steady sound beneath me. I held the wonderful bouquet, its scent mingling with his cologne, as the sleek car glided down an unfamiliar, dark lane.
My cheeks still felt warm, and I kept tucking my hair behind my ear, looking down shyly at the flowers.
Then, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, a tense line forming in his jaw. He hesitated, then picked it up.
"Speak," he said, his voice dropping, sharp and clipped. His hand tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
His eyes darted to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. The quiet car filled with his tense silence, broken only by the faint murmur of the voice on the other end.
It sounded urgent. A flicker of dilemma crossed his face, a rare hint of uncertainty.
He ended the call, the click loud in the sudden quiet. He didn't look at me right away, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if weighing a heavy decision.
My stomach tightened, sensing the shift. This was no longer just about us.
Finally, he turned to me. His intense eyes met mine, now with a touch of reluctant apology.
"Ishika," he said, his voice low, "I'm sorry. A business matter needs my immediate attention. It's unavoidable. Would you mind if we made a quick stop at my office?"
My heart sank a little. His office? Now? I bit my lip, feeling a wave of disappointment, but then I looked at his face. The urgency in his eyes was undeniable.
This wasn't a casual detour, it was something serious. He wasn't asking, he was stating a necessity.
"No," I said, almost immediately, my voice soft but firm. My eyes flickered to his. "Of course not. Your business is much more important, Hukum Sa. It's perfectly fine with me."
A chilling stillness descended.
His eyes, which had softened a moment ago, now snapped back to me, cold and piercing.
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
My breath hitched. Did I say something wrong? His gaze, suddenly sharp, held mine, a silent intensity that felt almost like anger.
I didn't understand why. He seemed to hold his breath, a storm brewing in his eyes.
Then, without a word, he tore his gaze from mine and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car lurched forward with a roar.
He made a sharp, unexpected turn down a narrow street. Despite the sudden, powerful movement, his hand shot out, steadying me instinctively against the seat, ensuring my safety.
My heart leapt into my throat, not from fear of the turn, but from the raw, inexplicable anger radiating off him. The sudden violence of the movement, coupled with his unexplained displeasure, left me breathless.
He didn't say another word, but the silence that followed was heavy with unspoken fury, a silent storm he was barely containing.
The screech of tires, a brief, controlled slide, and then the powerful car straightened, speeding down a brightly lit street I recognised as the path to the city's corporate heart.
My heart still pounded from the sudden turn and his unsettling anger, an anger I couldn't grasp. I mostly kept my gaze down, trying to steady my breathing.
He hadn't said another word, his profile a rigid mask as the Rathore Corp. tower loomed into view, a monolith of steel and glass piercing the evening sky.
He pulled up to a private, discreet entrance. The moment the car stopped, a uniformed guard appeared as if from nowhere, opening his door.
Mrityunjay stepped out, his movements fluid and precise, a stark contrast to my own fumbling with the car door handle. Before I could even fully extract myself, his hand was there, firm and warm, guiding me out.
The lobby was sleek, silent, and intimidatingly grand, even late on a Saturday. Polished marble floors gleamed under recessed lights.
As we walked, the few security personnel and late-working employees we passed snapped to attention.
"Hukum Sa," they murmured, their voices hushed with respect, heads dipping in deference.
He barely acknowledged them, his gaze fixed straight ahead, a silent, powerful force, pulling me along in his wake like his personal suitcase. His grip on my arm remained firm.
We reached a private elevator, its doors gleaming like polished chrome. Without a word, he pressed a button for a high floor. As the doors hissed open, revealing a plush, silent cabin.
We stepped into the plush elevator. The doors hissed shut, enclosing us in a silent, rapidly ascending box. The air felt thick with unspoken tension.
I felt acutely awkward, my gaze flitting nervously around the luxurious cabin—the polished steel, the soft lighting—anywhere but on him.
I was replaying our last exchange, trying to decipher the sudden shift in his mood. Was he truly angry with me for saying his business was more important? It seemed the obvious, polite thing to say.
My eyes finally, hesitantly, lifted, drawn by an invisible thread to his gaze. He was watching me, his dark eyes intense, unreadable.
For a long moment, we simply stared at each other, the silence amplifying the frantic beat of my heart. Then, his gaze flickered down, lingering for a fleeting second on the delicate curve of my neck.
His hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching up to loosen his tie, his fingers working at the knot with a sudden, almost desperate energy.
The small, enclosed space of the elevator seemed to shrink. My breath caught in my throat as his gaze returned to mine, now filled with a raw intensity that made my knees feel weak.
Without warning, he reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek. Then, with a swift, deliberate movement, he pressed me back against the cool, smooth wall of the elevator.
It wasn't forceful, but it was undeniably firm, trapping me between his body and the cold steel. His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips.
My eyes widened, a mixture of surprise, fear, and a strange, thrilling anticipation swirling within me.
His voice, a low, husky murmur that seemed to vibrate through me, broke the tense silence.
His eyes, usually so controlled, were now alight with a fierce, burning desperation. "Little rabbit," he breathed, his voice raw, almost guttural.
"This... this is unbearable. Tell me, Ishika. Allow me. Can I kiss you?"
My heart hammered against my ribs, so loudly I was sure he could hear it. His eyes, desperate and piercing, held me captive. The question was a demand, a plea, and a challenge all at once.
My entire being hummed with the tension of the moment. My cheeks burnt, but I couldn't look away from the raw vulnerability in his gaze.
It was a side of "Grumpy King" I had never imagined. His eyes, so dark and intense, held a strange pull, a gravity that seemed to steal my thoughts, my will.
I found myself lost in their depths, the anger and tension from moments ago fading into a magnetic connection.
An unconscious impulse took over, a silent surrender to the longing that had been building since I'd first met his gaze. Slowly, without even realising I was doing it.
I leaned in, my lips parting slightly in anticipation.
The moment my lips softened, a raw sound, almost a groan, rumbled from his chest. His control, so meticulously held, shattered.
His mouth descended on mine in a fierce, hungry kiss, devouring my tentative offering. It was a storm of unleashed desire, demanding and absolute.
My fingers instinctively curled into the lapels of his suit, clinging on as if to an anchor. His arm tightened around my waist, pressing me against himself, his body a searing heat against mine.
The subtle scent of his cologne intensified, a heady, intoxicating cloud.
His lips moved with a bruising passion, a possessive claim that stole my breath.
I felt myself melt, my initial shyness overwhelmed by the sheer force of his kiss, a silent, primal response ignited deep within me.
He shifted, his head tilting, deepening the angle, and then his lips left mine, trailing a path of fire down my jawline, down to the sensitive skin of my neck.
I gasped, a small, involuntary sound escaping my throat as his mouth found a spot at the base of my neck.
A sharp, almost painful suction – he was sucking, and I was melting.
Withdrawing his lips He rested his head on my shoulder, and we stood there for what seemed like an eternity.
He pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes still dark with passion as they immediately found mine.
Just as the elevator chimed, signalling our arrival, and the doors began to hiss open, I saw it in the mirror of the elevator—a vivid hickey blooming on my neck, a crimson mark on my skin.
A sudden, mortified blush flooded my face, but before I could react, the doors slid fully open, revealing the hushed, empty corridor of the executive floor.
My body still thrummed from the fierce kiss, my lips tingling, and a mortified blush scorched my cheeks as I realised the vivid hickey was now blooming on my neck.
Mrityunjay's gaze, still heavy with passion, held mine for a breathless second before he smoothly stepped out, pulling me along with him hand in hand.
As we moved down the corridor, I noted a secretary's desk tucked into an alcove, far from his main office entrance.
His secretary, elegantly dressed and poised, rose and murmured, "Hukum Sa," her gaze briefly flickering towards me with a hint of surprise.
A stern-faced man in a crisp suit also straightened, his posture rigid.
Mrityunjay gave them the barest of acknowledgements, his focus remaining on me, his grip a silent tether.
He led me directly to the heavy, dark wood doors of his private office. They slid open, revealing an expansive, modern space.
The city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a dramatic backdrop. He paused at the threshold, turning to me.
"Little rabbit," he said, his voice now back to its usual low, controlled tone, though a hint of lingering intensity still clung to it. He gestured towards a plush seating area by the windows. "Wait for me here. I won't be long."
Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the corridor. The other man followed, and both men moved with brisk purpose towards a separate, imposing set of doors further down the hall—clearly a conference room.
The secretary at her desk remained discreetly out of sight of his office's entrance. The heavy door to his private office slid silently shut, sealing me inside.
To Be Continued...