Page 155 of No Boss
His steps slowed.
The door stood slightly open. He moved closer, just enough to see. And then he forgot why he had been walking at all.
Meera stood on a small platform at the center of the room, with her back to the door.
Deep red silk wrapped around her. Gold embroidery ran through it, intricate, fine, catching light as she moved.
She looked…
He gripped the doorframe. His fingers pressed into the wood.
Sarita adjusted the fall of the skirt. Gauri smoothed the blouse at her shoulder. Naina circled them, quick, restless, entirely in command.
“Bhabhi, turn a little.”
Meera turned.
The fabric followed her. Gold came alive with each movement. The skirt swayed, heavy, fluid, shaping itself around her.
His breath stalled.
The blouse fit close, its lines tracing her form. It revealed enough to let his imagination go wild. His eyes followed the line of her neck, lower, to the curve of her waist.
His grip tightened. The wood gave under his fingers.
A short sound. Too short for anyone else. Not for Naina. Her head snapped toward the door and found him at once. Surprise gave way to recognition. A slow, knowing smile followed.
He straightened and stepped back.
Long strides took him away, distance forced into place. Behind him, the voices continued. Measurements, adjustments, fabric.
The image stayed.
Through calls. Through dinner. Through words he barely registered.
Deep red. Gold. The movement of it.
Sleep never came. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his body alert, his mind locked on her.
By dawn, he stopped trying.
He stood in the courtyard, hands clasped behind him, waiting. Still on the outside. Anything but inside.
He sensed her before the sound reached him.
She paused at the entrance, watching him as she always did before stepping forward.
Usually, he let her. Not today.
He turned and closed the distance before she could move.
His hands closed around her waist, drawing her in. His face buried into her hair, breathing her in as if he’d been allowed to breathe only just now.
“The dress.” His voice was rough at the edges.
She eased against him. “You saw.”
His grip tightened. “I couldn’t sleep.” He moved her hair aside, his lips brushing her pulse, the control in his tone held by a thread. “It hasn’t left my head.”
