Anchored in you

Chapter 30: The Glass House and the Gambler's Debt

The Waikato plains were a blur of impossible greens-the kind of green that felt like someone had dialed up the saturation on a high-definition monitor. We were three hours south of Auckland, driving a sleek, black SUV that smelled of new leather and freedom.

Harish was at the wheel, looking entirely too attractive in a simple charcoal hoodie and sunglasses. His hand rested casually on the gear shift, but every few minutes, his fingers would wander over to find mine on the center console. It was a different kind of silence than the one in Chennai. There, silence was usually a precursor to a lecture or a ritual. Here, it was a companion.

"You're staring again, Sami," he said, not taking his eyes off the winding road.

"I'm analyzing the driver's technique," I countered, though my heart did that familiar skip. "Optimization of the steering angle."

"Liar," he chuckled, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. "You're wondering how soon we'll get to the cabin."

He wasn't wrong. Our destination was a secluded "PurePod"-a cabin made almost entirely of heavy-duty glass, tucked away on a private ridge overlooking a deep valley. No Wi-Fi, no neighbors, and most importantly, no curtains. Just us and the universe.

As we pulled up the gravel path, the cabin appeared like a diamond dropped onto a velvet hillside. It was breathtaking. You could see straight through the living area to the Southern Alps in the distance.

"Harish," I whispered, stepping out of the car. The air was crisp, tasting of snow and eucalyptus. "It's... it's completely transparent."

He leaned against the car door, watching me with a look of pure, unadulterated mischief. "Exactly. No one for miles, Sami. Just the birds and the stars. Though I suspect the birds have seen it all before."

By 9:00 PM, the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving a sky so crowded with stars it felt heavy. The Southern Cross was blazing right above our glass roof.

I had decided that the "Interrogation of the Aunts" back home deserved a counter-strike. If Harish thought he was the only one who could be predatory and possessive, he was sorely mistaken. I retreated to the small glass-walled bathroom and changed into a nightwear set I'd hidden in the bottom of my suitcase-a silk-and-lace slip in a deep emerald green that barely skimmed my mid-thigh, held up by straps as thin as a promise.

When I stepped out, Harish was sitting on the edge of the bed, pouring two glasses of local Pinot Noir. He looked up, and the glass in his hand nearly tilted over. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilating until they were almost as black as the night sky.

"Samaira," he growled, his voice dropping an octave. "That is not 'comfortable travel attire'."

"I felt like a change of pace," I said, walking toward him with a deliberate sway, my heart hammering against my ribs. I stopped just out of his reach. "But before you get any ideas, I have a proposal. A challenge."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "A challenge? From the woman who nearly fainted because a rug was two inches off-center?"

"This is different," I said, leaning against the glass wall, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the heat in my skin. "We play a game. Three rounds of 'Memory and Logic.' If I win, you don't get to touch me for the rest of the night. You stay on your side of the bed, and I stay on mine. Total sensory deprivation."

Harish looked like I had suggested we delete his entire company's source code. "And if I win?"

He stood up, his height suddenly very imposing in the small cabin. He stepped into my space, his scent-woodsmoke and citrus-enveloping me. "If I win, I get to touch you however I want. For as long as I want. I claim every inch of you, no matter how much you moan or plead. No rules, no 'logistics.' Just me and my wife."