After taking the call, Ram stepped back into the bedroom. He paused near the doorway, his chest tightening at the sight of her.
Mythili was still sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand pressed against her chest as she tried to steady her heart.
Her cheeks were a deep, unmistakable crimson. He didn't need to be a detective to know she was replaying their encounter in her head. She looked beautifully disarrayed—messed up by his hands, marked by his touch.
A wave of possessive satisfaction surged through him. He had always been a man of discipline, but with her, every rule he had ever set for himself seemed to melt away.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. She jolted, her eyes snapping to his. She stood up quickly, unable to maintain eye contact, her shyness returning in full force.
Ram walked toward her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. His thumb traced the soft curve of her face. "Shall we go now?"
"Hmm..." She nodded, her gaze fixed firmly on chest.
"I'll change and be down in a minute," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Wait for me downstairs. Okay?"
He needed her out of this room. If she stayed for even one more second, he knew his self-control would snap completely.
She is his little pitta 🐦, but he was a man with a darkness she hadn't fully seen yet. How will she ever bear me? he wondered.
She nodded and hurried out.
Downstairs, she found herself wandering through his home. It wasn't the cold, sterile bachelor pad she had expected. It felt warm.
Homely.
Her eyes lit up when she spotted a wooden swing—Ooyala—in the living room. It reminded her of the one in her garden back home. She sat on it, swinging lightly, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.
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When he came downstairs, he found her there. He stood still for a moment, just watching the way the light caught her face. She looked like a dream.
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