Making Her Mine- An IPKKND story.

Chapter 74 - Threats

"What was that?"

Khushi had her back to the wall, caged between Arnav's arms. They hadn't managed to make it all the way to the bed, or out of all their clothes.

He rested his forehead on hers as their breathing slowed down. He stepped back, and she turned her face away - now she was shy! He picked up her salwar pants, handed it to her and turned away to rewear his slacks.

When he turned back around, she was fully dressed but still leaning against the wall, cheeks blazing, her expression somewhere between shy and defiant. He pulled her to him, and held her by the waist. She lowered her eyelashes, not meeting his eyes. He felt a burble of laughter rising up from deep inside his belly, and gave her a kiss.

"Do you get turned on when I'm angry?"

She met his eyes now, only to shoot him an icy glare. "You weren't complaining a moment earlier."

"I'm not complaining now either. I'm just asking."

She huffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Really? The last time you pounced on me like that, I had just shattered a flowerpot."

She looked shifty. "No! What kind of nonsense is that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Or is this a special version of your song and dance for me, to fix my mood?"

Instead of answering, she pulled herself away from him, arranged her dupatta over her throat, and began to reopen the curtains.

He felt another chuckle erupt. No, he was angry, she was jeopardizing their privacy and peace, and god knows what else talking to that journalist woman – just because she fucking trusted people blindly. He wasn't going to forget that.

"We have to talk about Kamini Mehta, Khushi." Arnav said. "You can't distract me. I'll not let it go. We can stay here repeating this until you're ready to talk."

"I wasn't trying to distract you!" She said indignantly. She wasn't? Hmmmm. No, he told himself again, back to the conversation. No getting distracted.

"Okay. Sit down."

She sat on the recliner. He folded his arms across his chest, and stood before her. No more getting distracted.

"Khushi, I don't trust that woman. What if you're wrong about her, and all she wants is to gather information about us, to write something else? You have to admit it's likely. She's a f— she's a journalist. And she's written the most detailed thing about my personal life that's ever appeared in the papers. Do you think it's worth risking that, just because you think she's nice?"

"She will not write bad things about you," Khushi said earnestly. "No, Arnavji, listen. That article, I read it. It's not so bad."

He opened his mouth to argue, and realized that he hadn't actually read the thing.

"Okay, fine."

He squeezed next to her on the recliner, and pulled up the offending article on his computer.

It was trash. It started with a description of him, how good looking he was, once among the most eligible bachelors in the country. He rolled his eyes, cringing inwardly.

Then a description of how he and Khushi met – a lurid, detailed description of the moment that had been flashed across Lucknow TV channels, a paragraph that took longer to read than the actual moment it described – she fell, he caught her, and then released her. That was all the footage he had leaked. Seconds, not even a minute.

But Kamini Mahta decided it was a sensational moment. She described passionate looks and undeniable chemistry. She actually used the words "burning stares" and "love at first sight."