"Tell me you don't feel this," he growls, his hockey-calloused fingers burning through the silk of my saree, "and I'll walk away forever." My traitorous breath hitches. "I hate you." Nate Valenko's smirk is pure sin as he backs me against the private jet's bathroom door. "That's not what your body's saying, sweetheart." I should knee him where it hurts. I should remember he's just another spoiled athlete. I should NOT be staring at his mouth. Too bad 'should' and 'want' are two very different things. --- ICE COLD HEART. RED HOT TEMPER. Nate Valenko lives by three rules: 1. Win at all costs 2. Never get attached 3. ABSOLUTELY do not fantasize about the infuriating air hostess who looks at him like he's gum stuck to her designer heels Samaira Malhotra has three rules too: 1. Stay focused on her career 2. Avoid arrogant rich boys 3. Never EVER fall for Nate Valenko's stupid dimples (no matter how good they look drenched in champagne) When a viral scandal forces them into a fake relationship, their explosive chemistry becomes impossible to ignore. Every touch is a battle. Every glance is a war. And that one time in the first-class lounge? That was outright treason.
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