“Then don’t waste your time thinking about them now,” I grumbled, and pushed at his chest gently, meaning to create distance.
Big mistake.
My palms landed square on his chest, right over his heart—steady, rhythmic, maddeningly calm.
Of course, he was calm. He was probably enjoying this.
“That ship’s already sailed, Ms. Randhawa,” he said, glancing down at my hands still resting on him.
My throat went dry.
“Are you flirting with me?”
The words fell out before I could catch them.
Kill me now. Bury me here.
His eyes gleamed. “Do youwantme to?”
This man was dangerous in all the ways I didn’t know how to protect myself from. And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.
“I’m sure you have better things to do, Mr. Oberoi.”
“Better things like giving you private kissing lessons?”
His eyes dropped to my lips. He licked his own absently, and I swear I blacked out for a second.
“I said sorry,” I choked out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—I have to prepare for an interview.”
“Where?”
“Don’t act like my bodyguard.”
“I’ll be waiting in the car outside,” he said, finally easing back just enough to let me breathe again.
“There’ll be mosquitoes,” I said as I adjusted my posture, trying to pretend I hadn’t just had an out-of-body experience. “Wouldn’t want them ruining your flawless skin. That’s bad for business, isn’t it?” I rolled my eyes.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “My beautiful skin can handle it,” he replied with an insufferable smirk. “But just out of curiosity—are mosquitoes usually your interview subjects, or is this a special edition?”
And then—just like that—he walked away—leaving me breathless, aroused, and one hundred percent sure I was completely screwed.
A mix of frown, dimples, flexing arms, and that smile? Someone, please write this down. I may need to present it to a medical professional very soon.
Diagnosis:
Death by Manav Oberoi.
12 ♥?Manav
I lost my train of thought mid-conversation with Justin as my gaze drifted to her. Kiara was flipping through her diary, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d somehow taken up permanent residence in my mind.
“Sir…? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I muttered, fumbling to focus. “Uh… Why didn’t we move forward with the project handover?”
“Sir, we need your approval before locking the deal.”
