She freezes, her breath coming in short bursts. "This is not funny."
"It's a little funny," I murmur, leaning closer so my lips brush her ear. "You're all flustered."
"I am not flustered. I'm—" Another knock at the door cuts her off.
There's another light knock. "Hello? I have breakfast."
Asha's eyes go wide, and the next thing I know, she's throwing her leg over mine and draping herself across my chest in a way that both hides the situation and makes me bite back a groan.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice strained now for an entirely different reason.
"Fixing it," she whispers back. "Now shut up and look like a newlywed."
"That's not going to be a problem," I mutter, my hand settling possessively on her lower back.
She glares at me, but there's no real heat in it. "If you make one more comment."
"You'll what?" I challenge softly, enjoying the way her breath catches when I run my thumb along her spine. "Throw another pillow at me?"
"I'll—" Another sharp knock makes her jump. "Just…can you please try to look less smug?"
"I'm comfortable. Why would I be smug?" But I'm grinning now, and she knows it.
"I hate you," she whispers, but her fingers are curled into my chest, and she's not pulling away.
"Sure you do." I brush a strand of hair away from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "Ready to put on a show, Mrs. Hale?"
She pinches my side hard, and I barely suppress a laugh as she calls out, "Come in!"
The door swings open, and Rohan steps in carrying a covered tray, his expression pleasant and professional. His eyes are a different story. They're sharp, taking in every detail of the room with an assessing gaze that makes my instincts prickle.
"Good morning," he says, almost too cheerfully. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all," Asha says, her voice remarkably steady considering she's still plastered against my chest.
I feel her try to shift away, but I keep my hand firm on her lower back, holding her in place. She shoots me a warning glance, but I just give her an easy smile, playing the part of the satisfied husband who's in no rush to let his wife leave the bed.
"I brought a bit of everything," he says, placing the tray of food on the table in the sitting area.
"It looks amazing," Asha says, finally managing to extract herself from my grip. She sits up, pulling the covers up, very aware that her nighttime attire is revealing. "Thank you, Rohan."
I prop myself up on one elbow, letting the sheets pool at my waist. If Rohan's going to scrutinize us, I might as well give him something to see. "Your mother's hospitality is top tier. Sending her son to bring us breakfast is next level,” I call his visit to our room.
"She likes to take care of her guests." Rohan's smile is warm as he pours two cups of coffee with practiced efficiency, but when he glances up at Asha, there's something in his gaze, an intensity and curiosity that lingers too long. I reach for Asha’shand and lace my fingers through hers. His gaze follows the movement, studying her with his trademark intense focus. "I actually came to ask if Asha would be willing to take a look at Sahara this morning—the mare we discussed at dinner."
Asha's interest is immediately piqued. "Of course. How far along is she?"
"About seven months, we think. But she's been off her feed the last few days, seems uncomfortable." Rohan pauses, his eyes still locked on her face. "Our regular vet says everything looks fine, but given how valuable she is, both the mare and the foal, I'd feel better with a second opinion. From someone with your expertise."
The way he emphasizes 'your' makes something twist in my gut. It's not just professional interest; there's something else, something that feels too personal for a man talking to a married woman he just met.
"I'd be happy to examine her," Asha says, all business now. "Seven months and off feed could be several things. Give me thirty minutes to get ready."
"Perfect. The stables are just behind the main house. I can show you the way," Rohan offers.
"I'll come with you," I say immediately.
Asha turns to me, and there's a flash of irritation in her eyes. "You don't need to."
