Page 59 of Entangled Vows

“Why are you even here? Go meet your girlfriend or something.”

“I was supposed to,” he muttered, stepping back with a sigh. “But someone had to make sure you don’t end up injured.”

She made a face and twisted the throttle again. Too hard. The scooty jerked forward awkwardly, wobbling beneath her. Her foot slipped, and for a split second, she was about to topple sideways. Without thinking, Vikram reacted.

He stepped in, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other grabbing the handlebars to steady the scooty before it hit the ground.

“I said go slow, not suicidal,” he snapped, voice low and sharp against her ear.

Mahika froze, and Vikram’s heart pounded, not just from the near fall, but from his proximity to her sweet scent and soft body.

“I had it under control,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Sure, you did,” he said, not letting go immediately.

The air between them shifted. It was too quiet and a beat too long.

Then he stepped back and cleared his throat. “Alright, Vin Diesel, let’s try again. Ease up before you turn this riding lesson into a Tokyo Drift audition.”

She’d rolled her eyes at him, just like she always did.

The memory hit him hard as he stood there, looking at her. His heart wasn’t racing from the workout or anything. It was racing from the ghost of that closeness, and the sudden surge of whatever was cursing through his veins even now.

She was Suraj’s best friend and Mohit’s little sister. She was only sixteen, seven years his junior, and he had no right to think of her that way. But he couldn’t help it. Their families were close. And thinking about her like that… felt forbidden.

Yet in that moment, the faint scent of her hair, the softness of her body, and the quick hitch of her breath as he steadied her, had sent a jolt of desire straight through him. A spark he had buried under layers of reason and control had sprung to life. She had no idea how much she got under his skin and made him lose his shit.

Now, in the silence of the night, he saw Mahika sleeping in his bedroom… and holy fuck. He couldn’t believe he was married to her.

Vikram swallowed the tightness in his throat and crouched beside her, pulling a throw over her legs. She didn’t stir.

This moment was his and his alone, the past bleeding into the present. He’d spent years wondering when she’d let him close again. And now, for the second time in two weeks, she was in his arms, even if she didn’t know it yet.

He tucked the ends of the throw blanket carefully around her feet and took in her angel-like face. She looked soft and cuddly, her face completely relaxed. The usual wall she kept up around him had vanished, leaving behind a rare trace of vulnerability. Her lashes kissed her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, and for once, even the tiny crease between her brows had softened.

He curled a tendril of her hair around his finger, stroking it with the distracted focus of a man doing something foolish and knowing it, yet unable to stop himself.

With a scoff, he slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her back and scooped her up. She murmuredsomething unintelligible but didn’t stir. Her head lolled sideways, coming to rest against his chest.

As he straightened with her in his arms, he was struck by how light she felt… like a basket of silken rose petals. All soft, delicate, and fragrant with something sweet and floral, with just a hint of coffee and berries.

Vikram crossed the short distance to the bed and carefully laid her down. She shifted once, a small frown tugging at her brows, then sighed and relaxed again.

He stared down at her, the knot in his chest coiling tighter. Whatever this was between them—this soul-grating push and pull—it was going to drive him absolutely nuts.

“Stubborn witch,” he muttered fondly. “You’re not the only one who refuses to give up.”

He pulled the blanket over her, his fingers brushing the soft fabric of her sleeve. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her chest rise and fall in a consistent rhythm. His hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and lingered there for a moment too long.

Then he took a step back.

He dimmed the bedside lamp and let the room sink into a hush of amber shadows. Then, he padded into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he stepped out, freshly showered, the faint scent of soap still lingering on his skin. Dressed in a plain white T-shirt and low-slung sweatpants, he moved to the bed and quietly slipped under the covers. His muscles remained tense, the cold shower doing little to ease the restlessness that clung to him.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take over, but the truth hit him with sharp clarity. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight.

Not with her scent still lingering in the air like oxygen.

Not with her curled up onhisbed, like she belonged there.