Page 48 of Trapped By the Maharaja

Just as the helicopter landed at the Devara Palace, her phone buzzed. She glanced down, expecting a hospital message. Instead, it was from the head of her security detail.

Attached is the information you requested. Keya Sharma. Current phone number and residential address. – Hari, Head of His Highness Devara Security.

Sanjana’s breath caught as she tapped open the attachment. A neatly formatted page opened up containing Keya’s name, a Mumbai address, and an unlisted phone number.

The security head seated next to the helicopter pilot turned towards her, his tone respectful but precise. “If you’d like, I can prepare a detailed file on Keya Sharma’s movements, contacts, and activities from the last eight years. It can be readied and sent to you by tomorrow morning.”

The efficiency of his words chilled her. A file, as if Keya were another suspect to be tracked and catalogued.

Sanjana quickly shook her head, clutching the slip of paper tighter than she meant to. “No. No. That’s not necessary.”

The man inclined his head, neither questioning nor pressing further. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Soon, she stepped out of the helicopter.

The moment she stepped into the palace, she was greeted by Lalita and Kumari.

“Good evening, Maharani.”

“Would you like dinner served in the dining hall or inside your room, maharani?”

Sanjana forced a small, tired smile. “Please bring dinner to my room,” she said.

She went up the grand staircase. By the time she reached the familiar corridor leading to the master suite, her pulse was hammering. She stepped inside, the heavy door shutting quietly behind her, cutting her off from the world.

The silence was thick.

Ram hadn’t returned to the palace.

Will he come home tonight?

She knew he was angry with her. Hadn’t spoken to her after she told him she wanted to continue with the terms of their contract.

Will he ignore me tonight?

The very thought of it made her stomach clench. Although she intended to keep their relationship until the duration of the contract, she still craved the intimacy their passion offered. She wanted to wake up with her head on his chest each morning.

But now, she wasn’t sure if Ram would want the same.

With a dull ache inside her chest, she went towards the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Then, stepping inside the spacious shower, she turned on the knobs.

She stepped under the scalding spray, eyes closed, head tipped back. Water sluiced over her, drowning out the noise, but not erasing her thoughts.

The past. The revelations. The attacks. Keya Sharma’s phone number.

The thoughts spun together until they became indistinguishable.

She didn’t know how long she stood, but suddenly cool air fell on her bare back. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned, only to gasp. Ram stood in the shower doorway. He was utterly naked and aroused.

Another gasp caught in her throat as he stepped inside and shut the glass door. He watched her silently as he came towards her until he crowded her against the cold marble wall.

Her heart thudded. “Ram—” His name came out as a whisper swallowed by the sound of water.

His hands slid under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, pinning her hips to the wall. The cold marble shocked her skin. She braced against his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle.

He didn’t speak. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he thrust into her with a single stroke.

A cry escaped her throat as she arched against the marble wall.

His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her suspended, open and exposed while he filled her completely.

Keeping his eyes on her, he began to move in a relentless rhythm that stole her breath.

She felt the smooth hardness of the marble against her spine, the steam thickening in her lungs, and the pressure building low in her belly.

The water turned her skin slick, making her slide against him with every deep thrust. Her legs trembled around his waist while every nerve buzzed.

Pressure coiled low in her belly, tightening until it was a white-hot wire.

Her head thudded back against the marble wall.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, then tangled in his soaked hair, pulling hard.

A choked sound escaped her as her hips jerked against his, seeking and demanding.

Soon, her climax shattered her. A scream ripped through her while her muscles clamped down on him in fierce, pulsing waves that left her shuddering and breathless.

He didn’t slow or falter. He drove into her even as she trembled in the aftershocks.

And then, she felt his iron control fracturing.

His hands tightened on her thighs, lifting her higher, pinning her utterly as he buried himself to the hilt.

A low groan tore from him, primal and raw, as he spilled into her.

His face buried in the curve of her neck, his ragged breathing hot against her wet skin while he remained inside her.

For a suspended moment, the only sound was the drumming water and the frantic hammer of her own heart.

A long moment later, he slowly lowered her.

Her legs buckled, but he caught her elbow, his grip steadying her.

Water plastered her lashes together as she blinked up at him.

His expression was unreadable again. He turned off the shower until there was sudden silence.

Without a word, he opened the glass door and reached for a thick, white towel.

He began to dry her, his movements brisk, almost clinical.

The towel rubbed over her arms, her back, and her hips.

He didn't linger or caress. He dried her as one might care for a valuable, but impersonal object.

She stood passively, shivering slightly despite the warmth, watching the water bead on his skin over the hard lines of his abdomen and the powerful shoulders.

He wrapped the towel around her and then grabbed another one. He dried himself with quick, efficient movements and knotted the towel loosely around his hips.

He then stepped out of the shower and walked out of the bathroom without a backward glance.

She watched him go, the towel still clutched around her. Anger and confusion filled her at his coldness. Anger won as she followed him.

She stormed out of the bathroom and went into the walk-in closet.

Ram stood near his dresser, his back to her.

He was naked again, his towel discarded on the floor.

He was pulling a pair of night pants from a drawer.

The sight of him, so utterly unselfconscious and powerful, made her cheeks burn hot.

She marched up to him, fury overriding any embarrassment.

“What was that?” she demanded.

Ram paused, the night pants held loosely in one hand. He turned his head slightly, his handsome profile cold and regal. “You need to be specific,” he said.

“You took me like an object,” she said angrily. “Like I meant nothing. You didn’t even kiss me!”

He turned fully then, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “I thought you only wanted to fulfill the conditions of the contract and then leave.”

Her cheeks burned at his reminder. “That doesn't mean you behave like a ruthless ruler and treat me like I am your concubine meant only to please you!” she snapped.

His gaze was unreadable, but a muscle flickered in his jaw.

And then, he moved so fast she didn't have time to react.

One hand wrapped behind her neck, tangling in her damp hair, pulling her head back sharply.

The other clamped onto her hip, dragging her forward until her towel-clad body slammed against his bare chest. Before she could gasp, his mouth crashed down onto hers.

It was a brutal, searing kiss that stole her breath and sent sparks exploding behind her eyelids.

His lips were hard, demanding, forcing hers apart.

His tongue invaded, a ruthless exploration that left her dizzy.

She pushed weakly against his chest, a muffled sound of protest trapped in her throat, but his grip only tightened, holding her immobile as he devoured her mouth with a fierce, possessive hunger.

Her knees buckled, but he held her upright, his body a solid wall against her.

The kiss was a collision of anger and raw need, a silent battle that left her trembling.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her, his breath ragged against her swollen lips.

His eyes, dark and intense, held fury, hunger and something else.

His mouth descended again. This time, his kiss was slower, deeper, more deliberate.

The anger was still there, but it was joined by a terrifying intimacy.

His hand slid from her hip up her spine, pressing her impossibly closer.

Her fingers, which had been braced against his chest, curled into the hard muscle there, not pushing away, but clinging.

A small, involuntary whimper escaped her as the kiss softened fractionally, becoming a deep, drugging exploration that sent heat pooling low in her belly.

He kissed her with the same ruthless intensity he’d claimed her, leaving no part of her untouched, claiming her breath, her resistance, her very thoughts.

He finally broke the kiss and released her.

“Is that good enough for you?” he asked in a low, rough tone.

Her cheeks burned. “Yes,” she replied, her lips throbbing along with her body.

She turned away quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The air in the closet felt thick and charged.

She grabbed the first nightgown her hand touched, a pale blue silk nightgown.

With trembling fingers, she pulled off the damp towel, letting it pool at her feet.

The cool silk slithered over her skin as she pulled the nightgown on. She didn't look back at Ram.

She hurried out of the closet and into the vast, dimly lit bedroom where dinner was already waiting in the corner nook. She sat down and opened the steaming dishes.

Ram joined moments later, wearing just white cotton pants that hung low on his hips. His gaze held hers as he sat down.

The dinner was silent.

Although the dishes were delicious, she couldn’t wait to finish eating and escape the tense awareness.

She had just finished eating and was covering the dishes when she heard Ram’s chair scrape back. A moment later, she was swept up into his arms.

“Ram!” she gasped.

His dark eyes held hers. “I’m fulfilling the terms of our contract,” he said in a low, rough tone as he carried her to the large bed.

Her heart thudded in anticipation. She knew she would once again be swept away passion.