I wasn't supposed to look at her like that.
Not at my boss. Not at her.
But there she was—Mrs. Raina Kapoor—standing across the conference room in that deep burgundy satin blouse, the soft silk hugging her curves like a second skin. The dim lights of the late evening meeting pooled around her shoulders like melted gold, casting her honey-brown skin in a soft, inviting glow. Her scent—jasmine, warm vanilla, and something else—lingered in the air, thick enough to taste.
She was speaking, but I wasn't listening. Not really.
Not when her voice was that low, that calm, almost like a whisper meant only for me. Her lips moved slowly, sensually. Her fingers grazed the edge of the glass in her hand—long, manicured nails tapping a rhythm against the surface. My eyes followed the slow movement of her thumb circling the rim of the glass.
She caught me staring.
And held it.
Her eyes—deep brown with flecks of gold—narrowed just slightly, like she knew. Like she felt the heat between us too. Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lower lip. A pause. A flicker of a smirk. Then she turned back to her screen, continuing the presentation as if nothing had happened.
My pulse kicked up a notch. I shifted in my chair.
"Anything you want to add, Aarav?" she asked, not looking at me.
Her voice was velvet.
"No, ma'am," I managed, the words catching in my throat.
The room emptied eventually. Just me and her.
She stood by the window now, arms folded loosely under her chest, the thin fabric of her blouse shifting with every breath. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders. She was older—at least ten, maybe twelve years more than me—but that only made the allure sharper, deeper.
I stood to leave.
"You stayed late," she said, not turning around.
"I didn't want to miss anything important."
She turned then, slowly. Her eyes locked with mine.
"You're always very… attentive."
Was that teasing in her voice? Or just my fevered mind twisting things?
I took a step closer. "I try to be."
Silence bloomed between us, heavy, aching. The air thickened. Her breath caught ever so slightly, and I heard it—just the faintest hitch. Her eyes flicked down to my lips.
A line had been drawn. Right there. In that breath.
She stepped closer. Barely.
I felt the whisper of her presence. Her perfume licked at my skin like warm breath. My hand twitched at my side, aching to reach out—to brush the soft line of her collarbone, to tuck that one loose strand of hair behind her ear.
But I didn't.
Her fingers lifted—just a little—and brushed against mine as she reached for her folder.
Bare skin on bare skin.
A spark. No, a fire. Small. Dangerous.
I didn't pull away. Neither did she.
Her hand lingered. A second too long. Then her eyes met mine again—vulnerable this time. Raw.
"I should go," she said softly.
But she didn't move.
I reached up. Slowly. Deliberately. My fingers hovered near her cheek, trembling with restraint. Her breath hitched again, shaky and warm against my wrist.
I whispered, "Raina…"
Her name. First time I'd ever said it without the 'ma'am'.
Her lips parted. Just slightly.
She leaned in—only a little. So little it hurt.
The air snapped with tension.
Then—
Her phone rang.
The spell shattered. We blinked. Breathed.
She turned away fast, voice tight. "Yes, I'm on my way."
Silence again. Except for the heavy beat of our hearts.
She gathered her things, not looking at me. "This never happened."
Then she walked out.
I stood there, still feeling her skin on mine, her scent in my lungs, her name on my tongue.
This never happened.
But it did.
And it would again.