Drenched Ep 2

~~~~The Threshold~~~~


The walk had been a blur of biting wind and torrential rain. Even beneath Kabir’s large umbrella, the sideways sheet of the monsoon had drenched them.

 By the time the private elevator clicked open directly into his penthouse, Mira was shivering, the silk of her emerald sari clinging damply to her skin.

The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the rhythmic flashes of lightning through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Kabir bypassed the main switches, opting instead to light a cluster of thick wax candles on the heavy mahogany console. The amber glow instantly softened the sharp, modern edges of the room, casting long, dancing shadows across the hardwood.

"You're freezing," Kabir said. He had already shed his wet bandhgala jacket, leaving him in a crisp white linen shirt, the top two buttons undone.

"I'm fine," Mira lied, crossing her arms to hide the slight tremor in her hands.

Kabir didn't argue. He disappeared down a hallway and returned a moment later with a thick, plush grey towel and one of his own oversized charcoal hoodies. He held them out to her. "The guest bath is through there. Get out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill."

Mira hesitated, looking at the clothes in his hands. Taking them felt like crossing an invisible line. "Kabir, I don't think—"

"Mira," he interrupted softly, taking a single step closer. The scent of rain, cedarwood, and his familiar cologne enveloped her. "It’s just a change of clothes. Go."

The bathroom was warm, smelling faintly of sandalwood. Mira peeled off the heavy, wet silk of her sari and draped it over the towel rack. She pulled his hoodie over her head. It was massive on her, falling to mid-thigh, the sleeves swallowing her hands. It smelled entirely of him—warm, clean, and intoxicatingly masculine.

She paused, closing her eyes for a brief second to steady her breathing, before stepping back out into the living area.

Kabir was standing by the kitchen island, pouring two glasses of dark rum. He looked up as the sound of her bare feet padded against the floor.

His breath caught.

Seeing her in his space was one thing; seeing her drowned in his clothes, her dark hair damp and curling wildly around her shoulders, completely stripped of her usual corporate armor, was another entirely.

For a fraction of a second, the carefully schooled composure on his face slipped, revealing a flash of raw, heavy hunger.

He recovered quickly, walking over to hand her a glass. "To keep you warm."

Their fingers brushed as she took the glass. A tiny, electric jolt traveled up her arm, and Mira instantly looked down, taking a slow sip of the spirit. It burned a comforting path down her throat.

"Thank you," she murmured, walking toward the massive glass windows to look out at the drowning city. The rain was drumming a frantic, relentless rhythm against the pane.

Kabir followed her, his movements silent. He didn't stand next to her; instead, he stepped up right behind her. He didn't touch her, but he was close enough that the heat radiating from his chest warmed her bare neck.

The silence between them stretched, thick, heavy, and loaded with a year's worth of unspoken words.