The low hum of the bar was a stark contrast to the pounding of Shivangi’s heart. Across the small, intimate table, Harshad’s leg pressed against hers, a solid, warm line of heat that made it impossible to think about the food.

“You’re not even hungry, are you?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through her. His fingers, calloused from years of gym work, traced lazy, dangerous circles high up on her silk-covered thigh. “You’re just sitting there, thinking about my cock, aren’t you?”