Page 39 of The Defiant Wife

After another few seconds, Veeraj speaks. "You're stuck."

I roll my eyes, "I am not stuck."

His expression remains deadpan. "You've been fighting with that helmet for a full minute."

"I am merely negotiating with the strap."

"Seems like you're losing."

I glare. He stares back.

"I can do this myself."

"Mhm."

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're witnessing a tragedy."

His eyes travel briefly over my hands on the helmet. Then back to me. "It is a tragedy."

I yank at the strap again. Nothing happens. A sigh escapes him. The kind usually reserved for difficult children. He takes off his black leather gloves and steps off the motorcycle.

And suddenly he is close. Far too close. Every instinct I possess immediately sounds an alarm.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger.

Not because he would hurt me. Because he wouldn't. That's the problem. I trust that he wouldn't. He reaches toward me. "Hold still."

"I am perfectly capable—"

"Diya."

My mouth snaps shut. Not because of what he says. Because of how he says it.

Low.

Calm.

Patient.

The kind of tone people use when they're trying not to laugh. I hate him. I really do. His fingers close around the front of the helmet and he pulls me forward. A small gasp escapes me. His hand steadies me instantly.

And suddenly—oh.

Oh no.

We are very close.

His face is inches from mine. His eyes meet mine through the open visor. Dark. Steady. Entirely too focused. For a momentneither of us moves. The world narrows. The wind disappears. Everything disappears. Until all I can see is him. My pulse begins misbehaving immediately.

Veeraj's gaze drops briefly. To my mouth. Then returns to my eyes.