Arjun set her down gently onto the bench at the foot of the bed. The cool air of the bedroom hit her damp skin, but before she could shiver, he had already pulled a oversized black cashmere sweater from his wardrobe and guided her arms through the sleeves. The fabric swallowed her whole, smelling faintly of cedarwood and his clean skin.
He knelt on the floor right between her knees, taking a dry towel to gently blot the damp ends of her dark hair.

Aadhya watched his hands. The broad, powerful hands that had built a financial monolith, the same hands that had just held her with such fierce, unyielding devotion, were now moving with absolute, delicate patience. She reached out, her fingers resting lightly on his bare shoulder, feeling the damp heat still radiating off his skin.
"Arjun," she murmured softly.