“It was the sex noises, actually,” he said as he pulled the naan out of the oven and rested the tray on the cooling rack. “Next time you do that, I’ll be throwing you over my shoulder and showing you my bedroom.”

“Promises, promises,” she said.

He gripped her waist and, unable to help himself, pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck before he gently moved her to the side so he could get plates and bowls from a cabinet. “Better keep your distance, woman. Okay to eat with your hands?”

“I won’t even answer that insulting question.”

“Hands it is.”

They washed up, and as Ajay brought the food to the table in front of his windows, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as she kept a wide berth. He was still burning for her, but it was nice to know that her cool demeanor was hiding the same fire.

He topped off their glasses and, with his phone, dimmed the lights so New York could shine. “Now. Tell me what happened today.”

Raj froze, a torn wedge of naan hovering over her chicken. “That’s not your—”

“Stop right there. Before you get defensive, I’m not asking you because you’re obligated to share, because we want each other, but because I want to listen. Maybe that’ll help.”

Ajay watched her as she scooped up chicken and took a bite. Her eyes drifted closed. “This is really good, Ajay. My compliments to the chef.”

“Thank you.”

He dug into his food, as well, and for a few minutes they ate in silence.

“My mother is dying.”

The words cut through the air like his chef’s knife. “Oh, baby.”

“I-I’m sad,” she said in Punjabi, then switched back to English, as if she realized her slip. “I know logically I’m sad, but I haven’t spoken to my mother since I married Robert. My brother, he’s the one who told me, ensured that the whole family was cut off from me. I’ve accepted that.”

“Why did your brother cut you off? Because you married a white guy?” He could understand some very traditional Punjabi families with status doing the same thing. Hell, his extended family had cut off his cousin Bhram for being gay.

Ajay saw her hesitation as she sipped her wine. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Raj,” he assured her. “This is off the record.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone other than Mina and Robert.”

“Told anyone what?”

“My father owns thousands of acres of poppy fields. My family has an . . . operation.”