The Cricket Captain
"Sports journalist Aisha is assigned to interview Shahid, the controversial British Pakistani cricket star. Their professional relationship turns into a wicket of passion neither expected."
The Cricket Captain
Aisha Malik had interviewed politicians, celebrities, and even a minor royal. None of them had made her palms sweat like this.
Shahid Khan walked into the hotel suite like he owned it—which, given his fifty-million-pound contract, he practically could. The cricket star was even more striking in person: tall, athletic, with a jawline that had launched a thousand Instagram thirst posts.
"You're the journalist?" His eyes swept over her appraisingly. "They didn't tell me you'd be—"
"Professional?" She stood, extending her hand. "Aisha Malik, The Times. Shall we begin?"
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Direct. I like that."
The interview was supposed to be about his upcoming season. Instead, Shahid deflected every cricket question and redirected to her.
"I've read your work," he said. "The piece on match-fixing. The investigation into the federation. You're not afraid to ask hard questions."
"Should I be asking you hard questions?"
"Depends." He leaned forward. "Are you asking as a journalist or as a woman?"
"Excuse me?"
"I've done a hundred interviews. None of them have made me want to keep talking." His eyes held hers. "You're different."
"Mr. Khan—"
"Shahid."
"Mr. Khan." Aisha kept her voice steady despite her racing heart. "This is a professional interview. I don't—"
"Don't what? Feel the chemistry between us?" He stood, moving closer. "Because I've been trained to read body language, Aisha. The way you lean in when I speak. The way your breath catches. You feel it too."
She should leave. Should maintain professional boundaries. Should do anything except what she did next.
"This is off the record," she said.
"Completely."
Then she kissed him.
Shahid was as aggressive in bed as he was on the pitch.
He had her pressed against the hotel window within seconds, his mouth hot on her neck as London glittered below.
"Someone could see," she gasped.
"Let them." His hands were already under her blouse. "Let them see how beautiful you are."
"Shahid—"
"Tell me to stop and I will." He pulled back, breathing hard. "But mujhe nahin lagta you want me to stop."
She didn't.
He lifted her like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bed with single-minded focus. Her clothes disappeared in a sequence she couldn't track, and then his mouth was everywhere—her breasts, her stomach, the inside of her thighs.
"Ya khuda," he breathed, looking at her spread before him. "I'm going to make you scream."
"Bold words."
"I always deliver."
He did.
His tongue was devastating, finding every sensitive spot until Aisha was writhing, her hands fisted in the expensive sheets. When he finally rose above her, she was already trembling.
"Now," she demanded. "I need—"
He slid inside her, and they both groaned. Shahid set a rhythm that was pure power, each thrust deliberate, controlled.
"Look at me," he demanded. "Dekho mujhe. I want to see you come apart."
She did, spectacularly, and he followed with her name on his lips like a victory cry.
"This can't happen again," Aisha said, already knowing she was lying.
Shahid traced patterns on her back. "It's going to happen again. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every day I can convince you to stay."
"I have a career. You have a—a whole thing." She gestured vaguely. "We're from different worlds."
"We're from the same world." He turned her to face him. "Both Pakistani. Both ambitious. Both tired of meeting people who don't understand the pressure of being us in this country."
"You're a superstar."
"And you're the only woman who's challenged me in years." His eyes were serious. "I don't do relationships. I don't have time. But for you, I want to try."
"The tabloids—"
"Will have a field day. So what? Since when do you care what people think?"
She laughed despite herself. "Since always. It's my job."
"Then let's give them something real to write about." He kissed her palm. "Date me, Aisha. Properly. I'll deal with my publicist, you deal with your editor. We'll figure out the rest."
The relationship broke Twitter when Shahid posted a photo of them at his match, captioned simply: "My biggest win." The interview that started it all was never published—but the wedding announcement in The Times sports section became the paper's most-read article of the year.