"I'm sorry. Okay—sorry for barging in," she said, trying to pull away, eyes darting like she was already planning her escape.
Just as she was about to slip free, Zain tightened his grip.
Before he could even register what happened next, he was flipped—clean, fast, like a practiced judo move—and landed on the bed. She grabbed his bathrobe and shoved him down with surprising force.
As she turned to flee, Zain reacted on instinct.
He caught her wrist, yanked her back, and reversed the move. This time, he had control. He grabbed her by the waist, tossed her onto the bed—less rough, more deliberate—and rolled over her, pinning her there.
"Where are your manners, little rabbit?" he murmured, amused. "Jumping into strangers' rooms through windows?"
She glared up at him, fierce and unyielding. He liked that—fire in her eyes, softness in her features. Dangerous, classy, unapologetic. Exactly his type.
As he studied her face, he noticed her gaze drift.
Slow. Intentional.
Her eyes slid down his chest, caught briefly on the glimpse of his abs beneath the loosened robe.
Zain noticed.
He smirked and tugged the robe closed. "Sorry," he said lightly. "Those are reserved for my wife."
"Loyal?" she scoffed.
With a sharp shove, she knocked him off and was already moving. "Good for your wife then. Bye, lover boy."
And before he could say another word, she vaulted through the window—gone as suddenly as she'd arrived.
Zain lay back on the bed, staring at the empty space.
A slow grin spread across his face.