When the elderly couple headed back to their room, the old man pulled Zain aside.
"We've got a huge bathtub," he said with a knowing smile. "Your wife looks tired—and a little angry at you. Give her a back scrub. Trust me, it always works."
With that, he walked off.
Zain laughed under his breath. Not yet there, Grandpa, he thought. But I'll remember that when we get married.
Zain and Lara entered their room. Lara spread out her bed and blankets while Zain placed his mattress right beside hers.
"Hey," Lara said sharply, turning to him. "We're just pretending to be a couple. We're not one. You sleep over there, in that corner. I sleep here. Got it?"
"That spot's cold," Zain complained. "Don't be mean, sweetheart."
"First—stop calling me that."
"Okay, boss," he said, grinning.
"If it's really that cold," Lara sighed, "fine. You can sleep here—but your bed stays five feet away from mine." She pointed, very clearly drawing the line.
Zain leaned back against the wall, eyes glinting. "Five feet, huh? You're really laying down the rules, boss."
"Don't push it," she warned.
"Alright, alright." He paused, then added casually, "By the way, Grandpa said we can use the huge bathtub. Robes are in the wardrobe."
"Okay," Lara replied as she grabbed her clothes. "And don't even think about using it before me."
"I was thinking," Zain said slowly, smirking, "it'd be better if we went together."
"Impossible," Lara muttered, walking past him.
She finished her shower quickly and returned wrapped in a bathrobe. Zain showered just as fast. As he was about to lie down, there was a knock at the door.
Zain reacted instantly. He pulled Lara's bed closer to his and drew her straight into his arms.
"Yes?" he called calmly, just as the old man stepped in, apologizing for forgetting to give them extra pillows. He handed them to Zain.
"Thank you," Zain said.
Lara forced a small, reluctant smile as the door closed.
She tried to pull away—but couldn't.
His skin was still warm from the bath, faint droplets tracing down his jaw, catching the light as they slipped past the silver chain at his collarbone. Her pulse skipped.
Zain's arm stayed firm around her waist, holding her just close enough for her to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. She shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing his. His damp hair fell forward, grazing her temple as he leaned in.
His voice dropped, teasing, close enough to stir the air between them.
"You always fight this hard," he murmured, "or only when I'm this close?"