Then stops completely.
His gaze lands on me and stays there.
For one strange second, neither of us moves.
The black T-shirt stretches across his chest while the one he gave me hangs against my bare thighs, and I become intensely aware that I am wearing nothing underneath it except underwear.
Zain’s eyes drop.
Only for a moment.
My legs.
The hem of his shirt.
Back to my face.
His jaw tightens.
Heat spreads through me so quickly I almost look behind myself to make sure the house has not followed me here.
“The pants were too big,” I say.
His voice comes out rougher than before. “I can see that.”
My pulse trips.
I tug uselessly at the hem. “They fell down.”
Something changes in his expression.
I should stop talking.
“They did not even pretend to stay up.”
Definitely stop talking.
Zain turns his head and drags one hand over his mouth.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you laughing at me again?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You keep saying that while visibly developing a sense of humor.”
His gaze returns to me.
Whatever amusement was there disappears.
The way he looks at me now makes every nerve beneath my skin wake up.
I forget the joke.
He does not move closer, but suddenly the few feet between us feel very small.
