Blanche's POV
Zain caught the lid and pulled me into his arms. We hadn't held each other like this in ages.
That's when I felt how his chin settled against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. His scent wrapped around me—clean, masculine, intoxicating in a way that made my pulse quicken.
The moment I realized where I was, my body went rigid. My mind blanked completely. Heat radiated from his chest against my back, threatening to undo me completely.
We stayed frozen like that, neither speaking. The only sound was steam hissing from the pot lid.
Part of me wanted this moment to stretch forever. But I knew better. Zain and I—we'd never been anything close to happy.
Finally, I found my voice. "Zain."
He jolted back to reality, set the lid on the stove, and stepped away. His hands left my waist like I'd burned him.
"Use something to hold it next time. It's dangerous." His tone was flat, distant—the same cold indifference as always.
