Billionaire Is Allergic To All Women But Fell For Runaway Bride Hiding In His Bathroom

“The heck are you?” No hands flew up to cover her eyes. “I’m so sorry.

I didn’t know anyone was The door was unlocked, and I just I needed somewhere to hide.

You’re in a wedding dress? Yes. In my hotel room? Yes. Hiding? Yes. A pause.

Heavy. Judgmental. Are you planning to keep your hands over your eyes forever, or are you going to actually explain yourself?

Novi peeked through her fingers. He had pulled on a robe, black silk, because of course it was, and was now regarding her with the expression of a man who had found a particularly confusing stain on his very expensive carpet.

Even in a bathrobe, he was magnificent. The silk clung to his damp shoulders, outlining the breadth of them.

His dreads dripped water onto the collar, and Novi found herself irrationally fixated on a single droplet that rolled down his neck and disappeared beneath the fabric.

Focus, Novi. You’re running for your life, not auditing attractive men. I’m running away from my wedding, she blurted, his eyebrow lifted.

Just one. It was annoyingly, unfairly attractive. I I gathered that much. And I burst into random rooms trying to find somewhere safe, and one room had a couple doing things, and another room had an old lady in a face mask who screamed like I was a thief.

And then I found your door unlocked. And you thought a stranger’s hotel room was safe?

Novi faltered. When he put it like that, it did sound insane. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

Evidently, his tone was flat, clinical, like he was observing a mildly interesting specimen rather than a desperate woman in a wedding dress.

What is wrong with this man? Novi thought. Most people would show some concern, some emotion, something, anything.

But his face was as blank as a marble statue. Beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful. But cold.

Bang. Bang. Bang. No’s heart stopped. Mr. Zach, open up. Zack. The man’s name was Zach.

Your uncle’s bride has escaped. A guard shouted through the door. We’re searching every room by his orders.

Uncle. The word hit Novi like a bucket of ice water. This man, this impossibly tall, impossibly gorgeous, impossibly cold man, was Desmond Brown’s nephew, and she had just trapped herself in his room.

The man, Zach, that’s what the guards had called him. Looked at the door, then at Novi, then back at the door.

Tears filled her eyes as she put her hands together to beg with trembling lips, “Please don’t expose me.

I don’t want this wedding. It’s not my choice. Please. His jaw tightened. Stay there, he ordered, his voice low.

Don’t move. Don’t speak. He walked toward the door and Novi pressed herself against the wall, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

Please, she whispered desperately. Please don’t turn me in. Please, please, please. Zach opened the door just enough to block the view inside.

From her angle, Novi could see the sharp line of his profile, the tension in his shoulders.

What? His voice could have frozen the Sahara. Mr. Brown, your uncle’s bride, has escaped.