He doesn’t answer.
“You’re protectinghim,” she presses.“Or at least the version of him you want to preserve.”
His jaw flexes.“You don’t get to rewrite a man’s life from scraps.”
“And you don’t get to edit it,” she shoots back.“You’ve been deciding what survives him.”
That lands.
Callum looks away, just long enough for her to know she’s right.
“He trusted me,” he says finally.
“To do what?”Isla demands.“Guard the truth?Or bury it?You didn’t even know about me."
His gaze snaps back to hers, raw and furious.“To protect what mattered.”
“So I didn’t matter.”The words are ripped from her throat.
Silence stretches, thick and volatile.
Callum steps closer, voice low.“You don’t understand the damage this could do.”
Isla doesn’t retreat.“To whom?My father or me?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I understand exactly what you’re afraid of.”
His breath ghosts her skin.“Do you?”
“Yes,” she says.“Losing control.”
Something shifts.
Callum’s hand lifts.
He doesn’t touch her, not yet, but it hovers near her waist, fingers flexing like they’re remembering something they shouldn’t.
The air goes thin.
Isla’s breath catches.She can feel the pull, undeniable and reckless, like standing at the edge of something with no railing.
She tilts her head, just slightly.
Callum swears under his breath.
For one suspended, dangerous second, he doesn’t stop himself.
His hand lands on her waist.
Heat explodes through her.
Isla gasps.
His thumb presses in, firm, possessive, like he’s forgotten every reason not to.She feels it everywhere, her spine, her knees, the sudden, dizzy awareness of how close his mouth is.
Too close.His full lips are beckoning her, and she wants to know how he tastes.
