She shivers and her eyes flutter closed.
"Cold?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
"No."
"Then what?"
"You. Touching me. It's—" She stops and opens her eyes. "Don't stop."
Christ.
My hand keeps moving up her side, to her shoulder, her neck, and I can feel her pulse under my fingers racing and frantic.
Same as mine.
I lean in just slightly, close enough that I can feel her breath on my face, close enough to see the exact moment her pupils dilate.
"Do you know what you're asking for?"
"Yes."
"I don't think you do."
"Then show me."
The words break something in me, some last thread of control I've been holding onto for four years.
I lean in closer until our lips are almost touching, so close I can taste the space between us, so close that one more inch would change everything.
Her breath hitches and her hand curls into my shirt, fisting the fabric like she's afraid I'll pull away.
One more inch. That's all it would take. One more inch and I could find out if she tastes as good as I've imagined, if her mouth is as soft as it looks, if kissing her would ruin me the way I think it will.
One more inch.
"Where are you two?"
Rafael's voice cuts through the darkness, loud and completely unexpected, coming from downstairs.
We both freeze.
"Been calling for five minutes. I'm outside, let me in."
I step back fast and the loss of her warmth feels like a physical ache, like something vital being ripped away.
Isabella's eyes are wide and her chest is heaving and she looks as wrecked as I feel.
"Rafe's here."
My voice comes out rough. "I heard."
"You should get dressed."
"Right."
She reaches out and takes the phone from my hand, turns on the flashlight, and the sudden brightness makes us both squint.
"I'll be down in a minute."
