I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it, or how her eyes flutter shut for the briefest beat.
But I notice, and the quiet intimacy guts me, stripping every logical argument for leaving along with it.
Instead, my hand betrays me, rising, unbidden to find her cheek.
Her skin warms against my palm, the questioning search of her gaze uniquely captivating.
And just like that she has me. Entranced. Bound. Powerless. Without a single goddamn word.
I trace my thumb along her cheekbone, tainted hands against something achingly pure.
I don’t want to deny us. Shouldn’t have to turn my back on chemistry this thick and rich.
“Forgive me, Isla.” I drag my fingers along her jaw. Down her neck. “But if you don’t return to your cabin, I’ll be forced to do something to hurt you.”
Chapter
Twenty
ISLA
I struggle not to flinch,my pulse in overdrive, my skin alive from his touch.
“Why?” My voice is raw, my throat desert dry as I push to my knees.
He stiffens, as though proximity itself is a provocation, his internal conflict so visceral I can feel it in the air between us. “Because what we were progressing toward two years ago isn’t an option. And having you look at me with anything other than hatred tortures me with something I can’t have.”
My sternum aches like it’s splitting down the middle.
“Tell me you understand.” His other hand rises to my hair, his fingers tangling through the strands, making my scalp tingle. He touches me as if mesmerized, cataloging a treasure he’s already decided to discard.
“I do.” The words are a whisper of surrender to the inevitable heartbreak as he strokes my jaw in a slow, devastating line of adoration.
His thumb drags lower, grazing my chin, brushing my bottom lip. My heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs, my stomach a tight knot of anticipation.
“There’s no future for us, Isla.”
A low, helpless sound escapes me.
His nostrils flare. “This is exactly why you should stay away from me.” His thumb presses harder against the seam of my lips, daring me to open for him.
“Then stop touching me,” I plead.
He drags my lip lower, feeding the fire as his gaze rakes over my face like he’s a man at war with himself, every line of his body taut while his eyes scream with ruin. “I don’t know how.”
My chest heaves, the confession brutalizing.
His attention drops to my mouth, and the air stills.
The conflict in his features solidifies, growing darker, more absolute. A pure, undiluted hunger that matches the thrum burning through me.
“Fuck it.” He leans in, voice rough. “I’m under your control,la mia rovina. But tomorrow it stops. Tonight, I’m not strong enough.”
His lips claim mine.
It’s not the chaotic, anger-fueled collision from earlier. This kiss is slow devastation. Calculated carnage. It steals my breath, branding every inch of me with savage precision.
I moan, a willing victim to his mastery.
