ISABELLA’S POV
It haunted my mouth, tingled on my skin, lingered in the tight pull of my stomach every time I remembered the way he gripped my thigh like it was instinct. The way his lips felt—hungry, hot, like he meant it. Like he wanted more.
And now… we were alone.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It was charged.
My fingers curled into my palm, desperate not to reach for him. My throat felt dry, my pulse too loud.
All I could think about was that kiss.
The way it made me feel like maybe—just maybe—pretending was starting to feel a lot like wanting.
Jace stood by the window, hands in his pockets, looking like some kind of tragic poem in a tailored suit.
“So… brunch was cute. You thinking what I’m thinking? Round two?” He grinned, the mischief in his voice barely masked by a lazy chuc
