Isla’s POV
Soran didn’t step back from the door.
I was pinned—back flush to the wood, heart slamming so hard I could taste it in my throat. The tray of tea and biscuits sat forgotten on the table behind him, steam still curling from the cup like it had no idea the world had just tilted. The fire in the grate popped once, low and careless, but the only heat that mattered was coming from him—skin still damp from the shower, radiating against my soaked dress like a furnace.
He leaned in.
His mouth brushed the shell of my ear.
“Leaving so early?” he whispered.
The words weren’t loud. They were warm breath and low vibration, sliding down my spine like liquid fire. I shivered—couldn’t stop it. My whole body betrayed me before my brain could catch up—n*****s tightening under the thin fabric
