*Isabella's POV*
The next morning, I went downstairs, the events of the previous night still swirling in my head like a pleasant, dizzying dream. Jacob's permission... it felt like a weight had been lifted, a clean slate. And then I waked into the kitchen and saw him.
Damien. Standing at the stove, his back to me, cooking. Shirtless. The morning light streamed through the large windows, highlighting the defined muscles of his back, bare in all the places Jacob's was covered in tattoos.
"Morning, Isabella," he greeted, not even turning around. How the f**k did he do that?
"Morning, Damien," I returned, my voice a little shaky.
He suddenly turned, a spatula in his hand, and walked towards me, closing the distance between us in a few long, deliberate strides. He didn't say a word. He ju
