Except for their rhythmic breathing, the safehouse was silent.
Isla was standing in the center of the room with almost the shock of all these events rising in her chest. Her hands were shaking, but Damien could see it… her defenses were lowering. Slowly, carefully, but they were coming down. And for the first time in weeks, he felt he could breathe again.
He went to her across the room and looked straight into her eyes. His fingers slid upward to rest against her cheek, the heat of her skin searing through him.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he murmured, his voice thin with emotion. But I can't go on pretending I'm not on fire for you, Isla.
Her lips parted, and he caught the hint of something… desire? Or maybe something more profound, something that united them in a way neither of them c
