Morning light broke through the thin curtains in streaks of gold. Isla shifted, heat radiating against her back.
Damien’s arm lay across her waist, his fingers curled protectively against her hip. His breath was soft and steady, tickling the nape of her neck.
He was still asleep.
It was a sight seldom seen, Damien Cross at rest. No tension in his shoulders, no hard lines in his features. Just him, without the weight he so often bore.
Isla let out an exasperated sigh, gazing at the ceiling.
Last night had felt different.
Not the way they moved together… because God, that fire had always burned between them, but the way he held her after, hands mapping her skin the way a new lover might, as if she might disappear.
Like he had needed her more than he’d ever admit.
She turned slightly,
