Isla’s POV
The air between us doesn’t cool after the teasing. It thickens.
Zayne leans back against the counter like he’s pretending this is casual, like my mouth didn’t just rewrite his entire nervous system with a few well-placed words and a smile I know he hates loving.
“You enjoy pushing limits,” he says quietly.
I tilt my head. “You enjoy pretending you don’t like it.”
His jaw flexes. That muscle I know too well tightens, the one that means he’s thinking about restraint the way a starving man thinks about food.
“I missed your trouble,” he admits.
It lands heavier than anything filthy he could’ve said.
I step closer anyway.
“Careful,” I murmur. “That sounds like an invitation.”
His eyes flick to my mouth. Then lower. Then away again, like he’s already losing ground and knows
