Zayne’s POV
I wake up to heat.
Isla is pressed against me, bare and warm, her body fitted to mine like she was made to be here. Her breathing is slow, deep. Completely out.
Her chest rises and falls softly, and every time she shifts—even just a fraction—her n****e brushes mine in a way that makes sleep impossible.
I don’t move, I just watch her.
Morning light filters in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning her skin golden. Her lashes rest against her cheeks, her mouth slightly parted like she’s dreaming of something good. There’s a crease between her brows that wasn’t there before she fell asleep—something leftover from the night, from fear, from adrenaline.
I reach out without thinking, thumb tracing that crease until it smooths out. She relaxes instantly. That does someth
