ISABELLE.
“Maybe I like dangerous games,” I whispered.
For a moment, we just looked at each other — his hand still at my jaw, my heart loud in my ears, the air between us carrying that particular charge that had no clean name.
Then Matteo kissed me.
Not the way he had in the car. Not the desperate, hungry kind, or the claiming, possessive kind that came during everything else. This was different.
Slower. Deeper. Deliberate in a way that made my chest ache.
His hand moved from my jaw to cup the back of my head, fingers curling into my hair. His other hand found my waist and pulled me closer, until there was nothing left between us.
I melted. My hands found his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath my palm — every bit as fast as mine.
This wasn’t only physical. This was him saying some
