Page 152 of Surfer's Paradise

They stood there, in the quiet sunlit kitchen, her pressed between the window and his chest. And then—she could feel his breath before she felt his mouth. He dipped his head, slow, deliberate, his lips brushing hers like it was the first time all over again. And maybe it was. Maybe this time counted more. Meant more.

Because when he kissed her now, it wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was slow. Focused. A promise in motion.

Rosie’s fingers curled into his shirt on instinct, holding herself upright as her knees wavered.

He kissed her like she was the last steady thing in his world.

When he pulled back, just a breath between them, his voice was rough. “I want you, Rosie. That’s what I know.”

She blinked up at him, her heart thudding. “You want me now… really? After all these years. Why now.”

He closed his eyes like the words struck bone. Then opened them again, fiercer. “I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time. I just didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know I was allowed to.”

Rosie swallowed hard. Her body was already leaning into him, but her heart was screaming for distance. Protection. Her skin wanted him. Her soul didn’t believe him.

“I know,” he said. “I know. But you need to know… I’m not here for an easy fuck, or a fling, or… whatever the hell you think I’m doing. I’m here now. Tell me what you want and I’ll be it. I’ll try to be it.”

She shook her head slowly, afraid to let the softness in. “You said you don’t fall in love.”

His jaw flexed. His hands cupped her face again, holding her steady.

“I don’t. I haven’t,” he said. “But I’ll give you everything else.”

That undid her. Not because it was the perfect answer—but because it wasn’t. Because it was honest. Because he wasn’t pretending to be anything more than a man trying his hardest, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like someone was selling her a fantasy. He wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t perfect.

But maybe, just maybe, he was real.

Rosie’s voice cracked when she finally said it. “Don’t break my heart, Isaac.”

His thumbs brushed her cheeks, soft. “Then don’t run from me, Coco.”

And then he kissed her again. He kissed her like a man trying to rewrite the past.

Rosie didn’t want to give in. She didn’t want to forget everything she was trying to say, everything she needed to protect herself from. But the second Isaac’s mouth covered hers, she was lost.

Her back hit the bed ten feet away before she realized he’d even lifted her. He was strong—of course he was—and the way he handled her, the way he touched her, like she was something sacred and something forbidden all at once, undid her.

He hovered on top of her, pining her down on the bed. His lips found her jaw, her neck, the place just beneath her ear that made her body light up like a struck match.

“I don’t know how to say the right things,” he said against her throat, voice rough, low. “But I’m trying, Rosie. I’m trying.”

Her heart pounded as his hands slid under her shirt, slow, reverent. She let him pull it over her head, let his fingers trail down her sides like he was trying to memorize every inch. And then he pulled off her bra, her jeans, her panties. Until she was naked underneath him—perfect porcelain skin with soft breast and pink nipples.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing his lips along her collarbone.

“I know,” she whispered. “You do this to me.”

His thumb dragged gently over the underside of her breast, cupping it. He dipped his head down, licking her nipples. Sucking each, one at a time. She twisted underneath him, moaning and tangling her hands in his hair.

“How many nights?” he pressed. “How many nights were you lying somewhere, thinking about me?”

“Isaac—”

“Tell me,” he said, grinding into her, taking her breast in his mouth, massaging the other. “I want to know everything.”

She closed her eyes. “I used to dream about you.”

“What did I do in your dreams?”

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