Page 16 of Surfer's Paradise

A presence behind her.

Rosie went very, very still.

She already knew.

Before he even spoke.

“Having fun, Coco?”

His voice was low, rough, too close.

Rosie’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

Isaac.

Not gone.

Not lost.

Just waiting.

And for the first time tonight, she realized—

She was not nearly drunk enough for this.

* * * * *

Rosie stood very still.

Too still.

Because everything inside her was moving.

Every part of her was vibrating, burning, unraveling under the weight of Isaac Rayleigh standing too close, smelling like whiskey and soap and the kind of recklessness she’d spent a year trying to forget.

He was exactly what she wanted.

And the last thing she needed.

She hated him.

She hated how good he looked, even now—black baseball cap pulled low, sharp jawline dusted with stubble, that loose, careless stance like he belonged anywhere he planted himself.

And those arms.

Thick, tattooed, crossed over his chest like he knew he was pissing her off, like he was doing it on purpose.

But then—

Then he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

It hit her like a punch to the ribs.

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