Page 55 of Surfer's Paradise

“Yeah,” she seethed. “You swoop in, like this… this fucking knight in shining armor and just decide things for people. For me. Like I’m some kind of goddamn charity case—”

“That’s not what this is,” Isaac bit out.

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, eyes blazing. “You think I don’t know how people see me? How you see me?”

Isaac stilled.

“Poor, sad Rosie Quentin,” she continued, voice sharp, cutting. “The girl from the shit end of Signal Hill. The one who had nothing. The one who had no one. The one Isaac Rayleigh had to take care of because who else would?”

Isaac’s jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

“Just admit it,” she hissed. “Admit that I’ve never been anything but a fucking pity project to you.”

Isaac’s face darkened. “That’s not what you are to me, Rosie.”

“Then what the fuck am I?”

His silence was damning.

Her throat burned.

This was why.

This was why she had written him off.

Because she had heard him.

A year ago.

She’d heard Shay and Chris teasing him outside a bar, asking if he’d ever fucked her.

And she’d heard Isaac’s disgusted fucking response.

No. Fucking never. Ever.

Like the idea was unthinkable. Like it was gross. Like she was gross.

Not one of his sexy, leggy models. Not some glamorous beach babe.

Just Rosie.

A pity case.

And now he wanted her in his house?

No fucking way.

Rosie took a slow, measured breath.

Her voice was calm, but dangerous.

“You don’t get to do this, Isaac.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Do what?”

“Make me feel small and then play the hero.”

Isaac’s face shifted.

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