Page 8 of Surfer's Paradise

He leaned in a fraction more, voice dipping. “What’s going on?”

Nothing.

No answer.

Just a flicker of something behind her eyes.

Isaac’s smirk flattened.

He reached out, not quite touching, just lifting his fingers like he was about to tilt her chin up—and she flinched.

Barely. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement.

But he saw it.

And for the first time tonight, something cold slid down his spine.

Rosie never flinched from him.

His stomach tightened.

“Rosie,” he said again, quieter now.

Still nothing.

A heartbeat.

Two.

Then, finally—

“I have to go.”

Her voice was too even, too controlled. She slipped out from under him before he could even register it.

Or tried to.

Isaac reacted without thinking, without stopping, without questioning the fire burning in his gut as Rosie twisted past him, her body moving fast, her heels clicking sharp against the pavement.

Not this time.

His hand shot out, catching her wrist, yanking her back before she could disappear again.

Rosie gasped, stumbling, eyes flashing wide behind her glasses.

But Isaac was already moving, spinning her, backing her into the wall—

Pinning her there.

His hands caged her in, his body close enough to trap her, to press the heat between them until there was nowhere else for her to go.

Her chest rose and fell too fast.

So did his.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Isaac said, his voice low, rough, slurred at the edges with whiskey and something deeper, something raw.

She swallowed hard, her throat working around the words she wouldn’t say.

---