Page 26 of Surfer's Paradise

Rosie?

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

And then—

Her eyes snapped to his. Sharp, challenging.

“What?” she bit out, arms crossing over her chest.

Isaac blinked, shook himself.

“Nothing,” he muttered, yanking the truck door open. “Get in.” Because if he kept looking at her like that, he was going to have a real fucking problem.

“No.”

“Rosie.” He stepped forward, voice edged now. “I don’t care how angry you are at me. I’m not letting you stay somewhere unsafe.”

“It’s not unsafe.”

“It’s a fucking hostel.”

“I’ve stayed in worse.”

He hated that.

He hated that so much.

“Not tonight, you’re not,” he said firmly.

She squared her shoulders. “You can’t make me.”

Isaac sighed.

Then he grabbed her waist and lifted her off the ground.

Rosie yelped, hands smacking his chest as he hauled her up into the truck’s passenger seat like she weighed nothing.

“Isaac—!”

He ignored her, buckling her in, fingers brushing against her stomach, the strap cinching tight between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too much.

The same heat from last night punched through him, unexpected and unwanted.

Her breath hitched.

So did his.

Isaac ripped himself away, slamming the door shut before she could argue, glare, or worse—look at him like she actually trusted him again.

He strode around the truck, climbed in, and gripped the wheel too hard.

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