Page 85 of Surfer's Paradise

His eyes were locked on one thing.

Rosie.

Sitting at the cocktail bar.

Flushed. Laughing. Flipping long strands of her dark ponytail back over her white blouse. Looking like she had no goddamn idea what she’d done to him these past few days.

Chris and Shay beelined for the table, loud, boisterous, calling her name like she was their favorite person.

And she lit up for them.

“Boys!” Rosie sang, throwing her arms around Chris, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Mm I missed you!”

Chris grinned like a fucking idiot, hugging her tight.

Shay got the same treatment—a big hug, a showy air kiss on both cheeks.

She was putting on a show, and she was doing it to make a fucking point.

Isaac stood back, watching, glowering, gripping the edge of the bar like it might stop him from snatching her away from all of this.

And then, in her drunken dramatics, she miscalculated—**shifted too fast, too loose—**and her chair tipped.

She started to fall.

And he was there before he could think.

Catching her. Holding her.

His arms locked around her waist, pulling her against his chest, grounding her, steadying her.

And for one brief second, she stilled.

Her hands fisted in his shirt.

Her breath caught.

Isaac gritted his teeth, holding her tight.

Then she shoved him off.

“Don’t.”

His stomach fucking dropped.

And suddenly, he wasn’t drunk anymore.

He was too aware, too sober, too pissed.

Chris, meanwhile, was wildly entertained.

“Ohhhh,” he muttered, sitting back, grinning at the thick, crackling tension. “This is good.”

Isaac cut him a glare, ignoring him.

But then, his attention flicked to the woman across the table—

The gallery manager.

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