Page 64 of Heat Island
Heat coils low in my stomach at her words. “Then I won’t say no.”
“Promise?” She leans forward, her scent enveloping me again.
“I promise.” I press a chaste kiss to her forehead, then stand before my resolve crumbles entirely. “Get some sleep, Trinity.”
As I turn to leave, her voice stops me at the door.
“Matheo?”
I look back to find her curled on her side, watching me with those impossible eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I nod once, then close the door behind me, wondering how I’ll survive the night knowing she’s beside me and come morning, she might still want me.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
TWENTY-ONE
TRINITY
I wake with a start,squinting against the sunlight streaming through the windows we forgot to close last night. My head throbs with only a mild hangover—better than I expected after all the whiskey and champagne I drank on the boat.
Something warm and solid presses against my right side. Turning my head, I find Matheo’s sleeping face inches from mine, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, breathing deep and even.
The memory of drunkenly throwing myself at him floods back, immediately triggering a flood of embarrassment that would make me want to hide under the bed if he were awake to see it.
Looking at Matheo also makes me wish that I’d tried a little harder to overcome his objections last night.
When I shift on the bed, I realize there’s another body behind me. Kyren lies on his side with his back to me, maintaining a careful distance even in sleep.
Lucas and Cash are missing. Since there are no sounds of movement coming from the attached bathroom and thebedroom door is slightly ajar, I assume that means they’ve left the villa.
I return my gaze to Matheo, whose messy hair and full lips relaxed in sleep take the hard edge off of his typically very alpha persona.
My first instinct is to slip away before either of them wakes up—to retreat to the safety of the couch and pretend this never happened. To rebuild the professional walls I so thoroughly demolished last night.
But as I start to carefully extract myself, a sudden thought stops me: Why am I running?
I’ve spent years holding myself back, constructing careful boundaries, afraid of rejection. Look where that’s gotten me—alone, watching my exes marry my sister, hiring men to pretend they want me to be with me.
Maybe I’m tired of playing it safe. Maybe I want to be bold for once.
Without using bourbon-based cocktails as an excuse to do it.
Our contract confirms what Lucas already told me—they’re available for whatever I need. And what I need right now is to stop overthinking everything.
I turn toward Matheo, studying his face in repose. Without his intense gaze, he looks younger, more vulnerable. The firm line of his jaw, relaxed in sleep. The slight curve of his lips, hinting at pleasant dreams.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean forward and press my lips against his.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, still caught in sleep’s embrace. Then I feel him stir, his body tensing slightly before relaxing as consciousness returns. His lips move against mine, soft and unhurried.
When I pull back, his eyes are open—dark and liquidwith residual sleep, but quickly focusing on me with that characteristic intensity.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice deliciously rough.
“Morning,” I whisper, suddenly shy despite last night’s intimacy.
