“You haven’t told him?”
She shook her head again.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of how he’ll look at me after he knows the truth.”
I allowed her confession to register while holding her gaze.
“And what truth is that?” I questioned once it did.
Silence.
“Isla,” I stressed, down to my last bit of patience when I didn’t have any to begin with. “I need you to trust me.”
Before I could consider the consequences, the future, the fire I’d spark and blow up with one match, I pulled her lips to mine, and she sucked in a breath when I softly pecked her mouth for a second.
“Kraven, what are you doing?” she murmured against my lips.
I swallowed hard.
What am I doing, and why can’t I stop it?
I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. That was how in tune we were. I couldn’t get enough of her, and all we were doing was touching each other’s lips.
We weren’t kissing.
Just caressing.
Exploring.
Searching for something in each other that had always been and would always be there, whether we wanted it to or not.
No matter what.
“You taste like trouble,” I rasped, brushing my lips over hers.
“What are we doing?” she coaxed, placing her hand against my chest.
Not pushing me away.
Not pulling me closer either.
“I thought we were just two old friends catching up.”
“I don’t think old friends do what we’re doing.”
Following the movement of her tongue, I asked, “And what is that exactly?”
“Playing with fire.”
“This isn’t playing with fire,” I warned. “This is.”
With that, I backed her into the wall and wrapped her legs around my waist. Next, I caged her in with my arms on the sides of her head. Having her like this was sensory overload for me.