Zayne’s POV
I didn’t sleep much. Not because of pain—though my arm throbbed dully every time I shifted—but because Isla was beside me, warm, real and breathing like she belonged there. And she did.
Which scared the hell out of me.
She’d been the one to ask this time. After refusing me. After drawing the line. No sarcasm. No retreat—only that slight lift of her mouth, like she’d crossed back over and chose not to undo it.
The day blurred into night with touches that lingered too long to be accidental. Her laughter muffled against my chest. The way she fit herself against me like she’d always known where to go—and the way I let her, despite every instinct screaming that I shouldn’t.
I’d been careful with my arm. Careful with everything else.
Not careful with my heart.
Morning crept i
