Page 69 of When the Smoke Clears
“I do, too.”
I swallow hard. “Do you think it’s the same person who killed her?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But we’re going to find out.”
My throat tightens. “Did you…see her?”
He inhales deeply, ribs lifting under my cheek. “Yeah.”
“At the scene?”
“I was there.”
“Was she…” My voice breaks. The word bad won’t come out.
His thumb brushes my knuckles, loosening my desperate grip on his shirt.
“Her face was calm,” he murmurs. “Like she’d fallen asleep watching one of those old movies she loved.”
The image both devastates and steadies me. If someone stole her last breath, at least they didn’t steal her peace.
I collapse into him again, sobbing until my whole body aches.
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Hard edges and heat wrap around my softer ones, comforting in a way that stirs something deeper, older, needier.
He presses the lightest kiss to my temple. I turn my head toward him without thinking.
Moonlight spills in through the window, painting his face in soft silver. His gaze drops to my mouth—slow, deliberate, reverent.
His hand cups my cheek, calloused thumb stroking along my cheekbone, sending a shiver rippling down my spine.
He leans in. I meet him halfway.
The first brush of his lips is soft—testing, hesitant, like touching a wound to see if it still hurts.
It does.
It also heals.
His lips linger on mine, warm and unhurried. When I part them for him, the kiss deepens, still slow, still careful. A question instead of a demand.
His other arm curls around my waist, pulling me closer. My fingers slide into his hair, remembering the shape, relearning the texture.
We kiss like we’re rediscovering something we used to do without thinking—gentle, deliberate, almost reverent.
When I break away to breathe, he rests his forehead against mine, both of us trembling.
“Isla,” he whispers, and somehow my name in his voice breaks me open more than the kiss.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper back.
He closes his eyes like the words hit hard.
Desire hums between us, ready to pull us over the edge.
But he steadies it, steadying me, his hand warm and firm on my back.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs.
