The air clung thick between them, the rising steam from the hot spring curling around their bodies like a curious serpent. Isabella stood frozen as Kian took one more deliberate step forward—his tall, toned frame casting a shadow over her flushed skin.
Too close.
Too much.
Too hot.
And it was definitely not because of the water.
His white hair glowed faintly beneath the silver moonlight, glistening at the ends with mist. Those sharp cheekbones, the hollow of his throat, the muscles along his arms and chest—he looked carved from a god's fever dream. A walking temptation. A deadly one.
Isabella's throat dried instantly. She felt every nerve spark to life, like they were suddenly in a competition to feel everything. Her eyes dipped—just for a second—down to his bare chest, the ridges of his abs catching droplets that slid lower, disappearing beneath the band of his furred waist cloth.
Oh dear. She was looking again.
