Chapter 2: Too Close to the Fire
Isla couldn't explain why her hands were still shaking.
She stood inside her small apartment, rain still dripping from her hair, heart still pounding as if she'd run all the way home. But she hadn't run.
She'd walked.
Slowly. Carefully.
As if part of her hoped he would follow.
She tossed her bag onto the couch and leaned back against the door, closing her eyes.
Rafe Moreno.
The way he'd said her name.The way his eyes had darkened when she met his gaze.The way the space between them had felt… charged.
Get a grip, Isla, she scolded herself.
She pushed away from the door and headed for the bathroom—then froze when her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number:Did you get home safe?
Her breath caught.
She hadn't given him her number.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Isla:Who is this?
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown Number:The man you ran into. The one you told to stay away.
A slow heat spread through her chest.
Isla:You're very confident for a stranger.
Rafe:You didn't feel like a stranger.
She swallowed.
Isla:That doesn't explain how you got my number.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then—
Rafe:You dropped a card from your wallet. It had your name and number. I'm returning what's yours.
Before she could respond, there was a soft knock at her door.
Her head snapped up.
No.That was impossible.He couldn't already be—
Another knock. Firmer this time.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she crept toward the door and looked through the peephole.
Rafe stood in the hallway.
Hair still damp. Jacket darkened by rain. One hand in his pocket. The other holding her card.
He looked up.
Straight at the door.
As if he knew she was there.
Isla's fingers trembled as she unlocked it.
The door opened slowly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The hallway light framed him in shadows and gold, his presence filling the small space between them. The air felt different. Thicker. Warmer.
"You shouldn't open doors for strangers," he said quietly.
"You shouldn't come to them," she replied, lifting her chin.
His gaze dropped—to her lips. Then back to her eyes.
"And yet," he murmured, holding out the card, "here we are."
She reached for it.
Their fingers brushed.
This time, he didn't pull away.
The contact lingered—skin to skin—sending a spark straight through her.
"Invite me in," Rafe said softly.
It wasn't a command.
It was a temptation.
Isla hesitated. Every sensible instinct warned her to close the door.
Instead, she stepped back.
Rafe entered.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
The sound echoed far louder than it should have.
Up close, he smelled faintly of rain and something darker, warmer. His presence filled her small living room, his eyes slowly taking her in as if committing her to memory.
"You move fast," she said, trying to sound steady.
"I don't," he replied. "I just don't pretend when I want something."
Her heart skipped. "And what do you want?"
Rafe took one slow step closer.
"Right now?" he said.
"Yes."
"To know why my instincts are telling me you're in trouble."
The words sent a chill through her warmth.
"What kind of trouble?" she asked.
Before he could answer, a sharp buzz cut through the air.
His phone.
Rafe stiffened.
He glanced at the screen.
Whatever he saw wiped the teasing softness from his face.
His jaw tightened.
"Rafe?" Isla whispered.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes to hers.
"You need to pack a bag," he said.
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"We have to leave," he continued. "Now."
"Why?"
He stepped closer, his voice low and urgent.
"Because someone just found you."
Her breath caught. "Found me… how?"
There was a loud sound in the hallway.
Footsteps.
Stopping.
Right outside her door.
Rafe's hand lifted—silent, warning.
Isla stared at him, fear and heat twisting together in her chest.
"Isla," he murmured, eyes locked on hers, "whatever happens next… stay behind me."
Then—
The doorknob began to turn.