Chapter 5 First sparks

Julian's fingers splayed at her hips like he was learning a foreign language-one made of warmth, tension, and wonder. Isla didn't move. She let him touch her. Really touch her.

It wasn't about seduction.

It was reverence.

His voice cracked. "You're real."

"So are you."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

She smiled, soft and slow, and slid her hands up the front of his chest, feeling every controlled breath, every hard ridge of muscle beneath the crisp linen. He trembled.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I should say no," he whispered. "But with you like this..."

His eyes dropped to her lips.

"...I'm finally not afraid."

She didn't kiss him.

Not yet.

Instead, she rested her forehead against his and just breathed with him. One second. Then another. And another.

Julian's hands traveled upward, slow and reverent, as if every inch of her body might shatter under pressure. But she didn't. She leaned into it. Into him.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted.

"Good." She smirked. "I'm tired of men who think they do."

He laughed-raw, shaken, beautiful.

Then he kissed her.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished or practiced or dominant.

But it was real.

His lips brushed hers with a kind of gentle hunger, like he'd waited his whole life and didn't want to ruin it by rushing. Isla melted into it, her fingers threading through his hair as he deepened the kiss, cautious but craving.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," she whispered, "but you taste like someone who's been waiting."

"I have."

He looked down at her, eyes burning, voice low.

"For you."

A beat passed.

Then Julian cleared his throat and stepped back.

"I'm not ready for everything. Not yet."

"That's okay," she said, even though her skin was burning, her body practically screaming for more. "We go slow."

"I've never even..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Touching, kissing-it still messes with my head sometimes. Some nights I want it. Other nights, I shut down. Completely."

"Trauma isn't linear," Isla said gently. "And neither is healing."

He looked at her like she was a revelation.

"And you're okay with this?"

"I'm not here to fix you, Julian. I'm here because I want you."

She reached out and took his hand.

"All of you. At your pace."

His breath shuddered. "God. You're going to ruin me."

She smiled. "That's the plan."

---

Later That Night

Isla curled up on the couch in one of his oversized sweaters-charcoal gray, cashmere, expensive in the way only the softest things could be. Julian sat beside her, reading an old book of poetry. Their legs touched. Just barely.

No pressure. No expectations.

But something was building between them. A slow burn. A fire patiently waiting its turn.

Julian closed the book and looked at her.

"What if you fall for me?" he asked.

She smirked. "What if I already have?"

He blinked.

"I'm not fragile, Julian. I'm not scared of this."

He studied her like she was a puzzle and a prayer.

Then he said something that made her stomach drop-in the best way.

"Then don't fall."

Her brows lifted.

"Because I'd rather catch you."