The morning after greeted them with an unusual calm, though an undercurrent of anxiety threaded its way right through Isabella. She lay in bed, her mind wandering back to the moment that she and Leon had shared the night before: the way their hands had intertwined in silent understanding, the kiss they had shared that was so intimate and deep as it was going further, but Leon had been able to rein himself in time.
Something had become different now between them; something neither of them could look the other way from. But the more real the connection between them felt, the more serious the danger churning around them became, and balancing both got harder by the minute.
The sound of Leon's voice from the kitchen yanked her from her thoughts. "Coffee's ready," he called out, sounding light, a lot lighter than his usual manner.
