Tristan's arms stayed around Isla, keeping her against him as if she would disappear into the night if he released her. His forehead still against hers, their breathing combined, their hearts pounding together.
"This can't last," he whispered, his voice charged with something she couldn't identify—fear, desire, regret?
"Then let's not worry about tomorrow." Isla tilted her head back, rubbing her lips against his once more, soft and flirtatious. "Let's have tonight."
Tristan exhaled a hard breath, as if she'd asked him to accomplish the impossible. But when she drew him into another kiss, he succumbed.
His lips touched hers with a painful, slow gentleness that warmed her through and through. His hands traced the lines of her sides, memorizing her shape, committing it to memory. When his fingers touched the exposed skin above the collarbone, a shiver ran down her spine, and she arched against him.
Tristan groaned against her lips, only to break the kiss to rest his head in the curve of her neck. "You have no idea what you do to me."
Isla smiled, her fingers tracing along the edge of his jaw. "Then show me."
He pulled back enough to look at her. His dark eyes scanned hers, hunger-filled, yet also restrained. "If I start, I might not be able to stop."
She leaned forward, extending her hand, interlacing their fingers. "Then don't."
A curse escaped his mouth, but whatever war he waged within himself, she had already won.
He drew her further into the darkness of the alleyway, out of sight from any wandering gaze. The city itself was still, save for the distant sounds of soldiers on patrol here and there. But here, in this stolen instant, nothing else mattered.
Tristan's hands cupped her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones as he kissed her again, more slowly—less wild, more respectful.
His lips traveled to her jaw, then below, kissing the column of her throat softly. Isla's breath caught, her fingers tightening their grip on the cloth of his tunic.
A low rumble of chuckle shook his chest. "Careful, princess," he whispered against her skin. "You may make me forget my name."
Isla let out a soft laugh, tilting her head back to give him better access. "Good. I don't want you to be the captain of the Royal Guard tonight."
"Then who do you want me to be?"
She smiled against his mouth. "Just Tristan."
His determination broke.
With a low growl, he drew her impossibly closer, his hands locked around her waist as he kissed her hard and deep. He pushed her back against the wall, his body trapping hers, but she had never felt so untrapped.
Their kisses grew hot, their breathing ragged. She had never desired anything more than this—more than him.
Then—
A piercing noise in the distance. Footsteps.
Tristan froze, his body reacting automatically. In an instant, he whirled around, holding Isla behind him as he went for the hilt of his sword.
A patrol.
The torch dance dimmed as a couple of guards walked by the alleyway. For a split second, Isla did not breathe, her heart thudding wildly inside her.
They didn't stop.
The moment the guards had disappeared from sight, Tristan breathed out, releasing his grip on his sword.
"See?" Isla teased, still panting. "No danger."
Tristan turned to her, his face conflicted between humor and exasperation. "You don't understand, Isla. You are the danger."
She cocked her head. "Oh?"
He took a step forward, holding her face in his roughened hands. "Because if anyone ever discovered about this—about us—I would happily burn the world to the ground to keep you safe."
Isla's heart tightened at the raw emotion in his voice.
"And that," he breathed, his lips tracing hers again, "is the most dangerous thing of all.