ISLA’S POV.

By the time we stepped out of the private room, Remy’s hand was firmly on my waist, his grip possessive yet steady, guiding me through the quiet hallway. The restaurant was eerily empty, no waiters, no staff, not even the faintest murmur of other guests.

His hand slid lower, brushing over my ass, and he leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Watch your step, pretty,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing.

A shiver ran down my spine at the feel of his touch. ...