Isla was kneeling in the center of the living room rug.

Naked.

Her head was bowed, her red hair falling around her shoulders. Her hands were rested on her thighs. Her back was straight, her breasts lifted, nipples tight in the cool air of the house. The soft red curls between her legs were on full display.

She looked up slowly, her green eyes meeting mine. There was no smirk now. No defiance. 

And my carefully constructed wall of logic and self-preservation crumbled to dust.

The air in ...