Page 75 of The Spark

I reached for my contacts, did my eyes in a soft smoky bronze, and slicked my lips in a glossy nude that made them look wet and kissable. My braids were pinned up, a few left loose around my face—soft, elegant, effortless.

When I stepped out, he froze.

His eyes dragged from my heels to my face like he was drinking me in. His bottom lip parted just slightly before he swiped his tongue across it, jaw tightening like he was in pain. The good kind.

“Damn…” he breathed.

And fuck, he lookeddangerous.

Gone was the black button-up.

In its place?

A deep charcoal-gray Willy Chavarria short-sleeved button-down—boxy and structured in a way only a designer could pull off. Open at the collar. Loose enough to flex when he moved. His slacks were The Row, tailored clean with a barely-there pleat, sitting just right over black leather loafers—custom Julius Erving Atelier—the kind you couldn't find on shelves. And that Le Labo Vetiver 46 haunted me where I stood.

He stepped toward me like he couldn’t help it.

“Come here, baby.”

I did.

His hands found my hips, gripped tight.

His mouth brushed my temple. “You ready?”

I wasn’t even sure what I was agreeing to.

But he’d asked me to say yes—tous. To everything.

And tonight, I meant it with my whole chest.

“Yes, baby,” I whispered. “I’m ready.”

The car ride was quiet,charged, both of us knowing that whatever was coming next wasn’t just another night out.

When we pulled up to the same rooftop restaurant we had visited before, my heart stuttered. But this wasn’t like last time.

No other patrons were on the rooftop.

Only twinkling lights overhead, a perfectly set table, a soft, warm breeze, and music?—

A familiar melody.

I gasped.

It was his beat.

The one I had heard him working on before, except now it was complete, and Taraj and Sienna were singing over it.

And then I heard the lyrics.

"We were always more than a moment,

More than time slipping through hands.

We were fate, we were written,

We were love before we knew where to land."

---