“Rooftop. I had them set something up.”
“DaVinci—”
He stopped on the stairs and turned to face me. He looked down at me, “You afraid of heights, baby?”
“No, of course not.”
“Ok, can you trust me?”
I looked at him. “Yeah,” I said. “I can.”
“Then come with me.” He tugged my hand gently. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
We climbed the rest of the stairs, and when he pushed open the door to the rooftop, I forgot how to breathe.
The second she’d stepped out of that car in that dress, I knew tonight was going to test every bit of self-control I had. Hot pink shouldn’t have looked that good on anybody. But with her brown skin glowing and those legs on display, I’d almost forgotten how to be a gentleman. Color looked so good on her.
Now, leading her up to the rooftop, my hand covered hers, I was extremely aware of every inch of space between us. Her perfume hit me first, sharp enough to wake me up. Her heels on the stairs reminded me I was walking with a lady, a fine one, who’d laughed at my jokes and sang while we ate. The night was already perfect. The rooftop was just about to finish the job.
The second her heels hit the last step, I opened the rooftop door and let her walk straight into the view I’d had in my head since the night I met her.
Her sharp inhale was my payoff.
“Wow, how beautiful.”
Heated clear pods lined with thick cream blankets and velvet pillows. A low fire pit was crackling between them. Roses everywhere — deep purple, soft pink, a few white ones tucked in as accents, petals pressed beneath theglass table in the center of the pod. Soft warm light illuminated the space. The city skyline was beautiful from here.
She entered the pod slowly and carefully, not wanting to disturb anything. I watched her absorb every detail, every petal, and every flicker of candlelight that touched her skin. It was warm and intimate. I’d had them set up a small table with the lava cake, strawberries, and fresh champagne and strawberry water.
“DaVinci,” she murmured. “You really did all this?”
“For you,” I said.
She sat on the cushioned bench, smoothing her dress under her thighs. I joined her, close but careful not to crowd her. I was letting her settle in before I did too much. It was hard not to massage her thigh or kiss the sexy titties playing peek a boo in her dress. My hands were itching to touch something.
“I love it. This is grown and sexy,” she said, lifting her glass and looking around as if she’d just stepped into a whole new life. “It feels straight out of a movie, something you don’t expect to see in real life.”
“Real life tonight,” I said. “I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted you to remember it. Nah, fuck that, I want to impress you.”
She nodded, eyes sweeping over the roses again, her expression shifting softer without her forcing it.
Isaiah Falls’Brown Sugahfloating through the speakers.
Here I come / A hundred miles and running to your love
“I love this song.”
“I know you used it in one of your stories. You’ve been putting me on. The bagel goes stupid. I’m lowkey obsessed. And your music taste is phenomenal.”
She turned to look at me, and the smile on her face set my body on fire. “I don’t think I’m ever going to forget this night or meeting you. And I’m impressed as hell.”
“Good.” I poured us both some champagne and handed her a glass. “To us.”
“To us,” she echoed, clinking her glass against mine.
We drank, and I watched her look out at the city, her profile illuminated by the lights below. She was so damn beautiful it actually felt like a crime not to stare. I could look at her all day and never get tired.
“What?” she asked, catching me staring.
