Page 174 of The Wright Man

His eyes flared—heat, hunger, temptation.

His whole body tensed, breath hitching like I'd yanked a thread he'd been trying hard not to pull. His eyes locked on mine, flaring with heat, with longing... and something else.

Hesitation.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered there like he was memorizing it. Like he wanted to, but couldn't. Wouldn't.

"Angel..." His voice was tight, gravel-soft. "Are you sure?"

I heard everything he wasn't saying.

Are you sure you won't run this time?

Are you sure you're not gonna look at me like I ruined your life again?

The man who had carried my grief and kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded was now holding back. Because of me.

And I couldn't let him sit in that silence thinking I didn't choose him.

"I was going to end it," I said, needing him to understand. "After we kissed... I was going to tell Gavin I wanted a divorce."

His body stilled, eyes flicking to mine again, wide and watchful. Like he didn't want to believe me, not yet. Not until I said more.

"And I did," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "I told him I kissed you. That I wasn't sorry. That I was done with him."

Maleek didn't speak. Didn't move. But I could feel the shift in the air between us—like he was standing at the edge of something he didn't dare hope for.

"And yes, then his mistress and his son came out and shattered me," I added with a bitter huff, "But not before I told him what I wanted. Who I wanted."

I raised my hand, cupped his cheek. His breath left him all at once, his restraint cracking under the weight of the truth. His eyes searched mine, hungry and disbelieving, like he needed me to say it again. Needed to be sure.

His voice was a whisper against my palm. "And what do you want?"

I didn't hesitate. Not this time.

"You."

The way his fingers curled around mine, the way his breath hitched, the way his eyes locked onto mine like they were the only compass he'd ever trusted—

"Now kiss me, Maleek."

And he did.

He kissed me like the answer to a question he'd been afraid to ask. Not frantic this time. No urgency. No rush.

Just fire.

Controlled, deliberate fire.

His mouth moved over mine like he had all the time in the world. Like he was etching his name into my lips. Like he was telling me every unspoken word with his tongue.

He cradled my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks like I was something precious. I pulled him closer, threading my fingers through his hair, anchoring myself to him.

When I moaned, he did too—low and deep from his chest—and the sound curled through me like smoke.

He moved lower, lips trailing down the column of my throat, pausing to press reverent kisses beneath my jaw, then along the soft curve of my shoulder. His breath was warm against my skin. His praise was murmured directly into my soul.

"You're everything, Angel."