Sparks of Passion
948 Words
Two weeks passed like a beautiful dream.
Every morning, John arrived with coffee. Every day, they worked side by side on the restaurant, and every night, I fell asleep thinking about his storm-cloud eyes and his rare, devastating smile.
The roof was fixed now. The walls were patched. George had started on the kitchen, and I spent hours planning the menu I would serve when the restaurant finally opened.
I was happy. Actually, truly happy. For the first time since I could remember.
"You're humming," George pointed out one morning.
I stopped painting the window frame. "Was I?"
"Yep. Same song all week. Something about sunshine and blue skies." George wiggled his eyebrows. "Wonder what's got you in such a good mood."
I threw a paintbrush at him, and George dodged with a laugh.
The door opened and John walked in with their usual coffee. His eyes found me immediately, and that almost-smile crossed his face.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," I replied, and my voice came out breathless.
George made a gagging noise. "You two are ridiculous. I'm going to check on the plumbing upstairs. Try not to be too disgusting while I'm gone."
He disappeared up the stairs, leaving myself and John alone.
John handed me a coffee cup. Our fingers touched, and neither of us pulled away.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"Badly," I admitted. "I kept thinking about the menu, and other things."
"What other things?"
I looked up at him through my lashes. "You know what things."
John's eyes darkened. He set down his coffee and stepped closer, so close that I had to tilt my head back to see his face.
"I think about you too," he said, his voice low and rough. "All the time. When I'm working, when I'm trying to sleep, you're in my head, July Wilson. I can't get you out."
My heart raced. "Maybe you should stop trying."
John made a sound low in his throat. His hand came up to cup my face, tilting it toward him.
"I should stay away from you," he murmured. "I have too many secrets. Too much baggage. You deserve someone simple. Someone clean."
"I don't want simple," I whispered. "I don't want clean. I want you."
John's eyes searched my face. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because he lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine.
The kiss was soft at first. Gentle. Like he was afraid I might break, but I didn't want gentle. I had spent five years being handled like fragile glass. I wanted to feel alive.
I grabbed the front of John's shirt and pulled him closer.
John groaned against my mouth. His hands slid to my waist, then my hips, then the small of my back. He lifted me easily, setting me on the counter so we were closer to the same height.
"July," he breathed against my lips. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't stop," I gasped. "Don't you dare stop."
John's kisses grew deeper, hungrier. His mouth traveled from my lips to my jaw to my neck, leaving fire everywhere it touched. My head fell back, and a soft moan escaped my throat.
I had never felt like this. Never. Peter's kisses had always been cold and mechanical, like checking something off a list. But John kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
"You're so beautiful," John murmured against my skin. "So strong. So brave. I could kiss you forever."
I pulled back just enough to look at his face. His gray eyes were dark with want. His breath came fast. He looked absolutely wrecked.
Because of me. I did that to him.
"I've never done this before," I admitted. "The... other stuff. Peter and I were supposed to wait until marriage. But I don't think he was actually waiting."
Something fierce crossed John's face. "He was a fool."
"I know that now."
I traced my finger along John's jaw, feeling the stubble scratch my skin. "I'm not asking you to wait. I'm just telling you. I've never... I'm still..."
"A virgin," John finished gently.
I nodded, my face hot.
John pressed his forehead to mine. "Thank you for telling me. We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. There's no rush, July. We have all the time in the world."
Tears pricked my eyes. No rush. When had anyone ever given me time?
"What if I don't want to go slow?" I whispered.
"Then we won't go slow, but not here. Not on a counter in a dusty restaurant. When we do this, it's going to be right. You deserve right."
I kissed him again, pouring all my gratitude and want and fear into it. John kissed me back just as desperately.
We stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, stealing kisses and whispered words. I had never felt so seen, so cherished, so terrified. I was falling in love with John Karma and I didn't know anything about his past, his secrets, or the darkness I sometimes saw in his eyes.
A loud knock on the door made us jump apart.
George came thundering down the stairs. "Don't answer it! I think I know who—"
But I had already opened the door.
And my whole beautiful dream came crashing down.
Peter Songs stood on the steps, his slicked-back hair perfect, his designer suit crisp. Beside him stood a man in a gray suit, carrying a briefcase.
"Hello, July," Peter said with that smile I used to love. That smile I now knew was poison. "Miss me?"
My blood went cold. "What are you doing here?"
- Writer
