Page 101 of Impulse Control
She glanced at me once, mid-sentence.
Just a flicker of a smile.
Then she was back to her work.
The promised hour passed faster than it should have.
When she finally slipped out to meet me, she looked relieved and exhausted at the same time. The kind of tired that comes from beingonfor too long.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s done.”
“For now,” I teased. “Based on what I saw, I’d give you an A.”
She snorted. “You don’t even know what I was presenting.”
“I know you looked confident doing it,” I said. “And that usually means you know exactly what you’re talking about.”
That earned me a look. The kind that saiddon’t flatter me, even as the corners of her mouth betrayed her.
“You took all those pictures, right?” I asked.
“I did.” Just for a second, her teeth scraped over her lower lip.
“They were beautiful.”
She actually stopped walking.
“You liked them?” she asked, quieter now.
“I did,” I said easily. “And I know I’m not your target audience, but I’m a very reliable sample size of one.”
That got a laugh.
“I liked how they felt,” I added. “They weren’t just pretty. They felt like you were actuallyseeingthe people in them.”
Something in her face softened at that. Not relief exactly—more like being understood without having to explain herself.
Then I smiled. “Plus, I definitely liked them.”
Her cheeks warmed again.
Rachel really wasn’t built for compliments. It was why I needed to shower her with them. She really was so damn talented.
We walked back toward the métro, the late afternoon light slanting between buildings, the city easing into evening.
“I was supposed to do another night shoot,” she said casually, like it hadn’t been bothering her. “But it got rescheduled.”
I glanced at her. “Meaning?”
She slowed half a step, then smiled. “Meaning I’m yours tonight.”
The temptation that lived in that sentence took me hostage.
“Dangerous thing to say,” I replied.
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “So what do you want to do?”
I considered it. A hundred options flickered through my mind—dinner, wine, a museum, staying in bed until we forgot what time was.
