Page 23 of Impulse Control
Notthat. Not Dominic. Just like he’d meant not the model a week earlier. Blowing out a breath, I got a grip on my reactions. I’d survived these past two weeks by remembering that observation wasn’t just aboutwatchingpeople or places. Itwas about timing, restraint, and knowing when to act and when to step back.
Dominic tilted his head at me, eyebrow raised, question in his eyes. Playful, patient, daring me to give in, but hopefully aware of the line I’d drawn between us. A line I didn’t want to cross.Again.
How did he always know just how to get my pulse racing and my mind utterly hooked back on him all over again? Fuck, not just my mind. My body too.
I took a deep breath, and just for a heartbeat, I let myselfwatchhim—observe him, the way he moved, the easy confidence that had undone me once—and then I turned back toward the café window, letting the moment stretch without breaking it.
Mymentorwas a few steps away talking to a merchant from the shop across the street, his attention swept over me then Dominic. I didn’t doubt that he’d noticed my companion. When I raised my eyebrows, was René summoning me? The man merely shook his head once and resumed his own conversation.
But try as I might, Dominic had reminded me that some distractions weren’t meant to be ignored.
“Dinner,” Dominic said, like it was a foregone conclusion. Not a question. Not even a suggestion. Just a fact he was offering me the courtesy of hearing out loud.
I stared at him. The audacity of it almost made me laugh. “No,” I said, flat. “I’m working.”
He smiled wider, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve mentioned.”
“And I meanactuallyworking,” I added. “Not pretending. Not killing time. Working-working.”
He tilted his head, studying me the way he always did when he was deciding whether to push or pivot. “Okay,” he said easily. “Then I’ll just hang out with you.”
My jaw tightened. “No, you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m—” I gestured vaguely toward the street, the city, the invisible thread that tied me to René even when he wasn’t in my line of sight. “—observing.”
Dominic’s gaze flicked past me then, quick and precise. He followed the line of my attention without needing it explained. René Dubois was already halfway down the block, moving like a man who expected others to reorganize around him.
Recognition sparked instantly in Dominic’s eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Thatguy.”
I sighed. “Of course you recognize him.”
Dominic shrugged. “Hard not to. He yells in three languages and looks like he’s perpetually disappointed in the state of humanity.” A beat. “He works for Paris Daily.”
“Yes.” Irritation seasoned with a hint of wonder unfolded within me.
“And he’s terrifying.”
Sadly, I couldn’t disagree with any of his assessments. “Also, yes.”
Canting his head, Dominic swept those hot chocolate eyes over me. “He’s currently teaching you how to…what, exactly?”
I folded my arms, bracing myself for a fight. “Observe.” Despite all of his playful wit and careless charm, Dominic could be possessive and it flared at the oddest moments.
That earned me a look. Brows drawn together, lips pursed, expression shifting from playful to thoughtful. He nodded once, like he’d reached a conclusion he approved of.
“Okay,” he said. “I won’t interrupt that.”
Relief flickered—brief and premature.
“I’ll just get us some coffee,” he continued, already rising. “And maybe something sweet. For morale.”
“Dominic,” I said sharply.
Too late.
