Page 126 of His Good Girl

She stood slowly, gathering her things. “I can get myself home.”

“I know.”

“Callum…”

“I have a car waiting for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I am capable of ordering an Uber.”

“Yes.”

“And taking the train.”

“I know.”

“And walking in a straight line without falling into a storm drain.”

“Debatable.”

That earned me the smile I wanted. The sight of it eased something in my chest and made the rest of me ache. I stood and came around the desk. Avery’s hands stilled around the strap of her bag. She knew, now, what it meant when I moved toward her. I watched her pupils widen and hated how much I liked it.

I stopped two feet away.

“You’re going straight to the airport?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And you won’t be back until Sunday?”

“Late Sunday, if the gods of municipal panic are kind.”

“Are they usually?”

“Never.”

She looked down, and there it was again—that small, human disappointment she had every right to feel and no right to be punished for. I wanted to take it from her. I wanted to put my hand in her hair, tilt her face up, and kiss away the expression I had caused.

Instead, I reached for her coat. She let me help her into it. The gesture was old-fashioned enough to be safe if anyone saw it and intimate enough to be dangerous because we both knew what my hands had done to her. My fingers brushed the back of her neck as I lifted her collar into place. She inhaled softly.

I stepped back.

“Go home,” I said gently. “Eat. Shower. Sleep.”

Her mouth curved, but her eyes revealed her vulnerability. “Is that an order?”

“It’s mercy.”

“For whom?”

I looked at her and the question hung between us, bright and reckless.

“For both of us,” I said.

Her smile faded into something warmer. “Okay.”

I walked her to the door, but not beyond it. At the threshold, she turned.

“Have a good trip,” she said.