Page 65 of Obsession

And I’m fascinated by her.

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, concentrating on the broad strokes of the dark-looking pencil in her hand. Her soft hands are moving with quick precision, her eyes focused.

“If you still have that charcoal drawing of me,” I muse, watching her, “I’d like to buy it from you.”

“I didn’t get it back yet,” she says. “But I could make you a new one, though. You have really distinct features. Great for sketching. If I could just convince you to sit still for a painting, that would be so fucking awesome.”

Her enthusiasm is unparalleled at this moment and I have a feeling she isn’t completely aware of what she’s saying because all I heard was she thinks I’m attractive.

“Maybe you’ll figure out a way to convince me.” My lips curve.

My eyes catch a glimpse of her sketch, and it’s already evolving into something impressive. I don’t try to initiate any further conversation, not wanting to distract her. There is something calming about just watching her work in silence. I don’t realize how much time has passed when her pencil suddenly stops.

It’s only when she lets out a shuddering sigh that I ask, “You’re done?”

I lean over to take a look, and I can’t help but be amazed. She’s managed to capture a lot of the detail of the painting in this half-hour.

“Like I said,” I say, feeling a little proud for some odd reason. “You’ve got incredible talent.”

She smiles at me, her cheeks high at the praise, and it occurs to me that I’ve never seen her look this happy. If she’s beautiful in her anger, she’s breathtaking in her happiness. My heart stutters, and I stare at her, unable to process the swift emotion moving through me.

“What?” Megan asks.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Let’s get this framed. Come on. I’m sure we can find a place. I want to keep this one.”

As I pull her out of the art gallery, she laughs. “It’s just a sketch, and it’s not even cleaned up.”

“I like it,” I tell her firmly. “Don’t change it.”

I see the pride in her eyes when we manage to find a small local shop that frames the picture for us while we wait. Even with the rush of cars and bikes in the city, business is still slow and easy in Paris. Shop owners don’t rush things like they do in thestates. So we wait. And for once in my life, I don’t mind waiting because the wait is with her.

“I’m buying this from you,” I tell her as the shop owner hands over the framed sketch. The glitter of pure happiness in her eyes makes me want to snatch her up in my arms and kiss her, but I hold myself back.

“You like it that much?” she whispers in awe.

“Of course,” I say calmly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Her lips part, and then she holds out the framed picture. “If you like it that much, then it’s yours. I can never repay you for this experience that you gave me, but I can give you this. I hope it’s as valuable as you think it is.”

I look down at the carefully sketched picture and I don’t insult her by demanding to pay her. Megan has a lot of pride and I won’t make the mistake of trampling over it again.

“Thank you.”

She’s exhausted, but I can tell that she’s not had her fill of the city yet, so I take control of the rest of the evening. I make reservations for dinner on a cruise boat. It’ll allow Megan to rest but still take in Paris at night with all its lights and glory. However, the downfall of pouring rain has me canceling the plan, and we move dinner to the apartment, where I order from one of the best restaurants in the area.

The food is exquisite, but the time I spend with Megan is precious in its own way. This was not what I imagined when I decided on this impulsive trip. My rigid personality is loosening, and we sit on the large wooden coffee table in the living room while Megan tries out different dishes, preparing me a plate as well.

When was the last time I was this intimate with someone? I don’t remember. I don’t remember sitting together with a woman and actually enjoying myself without any ulterior motives from either party.

It’s different, but it’s nice.

Seems like Megan is determined to get drunk on the champagne I ordered with dinner and after the first three glasses, I reach out and take the bottle from her.

“All right, lightweight, that’s quite enough. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

She makes a face. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes, you are,” I tell her firmly. “You’re going to have a bad hangover tomorrow if you keep this up.”

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