IllicitImpulse (14 page)

Grace, you don’t even know if you have tonight.

As gently as she could, she turned over within his loose
embrace. He needed a haircut, although she approved of the mischievous disarray
of his dark hair on her pillow. Without his glasses, his features seemed both
vulnerable and heroic at the same time. Yesterday must have been a long, tough
day for him. First with the audit committee going over his work with a
fine-toothed comb, and then…

For her. He’d done that for her. He’d started it for her
too, in a way. So maybe this was really for the both of them.

For us.

Why did it make her want to cry? Because she’d wanted to see
Impulse on the market? Because she’d wanted it for him?

Because as badly as he’d wanted it—he’d wanted
her…this…more.

Why did someone always have to give something up?

He stirred and she held her breath, wondering as she so
often had whether he had some way of hearing her thoughts.

He didn’t even snore. The idea that she’d been this close to
the only man in North America who didn’t snore, and that she hadn’t known it,
made her want to giggle. She bit her lip to keep that bottled up.

Even as she stifled her mirth, the doubts came up slowly.
Was all this just the oxytocin talking? Fantasizing about Christmas, wavering
between laughter and tears, staring at his hair. Was this just the hormone haze
they’d fought so hard against?

She did feel giddy. Score one for the hormones.

Still. If she were interviewing herself as he had, she’d
have to look at facts before feelings. Or at the facts about her feelings.

He’d always been gentle with her. He’d always been patient.
And if the time came, he’d put an end to this in a way that cherished her
feelings.

Oxytocin might lie. John wouldn’t.

And beneath the scholarly surface, he had something pretty
wild going on. Hiding inside her best friend was a bona fide bad boy.

This time she did laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asked without opening his eyes.

She wanted to run her tongue over the full berry-pinkness of
his lower lip. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

He inhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes. “You sure?” She
watched the lean efficiency of his muscles as he stretched long arms.

“Yeah.” Pressure squeezed at her heart without pain, without
fear, without doubt, and she wanted to cry again. “Go back to sleep.” His hair
tickled her nose when she kissed his forehead.

He squinted into the sunlight. “Mmm. In a minute.” He
lowered his arm around her and pulled her close. “In a few minutes.”

Grace closed her eyes and for just a second, she dared to
think of Christmas.

This is a time of joy.

Tal reminded himself for the hundredth time that he was
supposed to be enjoying this time of year. Strings of lights and garlands
festooned Cary Street’s lampposts and storefronts, transforming the already
gaudy shopping district into blocks and blocks of overstimulation. Shoppers
crowded the sidewalks. Some hurried by him, heads down and bundled up in coats
and hats. Others maintained a more leisurely pace, as if they were enjoying a
summer stroll instead of fighting Richmond’s annual brush with winter. If only
he had Carytown to himself for just a few minutes, long enough to get back to
his car. It might not be a fanciful Christmas wish, but something about all
this shopping brought out the practical in him.

He didn’t really have an excuse to be unhappy. Gifts for his
family weighed down the oversized shopping bag at his side, and his last stop
for the season waited a few blocks away at the toy store where he planned to
load up on stocking stuffers. Sure, it would probably take him forever to get
out of here once he got to the car, but Christmas only came once a year. When
his niece saw the little aviator jacket he’d gotten her, these annoyances would
all fade from memory.

His brother-in-law was going to hate that little jacket. Tal
smiled. He’d be looking forward to the expression on that jackass’s face too.

Against his better judgment, Tal had bought something for
Ivy. After finding a pair of cufflinks for his dad at the vintage clothing
store, he’d run across an elegant, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s
sonnets in the case near the register. She probably didn’t remember sharing a
table with him all those years ago, helping him see that he and Hamlet had a
hell of a lot more in common than he’d ever counted on. He was sure she wouldn’t
remember telling him that she had a favorite sonnet, which he planned to mark
with a pretty bookmark before giving her the book.

He hadn’t meant to buy her anything. She’d made it pretty
clear that Dr. Perfect was the only man in her world now. She hadn’t spoken to
him since he’d kissed her on his doorstep months ago.

Oh, that’s not true. She said something to you that
night. She said she was sorry she gave you the wrong idea. Then she stopped
talking to you.

When she didn’t answer his call late that night, he left a
contrite voice mail. A few days later, feeling like a child, he’d left another
voice mail. The first few weeks of silence had been the hardest. Every morning
Tal told himself he was living with it, and at some point, he realized it was
true.

This week, Ivy had basically put the last nail in that
particular coffin. One wintry afternoon Tal found a wedding invitation in the
mail with the Christmas cards and year-end bills. Tal let it sit unopened on
the coffee table for almost a week before deciding to face the truth.

Lots of women had broken things off with him over the years
and he’d told himself that this wasn’t really any different. He just hated
thinking about rejection. That wasn’t so abnormal, was it?

Of course it’s not. Wedding invitations send you right
into the bottle all the time, don’t they? Must be those little pieces of tissue
paper in the envelope.

He looked down into the shopping bag, where the book lay
wrapped in a paper bag. This was just a friendly present. Something to remind
them both of when they were young. Ivy would take it home and tell Dr. Perfect
all about those long afternoons of tutoring. If the good doctor had ever needed
a tutor in his life, he was probably too ashamed to admit it.

Tal grinned. Being tucked away in a secluded part of the
library with Ivy was something he liked to keep to himself too.

Lost in his thoughts, Tal watched the couples seated near
the big windows of the fancy French place. Beneath the brasserie’s golden
lights, people were sharing desserts, enjoying bowls of mussels, talking over
glasses of wine. A sharp tapping sound drew his attention—someone knocking on
the window—and he slowed to scan the faces of the diners. Was someone looking
for him?

There. Waving eagerly at him from the end of a row of tables,
Grace warmed him with a broad grin. Tal went to her, watching her through the
window. How long had it been since he’d seen her? He couldn’t believe the
threesome that had all but ended their friendship had been almost nine months
ago.

Tal wasn’t surprised to see that she was still with that guy
John, but he was happy. Tal had to hand it to Einstein. Not many people would
have gone so far outside their comfort zones for any woman. He wasn’t even sure
he’d do it himself, but then Tal’s comfort zone was larger than some European
countries.

Besides, he had to admire any of the minds behind the
oxytocin suppressant. That was an idea whose time had come, although he hadn’t
heard anything about it since the threesome either.

On the other side of the glass, Grace was pointing at Tal,
trying to show John he was there. Tal raised his hand in greeting and John
waved back at him. He was a good guy like that, protective without being an
asshole. Grace had done pretty well for herself.

When he turned back to her, she was holding her hand up to
the window, flicking her wrist as if she were trying to shake something off.
Tal couldn’t figure out what she was doing until he noticed that rock on her
finger. Well. She
had
done well for herself. The smile that bloomed on
his face felt as wide as hers. Tal hadn’t been so happy for one of his female
friends in…well, forever.

He pressed one hand to the glass and gave her a thumbs-up
with the other. “Congratulations,” he yelled.

Then he turned to John. Tal used his index and middle
fingers to point at his own eyes and then pointed his index finger at John.
John raised both hands in surrender.

Tal nodded. Good.

He waved at Grace again and left the two of them to their
dinner. The bag suddenly felt much heavier in his hand. As he waited on the
next corner for the light to change, he reached into his pocket for his cell
phone. He wondered if Ivy still liked the strawberry ice cream at the parlor
across from the movie theater. Maybe then they could go looking for a nice
bookmark together.

This was a season of joy, after all. Certainly Dr. Perfect
wouldn’t argue with that.

Alexa Day has tried the practical approach. She's always
written, to pass the time or to stay awake in class or for the annual creative
writing assignment, but all the while she was looking toward a sensible future
in the so-called real world. Then she discovered that it's just as easy and
much more fun to be fanciful and unrealistic.

Since then, Alexa's life has been about figuring out what's
next and asking why not? So far she's drawn a paycheck as a bartender, a
newspaper reporter and a belly dance instructor—and she's taken up plenty of
other experiences for free. Alexa tries to find a little excitement in every
day, from that first bite of something tasty to those first steps off the plane
in a foreign country.

Alexa's interracial romance fiction features bold,
adventurous, driven heroines who are also taking on the world on their terms,
when they encounter the ultimate fantasy: hot romances with the strong, sexy
men who are made for them. Check out Alexa Day's stories for romance served
hot, with a swirl!

Alexa welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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Illicit Impulse

ISBN 9781419944666

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Illicit Impulse Copyright © 2013 Alexa Day

Edited by Grace Bradley

Cover design by Fiona Jayde

Photo: RomanceNovelCovers.com

Electronic book publication March 2013

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