“Oh,” she said, aware of the blush simmering in her cheeks. “A compliment.” “It’s a simple enough fact.” His voice dropped lower, to a rumble that vibrated deep within her. “When I don’t understand what you’re talking about, I pretend I’m in a picture gallery and you are all the pictures.” She thought she must burst with pleasure. No one, no one had ever said anything like that to her before. It was more than a compliment. It was…it was…poetry, almost. “But it isn’t simply your looks,” he went on, his gaze elsewhere, reflective. “It’s the enthusiasm. The love of what you do. You make it
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