“Stephen is compatible with me in every way. We enjoy the same music, the same taste in movies and food. We’re in the same field, so we understand how it goes when you need to work well into the night sometimes. And that also feeds into our mutual desire to help others recover from physical injuries.”
Reid cut off her diatribe and handed the page back. “All right I got it. So, you’re compatible with each other. But a relationship is more than just liking the same board games. What about chemistry? Passion? Love?”
What about them? They were all inconsequential, that was what. She’d been down that road already and it had led her straight off a cliff.
Her ex had left her a broken woman. She’d believed he loved her and truly wanted to be with her despite all their differences. He’d said their love conquered opposition. That the occasional disagreement would bring spice to their marriage.
Apparently he’d also thought sleeping with another woman a few months after their wedding would do the same thing.
She’d never felt so hurt—so stupid—as when she’d walked in on him having some sort of hippie tantric sex with a woman whose dreadlocks rivaled those of Bob Marley. He hadn’t even had the decency to look guilty. No, he’d actually stretched out a welcoming hand and encouraged her to join them. She’d almost retched on the spot before fleeing the room, and ultimately the marriage.
That had been the moment she decided to never again trust that love was all a relationship needed to work. She stripped the phrase “opposites attract” from her vocabulary and vowed to not get involved with anyone who wasn’t suitably compatible with her. If love eventually entered into the equation, it would simply be a bonus.
But she couldn’t tell him all of that. He’d think she was crazy.
Looking down at the picture Lucie traced a fingertip over the dark-haired man that to her represented Stephen. He even had similar features. “We haven’t had the chance to discover those things yet.” She placed it in her drawer and pushed it closed before pinning Reid with a confident stare. “But I know that if I could just get him to see me…get him to give us a chance…we’ll have more chemistry than we know what to do with.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and held her eyes for a minute or two, as if he was waiting for her to break down and admit she didn’t really believe anything she just said. But that would never happen because she did believe it. Totally and utterly. Finally, he broke the awkward silence.
“Luce, no offense,” he said gesturing to her closet, “but your clothes suck.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to defend her wardrobe, but at the last second she just sighed, her shoulders slumping forward slightly. “I know. They do, don’t they?”
He scrutinized her pajamas long enough that she angled her head down, thinking something was out of place. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you always wear flannel pants and baggy tank tops to bed?”
“Not that it’s any of your business…” Ooh, her lips were starting to get numb. Nice. She grinned. “…but yes. I do.” A smile spread over his face, displaying a brilliant set of straight, white teeth. “Such a pretty smile,” she mused aloud.
“Pretty? I think I’ve just been emasculated. Okay, let’s go,” he said as he confiscated her wine glass.
“Hey!”
“Just a minute, I want to show you something. After that you’re welcome to finish off the bottle. If I’m lucky, you’re one of those girls who like to dance on tabletops when under the influence.”
She was too distracted by that image to resist when he took her by the hand and led her across the room. Picturing herself gyrating on top of a table without a care in the world made her bust out laughing. “No,” she said between giggles. “I think I lean more toward sleepy than crazy when I drink wine. Sorry to disappoint you.”
When they reached the antique full-length mirror in the corner, he adjusted the angle slightly so it didn’t cut him off at the neck as he stood behind her. The giddy feeling she’d had a moment ago died in her throat when she met his intense gaze in their reflection. She felt frozen in place, unable to move a single muscle, as she watched his large hands slip into her peripheral vision and make their way to the front of her body.
At first contact Lucie drew in a sharp breath. He pressed the thin cotton of her loose tank top against her stomach, the heat from his palms soaked into her skin to settle deep in her belly. Slowly his hands moved toward her lower back, his thumbs barely missing the under swells of her breasts. When they finally met at the center of her back, the material was pulled taut over her body.
“There,” he said with a slight nod. “What do you see?”
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and shook her head. She’d never been comfortable showing off her body. She didn’t have the curves or the full breasts and hips that men were attracted to. Between that and his touch short-circuiting her brain—or maybe it was the wine—she couldn’t deign to give him an answer more than the exhale of frustration.