Lightning flashed through the room with a clap of thunder, and rain began striking a discordant song on the window behind him. The storm seemed to be escalating along with his frustration.
Reid wanted to choke every person who’d ever made this woman feel less than the incredible creature she was. Not only was she every bit as gorgeous as she was in his drawing, but everything about her—humor, awkwardness, klutziness, compassion, dedication—all of it, made her far superior to any woman he’d known.
He was about to tell her exactly that when she added, “I mean, come on. If I looked like that, I’d have Stephen wrapped around my little finger.”
…
Temporary insanity. That was the only thing she could think of as to why she would say something so incredibly insensitive to Reid.
It didn’t matter that half of their situation was her mission to end up with another man, and that he had no emotional stakes in their anomalous relationship. Reid had given her a special part of himself by creating this amazing work of art for her—of her—and she’d just slapped him in the face by bringing Stephen into their night by mentioning his name.
She saw the tempest of his anger roll across his eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing several times as though trying to prevent himself from unleashing his thoughts that were no doubt things that would make her cringe, and yet nothing she wouldn’t deserve.
“Reid, I’m so sorry, I—”
He didn’t wait for the rest, but spun on his heel and slammed through the door into the storm outside. She chased after him, stopping just outside the studio to see him eating up the pavement toward the street, his suit shirt already half-soaked.
“Reid, wait, come back!”
He came to an abrupt halt, but didn’t turn around. With hands fisted at his sides and his wide shoulders heaving, he looked feral and dangerous, and God help her, sexy. Shivers ran down her spine and goose bumps raised over the flesh of her arms, but it wasn’t from the cool rain pelting her skin and drenching her hair. Even seething angry the man affected her on the basest of levels, and it both thrilled and frustrated her.
When he turned and stalked toward her with a menacing gleam in his eye, Lucie wondered if she shouldn’t have let him walk it off and apologize later as he backed her up to the brick wall. She knew she should apologize again, should say something, anything, but words failed her as she stared up at a side of Reid she’d never seen. His demeanor was positively animalistic, and it sure as hell wasn’t of the cute and cuddly kind.
“What is it about that asshole that has you so twisted up?” he shouted. “I’m serious, please tell me, because lately I’ve been trying to figure it out and I fucking can’t!”
Twisted up? If she was twisted up over anyone it was Reid. This was supposed to be a casual arrangement, nothing more than lessons on how to be the kind of woman who attracted a certain orthopedic surgeon so they could live happily ever after in her companionable relationship based on mutual interests and professional respect.
As it was now, she wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. Actually that was a lie. Her brain told her she wanted Stephen. But her body—and Lucie feared even her heart—was screaming for Reid.
She shook her head, sections of her hair slapping against her cheeks. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks and she prayed they blended in with the raindrops so she didn’t look as pathetic as she felt. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
The peak of his faux-hawk arrowed slightly over his forehead, heavy with the water streaming from its tip. His shirt, a pale gray with silver pin stripes he’d left open at the collar and cuffs rolled up over his muscled forearms, was now soaked through and plastered to his body.
He braced his hands on the wall by her head and leaned into her personal space a little more. He imprisoned her gaze with a stare so intense she was helpless to look away, and when he spoke, his words were razor-sharp. “Are you thinking of him when I’m inside you, Luce? Do you wish it was his cock buried inside of you instead of mine?”
She’d hurt him. More specifically, the softer side of him. The side that made him a thoughtful friend and considerate lover. The side that touched her body as though his fingers worshipped every curve, then transferred that reverence to canvas.
So now his fighter half was taking over, fortifying his defenses with harsh and crass questions in an effort to disguise his wounds. But though it might be the fighter’s words pouring from his mouth, it was the artist’s feelings behind them. For the first time, she truly understood the duality of his nature.
Lucie shoved all thoughts of what she needed aside and focused on what it was he needed. Confidence settled over her as she framed his face with her hands, the short stubble of his beard tickling her palms.