“I am deeply amusing.”
“You need lunch.”
“It is almost evening.”
“Then you require a very late lunch.”
He stood and went to the kitchen.
I watched him.
Reid moved with a physical assurance that drew my attention regardless of what he was doing. He was large in the practical way of a man built by work rather than mirrors. His strength lived in his back, his forearms, the easy balance of his body.
He reached into a high cabinet.
His shirt pulled taut across his shoulders.
Desire moved through me with startling clarity.
Images from my phone rose uninvited.
Reid’s hand spread over my bare back.
My body beneath his.
White sheets tangled around our legs.
I still knew what I liked sexually. The accident had not erased desire, preference, or the physical understanding of my own body.
The person who had apparently satisfied those desires stood ten feet away making toast.
I wanted him.
That frightened me less than it should have.
Reid glanced over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I have visual rights.”
“Do you?”
“We kissed.”
“That does not provide unlimited access.”
“It should.”
He turned back to the counter, but I saw the smile.
I liked making him smile.
Maybe that had survived too.
