He gave a soft, sexy laugh and took her hands. She tried not to wince at the evidence of her nervousness when he squeezed gently. “You are a delight. May I be completely honest?”
“Absolutely.”
He leaned in. Her gaze settled on his full mouth. Wolfe flashed in her memory, but she shoved the image hard and fast, refusing to lose this opportunity.
“You are the total package. But after my divorce, I made myself a promise. I married the first time because I thought it was the obvious next step. She was smart, kind, and funny. But I loved her as a friend, not a passionate partner.” He lifted her hands and pressed a soft kiss to her sweaty palms. “You remind me of her. We would have fun, be companionable, but there would never be the spark I need in a relationship. The raw passion I’m looking for. But of course, you feel the same way. You must also realize we don’t have that type of fiery connection that makes us crazy, ache to drop into bed, and make love until we both fall apart. We just have . . . friendship.”
Gen blinked. Her heart stopped pounding and paused. The wild leap into the unknown had turned into a free fall that ended in a tangle of broken limbs splashed over hard, cold concrete. Numb, she managed an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, yes, of course. I completely agree, I was just enjoying our friendly discussion.”
He smiled back. “As was I. I will tell Kate we are not meant for another date, but I do hope to see you again, Genevieve. You were wonderful company for a lonely soul.”
She plastered on a fake smile, managed to suffer through a peck on the cheek, and waved as he headed toward his own car. Crowds spilled onto the streets, enjoying the warm night air. White lights twinkled amid the row of trees lining the sidewalk. Her gaze caught on a younger couple wrapped up in each other, their hands stroking over each other as if unable to tear themselves away from breaking contact, laughs low and intimate, creating a bubble no onlooker or stranger could break.
Gen slid into her seat and turned on the ignition. She drove carefully back home to her bungalow, focused on the road in front. She parked at the curb, noting Wolfe’s car was gone. Good. He had done as she requested. Grabbing her purse, she let herself into the silent house and flicked on a few lights. Looked around. And wondered why she couldn’t seem to feel a thing.
She stood by the door for a long time. An empty beer bottle lay on the counter. Wolfe had a terrible habit of forgetting to clean up after himself. He’d make an awful husband, probably driving his wife insane, nagging him to put his clothes in the hamper, the wet towels on the rack, and his dirty dishes in the sink. Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen, rinsing out the bottle and putting it into the recycling bin. She wiped down the counters and loaded a few stray dishes in the washer. Maybe she’d have a nice glass of wine and relax. There was a lot on her DVR to watch.
Gen pulled out a wineglass, filled it with the leftover white she had in the fridge, and sipped it. Maybe a book. She had a huge stack and tons on her Kindle, just waiting to be read. She stood in the silence, wondering again why her mind felt so empty. Odd. Usually she had a train of thoughts mingling in chaos, except when she was in the OR. Maybe that’s why being a doctor was such a turn-on. To finally turn off all those thoughts was such a relief.
David had told her many times she was too impulsive and needed to approach the world with more rational, logical thoughts. She’d tried many times to tell him when she surrendered to her gut the voices stopped and everything slid into place, but he disagreed. She’d tried so very hard to change. She had loved David, respected him, and wanted to be worthy. Never got there though.
How long were they together before they lost their way? How had he turned so cold and vicious? She did remember hours spent in the bedroom in the beginning, but had he been faking it even then? Was he intrigued by her, but not attracted in that primitive, masculine way men needed to be truly in love? Maybe she couldn’t inspire that type of lust.
Gen set the glass down carefully on the counter. Her heels clicked as she walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the wall for a while. Such a pretty soft blue. But Mrs. Blackfire was right. Lots of work to do on the house. It really needed a painting and some handiwork. She had time now. Wasn’t a doctor. Didn’t have a relationship. And no crazy one-night stands for her. She just wasn’t the type, whether or not she got a Brazilian wax or a tattoo or spent hours in the bathroom trying to inspire men and their sexual hunger.
A yawning despair yanked her down hard, into the pit of depression she’d fought on and off over the past year. The realization she might never find what she longed for—a love that was whole and beautiful. A passion that transcended reality and grasped the physical body in a merciless grip of abandon. Kate had. Kennedy, too. Alexa. Lance. It was out there.