Commitment

Part 29

Regan said nothing. She tugged him into the bathroom. It struck her as rather strange that she was able drag him along, and even stranger that she was willing to help him, given he was seeing another woman!

When they got to the bathroom, she released his hand, then flicked on the light and pushed him into the room so that he stood in front of the mirror. He was still in shock.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

She stood slightly behind and to the side of him. He turned his head to look at her in bemusement. "Why are we here?"

She used her index finger and turned his head back to face the mirror. Their eyes met in the mirror.

After six seconds, she gulped and said, "Ok. Look ...."

"Regan..." He shifted uncomfortably but his gaze was still hooked to her eyes.

"Look Gray!" She insisted and missed the fact that he used her name.

"Why, Regan?" He scowled. "I see my face everyday. When I shave or brush my teeth or comb my hair, I know what I look like!"

"Good. You know what a mirror does!" She smiled cheerfully at his glare. She couldn't let the fact that the way he said her name made her insides warm. She wanted to snuggle against him. With her eyes holding his she waited, then said in a soft voice, "Look in the mirror, Gray! Properly!" He closed his eyes for a second, as he took in her demand and tried to regroup. She encouraged, "Come on Gray." And she pushed his back, "Just look in the mirror." He opened his eyes and glared at her. "Look. Properly." She smiled in encouragement and ignored his frown, "When I look at you, I see a gorgeous man."

Gray squirmed, thrown by her blunt statement he turned his head to say, "Regan, this is..."

From behind him she took his head in her hands and turned him so that he was looking in the mirror. He tried to turn away. She commanded gently. "Just look at you, ok."

He shifted. "I look what I look like! I am old enough to recognise my face! Regan..." He tried again.

She interrupted firmly. "No. Look. Go on." He continued to scowled at her. She ignored his frustration. "Look. I mean, look, properly. Recognise the fact that you have moved."

He squirmed, "I have." He muttered.

"No. You have sorted out your physical aspects of your injuries, but in your mind, you still see an injured man." She declared firmly. She had lost her nervousness as she kept to her intention, "From what I have been told, you picked yourself up. Your progress, your recovery from those injuries is incredible."

He replied with sarcasm, "Thank you. Great. Can we leave the bathroom now?" He turned around to leave, and she blocked him!

She ignored his tone. "I think you have not accepted that you are a gorgeous man!" He blinked. "Despite the injuries." She shoved his shoulder and turned him around. "Maybe seeing the scars reminds you of that awful event, so you don't look at you, not really." She saw him wince. If he could he would push her and leave. But that would mean picking her up and moving her, given she was blocking the way to the door.

"You are a psychiatrist ..." Mockery still laced his words

"No I am not a psychiatrist." She declared, " And you do not need a psychiatrist to see a handsome man in the mirror!" He jolted. Regan continued, "Me, I see a seriously, gorgeous, attractive, striking, man!" Which was the truth. A remarkable man. Good clean lines. Sharp cheek bones, strong chin, sensuous lips. 

He reared back in utter astonishment and his face showed his shock at her statement.

She turned his face back toward the mirror. It was the only way she could make these statements without feeling, and sounding, like lovesick fool. "I like to think I am more than the average woman." His eyebrows rose, she grinned hoping it would cover the fact she was starting to feel embarrassed. But this was important. He obviously didn't believe he had anything to offer. "And, as more than the average woman, I can tell you, you are definitely more than the average man!" He snorted at that. But she noted that his shoulders had dropped, he wasn't standing tense and apprehensive. "You have that perfect square cut jaw. Something that most magazines look for in their models." She tapped his jaw line with her index finger. It was probably the only time she was ever going to get a chance to touch him, but she had to keep it light and casual, when what she really wanted to do was stroke and caress that firm jaw line. "What most of my female friends would describe as chiselled cheek bones." Her fingers brushed against his cheeks in a gentle caress. This might her only chance to touch him like this.