Love Is Louder (4 page)

He’s having a hard time keeping his eyes north and does nothing to hide it either. He must be a boob guy. I’m not enormous, a full C-cup, and my sports bra does wonders for squishing the girls, making them look extra bouncy. Clearing my throat, I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to God my girls are not extra perky and pointy being introduced to his manliness. From the way his eyes glint with amusement, he knows my reasons for protecting them.

“I just want to point out that I don’t usually take service calls. My brother, Micah, who was supposed to take this call, got sick this morning from a rough weekend, so I had to make this run. I hope you’re not disappointed.” He smiles a knowing smile. I bet he doesn’t get turned down for anything, and women bend over backwards and forwards to please him.

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming out and being punctual. I have a busy schedule,” I lie.
If you call getting a mani/pedi a busy day.
I did take the day off from work at my photography studio. I needed this, a mental health day to figure out my marriage, where my life is heading, and if we can start a family.

“I’m never late for anything...bad for business.”

“Can’t have that.” I smile, noticing him looking at my wedding picture again.

“You were a very stunning bride,” he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at me. “And your husband is one lucky man.”

“Thank you.” I sigh, letting my eyes rest on the photo. I reminisce for a moment on that beautiful day that was my happily ever after—remembering how handsome James was in his black Armani tuxedo, saying our wedding vows, and enjoying our first night as husband and wife. There wasn’t a more perfect day.

“Good memories, I take it?”

I blink at the sound of his throaty voice that anchors me back to the present.

“Yes, we’ll be married four years this month.”

He stills, and a flicker of pain crosses his eyes as he drops them and stares at his hands.

“Well, congratulations. Four years is a long time.”

“It does feel like it.” I feel a hint of pain, wondering what happened four years ago to garner such a reaction. We all have something deep within us that weighs us down. I hope he has someone in his life that can help carry the burden.

“So...” he trails off, nodding his head.

“Yes?”

“I think there’s a washing machine that needs to be looked at. I can’t have you without any clean clothes.” He chuckles, quirking a brow in amusement. “Though I’m sure your husband won’t mind.”

My stomach clenches at his last comment, pondering if he’s imagining me without any clothes. I brush the thought away and rein in my overactive imagination.

“Oh, right.” I laugh lightly. “Let me show you where it is.”

“Perfect, Brie.”

My heart seems to pause mid-beat.

Did he mean me being perfect? Oh, shit. Get over yourself.

Oh...but the way he says my name is both delicious and seductive. I can see why he doesn’t normally make service calls. The divorce rate in this town would go through the roof. He follows close behind me as I self-consciously stare down at my feet. I want to look back so badly, but I resist the urge and continue walking. We make it a few steps down the hallway when he starts coughing.

My eyes flick back over my shoulder as he’s lifting his eyes from staring at my ass.

He’s checking out my ass!

I’m slightly incensed and aroused and mentally scold myself for the latter. I guess it’s safe to say Mason enjoys the view from the front and the back.

“Can I get you some water?” I offer, trying to sound unaffected from catching this handsome stranger checking me out. If it were anyone else, it would feel inappropriate, but from him, it feels...right? I can’t understand why most of the time this type of blatant reaction would make me shudder, but I like it today—with him.

“Um…yeah. Water would be great.” His deep, silky chuckle fills the small hallway, and there’s something unnervingly soothing about it.

“Okay. The laundry room is around the corner and on the left. I’ll be right there with your water,” I say unevenly, wishing my heart would slow down.

“Sounds good.” He strolls away, and I can’t help but admire his ass.

After regaining the usage of limbs and brain function, I turn to the kitchen, throw my hands onto the counter, and inhale a deep breath to compose myself. Shaking my head in confusion, I look down at the three-carat emerald-cut diamond ring on my finger. “James is my husband. I’m still married. I’m just looking, but Mason’s very real, gorgeous, and in my house fixing my washing machine and nothing else,” I berate myself, again.

A couple of minutes pass, and I miraculously recover and return to find him kneeling in front of the machine. He wears Calvin Klein boxers. I bite my lip and immediately imagine him in the Calvin Klein spread and what his body must look like with him wearing only his snug black Calvin’s. I will have to say my current view is much better than any magazine. I deduce I can’t be in the same room with this guy for more than a minute without turning into a mess.

I cough and say, “Here you go.”

Turning, he straightens and removes his worn cap and runs his hand through his hair that settles into a perfectly tousled “just-fucked” style. His gaze comes to me as he takes the bottle of water from my unsteady hand. I flash him a sheepish smile, jealous the damn washing machine is getting worked on and not me.

“Thank you.” He twists the cap and takes a gulp. My eyes flicker to his muscular neck as he pushes the cool water down his throat. How something so mundane can spur these sensations from my body confounds me. I gulp, letting my eyes float to the broken washing machine since there’s nowhere else to draw my attention in this tiny space we’re occupying.

“I’ll figure out what the problem is and let you know if I can fix it,” he advises after he swallows.

“Sometimes with these machines you may need to replace a part. If that’s the case, my brother will need to come back and install it. Hopefully, it won’t come down to that, and I’ll be out of your hair in no time,” he says, smiling slowly. A light shines in his eyes, making me wonder if he knows the effect he has on me.

“That’s fine. Take your time.”

“I will and before I forget...” While fishing in his back pocket, he causes every defined muscle and tendon in his arm to flex and bulge, tempting me further. Tempting me to want things I can’t have as a married woman. “Here is my business card. It has my cell and website information. If anything else breaks or falls apart in the future, give me…or us a call.”

“I hope nothing else falls apart around here, but if anything does, I promise to call and ask for your services.” I smile, taking the card from him. If I have to purposely break the washer again or throw rocks into the garbage disposal to get him back here so I can admire him all over again, then so be it.

A little eye candy never hurt anyone, right?

I breathe in deeply, trying to calm my raging hormones. I don’t remember the last time I let my mind run away like this. I’ve only thought of my husband in this way. Only and everything with James. Shaking my head, I break my gaze from his hypnotic one, hoping that James, my eye candy for the past six years, comes home soon.

It’s a little after nine when footsteps echo in the hallway and the jingle of keys announces James’ arrival. I mark my spot in my book with a pencil and set it onto the coffee table and lift my eyes to look at him as he enters the living room. My husband is a handsome man. Three years older than me, he’s tall with hard muscles and broad shoulders. He looks successful and authoritative in his dark navy suit, perfectly starched white shirt, and striped blue tie. His hair is parted to the side, and his intelligent blue eyes framed by thick lashes offset his stubbled jaw. A dimple appears when he smiles, but unfortunately, I don’t see that or his smile that can light up an entire room.

“Hi, babe.” I rise from the couch, adjusting my black shorts and tank top. The skimpy outfit was chosen for James’ benefit, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he places his briefcase onto the floor and shucks off his suit jacket before tossing it onto the couch. This was never the case before; he couldn’t wait to peel off my clothes and have his way with me.

“Hi,” he grumbles with a slight smile, giving me a cursory kiss on the cheek, like we’re meeting for the first time. This is all the affection I get these days, and then sometimes we have sex, but it’s not as often as I would like. When we were in college, even just a few short months ago, we had sex two to three times a day and on every flat surface. He had me before he had dinner, and now he doesn’t want either. I want the old James back, the one I married.

I manage to crack a smile while tucking my hair behind my ears. He stands in front of me, not too close, his hands loose on his hips. I focus on his smooth, large hands, wishing he would use them to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me closer.

“I made dinner. It’s in the kitchen,” I mention as he yanks at his tie and throws it on top of his jacket. I feel him pause, and he refuses to meet my eyes as he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt.

“I already got a bite.” He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing his corded forearms.

I cringe, but say nothing and listen to the low hum of the air conditioner in the background.

Where did he eat? What did he eat? And with whom?

I don’t know why I bother cooking for two anymore. I should just be concerned with myself since more times than not he is supposedly working late due to his increased caseload at the office.

“How was work?” I ask as I sort the pile of mail on the coffee table, needing something to do with my hands.

“Busy.” He makes a jagged intake of air. “I have a ton of new cases to handle.”

I stare at him, wanting to trace the strong lines of his jaw, smooth my hand over his neck, and kiss his lips to ease away all the tension that is attacking his shoulders.

“James, is everything okay?”

He seems suddenly agitated. Silence fills the space between us as he drags his hands over his face and through his hair. I look at his mouth and miss his aggressive passionate kisses, miss how his lips settled seamlessly against mine. My eyes flicker into the hallway to the wedding picture decorating our wall as I fight the ache that threatens to overtake my heart.

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Brie, it’s nothing.” He stares past me into the kitchen for what seems like forever but is not even a minute. “Actually, life, work, so much shit.” His voice is tense.

“Do you want to talk about it?” My throat constricts, and my heart pounds while waiting for his response.

He frowns, as if he’s trying to figure out whether or not he should talk. I avoid looking into his eyes, tracing my gaze over his shoulders and arms. James moves close enough so that I can smell his delicious scent of his clean skin swirled with cologne that smells of sandalwood. He skims his warm fingers across my cheek, and I force my eyes up. I press my palm on his chest and feel his steady heartbeat. He wraps his hand around my wrist; his hold is firm and warm.

“No. I’m tired. Tired of spending my life trying to prove myself to other people. To surpass my mother’s…everyone’s expectations and try to fix things. Everything,” he mutters, shaking his head. “There’s no fucking room for mistakes.”

Part of me understands his urge to fix things to prove himself a success, even at the expense of his own happiness, but in turn, it’s affecting mine.

Anxiety clenches my stomach at the obvious pressure he’s under. Something is off, and I don’t know what it is. I have to ask him since he doesn’t volunteer anything anymore. I thought I knew everything about my husband, but in the past few months, I’ve been left in the dark. James knows everything about me, even the bleak parts. He never has to ask. He’s the first person I go to.

“It will get better.” I place my hand on his cheek.

“I don’t feel like talking about this,” he says as he releases my hand. I’d feel a lot better if he pulls me against the hard planes of his body, tears off my clothes, clutches my hips, lifts me, and fills me with one deep thrust as he presses me against the wall. Our bodies’ slick with sweat, both of us panting for breath. I want him so desperately, but instead, I stand, feeling alone minus his touch.

For another minute, we just stare at each other. I can tell he wants to say something, but I don’t know what. Whatever is happening between us, I wish it would stop. “Anyway, I’m going to swim a couple of laps, take a shower, and catch up on some work in the office.”

Rather than try to speak, I nod and watch him head upstairs. I want him to be the one to reach out to me. Pressing my hands to my eyes stinging with unshed tears, I withdraw to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine.

How do I get him to come back to me?