Chapter 14 #2
I stay where I am, partially hidden by the darkness inside the house.
Wes climbs out of the water and suddenly every coherent thought leaves my mind.
He’s wearing black swim trunks that are slung low on his hips and end mid-thigh.
His pecs are impossibly defined, water dripping slowly down smooth, tanned skin and over defined muscle that looks like it was carved rather than earned.
Every muscle in his arms shift with quiet power as he reaches for the towel tossed over one of the loungers nearby.
And his stomach—good Lord. My eyes drag helplessly lower, over hard abs and sharp lines disappearing beneath the waistband of his trunks, and heat blooms instantly through my entire body.
I have seen attractive men before. I have never seen this.
There’s something almost distracting about the size of him. The way he takes up space so effortlessly, all strength and masculine confidence. Water trails slowly down his torso as he lifts the towel, dragging it over the back of his neck before rubbing it through his wet hair.
The sight of him does something dangerous to me. My nipples tingle under my sweater. My pulse stutters. My skin feels hot. And suddenly I’m hyperaware of the fact that I’m hiding in the dark staring at him like a complete idiot.
Wes lifts his head then, almost like he senses me there, and my stomach tightens hard when his eyes meet mine through the open doorway.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves. His hooded gray eyes stay locked on mine with a kind of slow, deliberate intensity that sends heat rushing through my body so fast I actually have to grip the frame of the door to steady myself.
I clear my throat lightly, forcing my brain to function again. God, the sight of him wearing almost nothing is like a shock to my system.
“It’s a nice night for a swim,” I say when my brain remembers how to function.
“Yeah,” he says. “It was a hell of a day.”
“Long flight?”
“Got back this morning.” He runs the towel down his legs. “I was supposed to come straight home, but I stopped by Cove on the way and there was something the board wanted to go over, so naturally that turned into hours.”
I smile softly despite myself so Wes won’t see the disappointment etched in my face. “Naturally.”
His eyes stay on mine as he continues. “Then Ford and Jesse wanted dinner, so we all grabbed a bite at Breakwater Bistro.” As disappointed as I am that he didn’t come home after the office to see me, a warmth flickers low in my stomach.
I like hearing him explain his day to me.
The familiarity of it. Wes doesn’t usually say more than he needs to, so I can tell that he’s trying.
“And when I finally got home, you weren’t here. ”
The words settle between us heavily. I look down for a second, suddenly very aware of the fact that this is probably the longest conversation we’ve had since getting married. The silence has been wearing on me for days.
“I was at my parents’ house,” I say softly.
He nods once. “How are they?”
“They’re okay.”
Quiet stretches between us again as I try to look anywhere but at the water still sliding slowly down the hard lines of his chest.
“How’s your d—"
“I feel like I haven’t actually talked to you in days,” I say, talking over him. It’s my admission of how tired I am of the way it feels to be me lately. I’m tired of pretending this house doesn’t feel strange and lonely and confusing all at once.
He nods slowly, like he realizes it too. He drags the towel over hard muscles on his chest before answering. “Yeah, I’ve felt that way too.”
“Have you?” I ask.
His brows pull together. “Lottie, is something wrong?”
“You leave before I’m awake half the time,” I say, the words just tumbling out of me now.
“And when I get home, you’re gone—locked in your office or flying to another city.
I never even know where you are. I don’t know your schedule.
I don’t know when you’re coming home or when you’re leaving again.
Half the time I feel like I’m just… house-sitting or something, looking around for someone who may or may not appear. ”
“I didn’t realize you felt like that.”
“Well, I do.” I hate that I feel this way. I know this isn’t a real marriage—we’re barely even friends. I have no right to demand to know where Wes is or what he’s doing, but even roommates would know more about each other’s day, wouldn’t they?
He inhales a heavy breath before dropping the towel onto the lounger beside him, then he takes a step closer toward me, water still dripping from his shorts onto the stone. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I am. I haven’t treated you the way you deserve. I’m not good at this.”
I glance back at him. “At what?”