Chapter Ten
By the timeBrian returned with the dogs, Cait was showered and dressed.
He squinted and looked at her sideways. Was he mistaken or had she put on a fresh layer of makeup?
She was vibrant enough without makeup, what with her auburn hair with red highlights and her pretty eyes. But when she tried too hard to attract him, he’d get a squishy feeling inside him and his chest would grow tight.
Somehow, he had to get up the guts to tell it to her straight. Their marriage was over. No one was going to take the house from them, and he no longer wanted to put on an act for her large family. He didn’t fit in with the Harts, and now that all of Cait’s sisters were getting married, they would compare Larry and Rob with him and he’d come up short.
Heck, even Connor knew how to treat a wife better than he did, and the fact that Connor had to tell him to pay attention to Cait meant he, Brian, was no good at this game called marriage.
“Aren’t you going to tell me I look lovely this morning?” Cait gave him a wink as she sipped coffee at the kitchen table.
“You look lovely this morning.” He walked by her and put fresh water into the water bowls for the dogs.
“You’re not even looking at me.” Her voice followed after him. “What color sweater am I wearing?”
That one was easy. While he might not pick up on emotions and expressions very well, he did have a photographic memory.
“A cream colored turtleneck, and you’re wearing brown corduroy pants.” He patted the dogs, rubbing their shoulders, without looking over at her.
“Wow, so you did look at me. Did you like what you saw?” She always had this teasing quality in her voice, and it bothered him, because he wasn’t sure if she was joking or laughing at him.
“Yes.” He mostly told the truth because it was simpler. “The cream sweater goes well with your auburn hair.”
“I like what you’re wearing, too,” Cait said. “Navy blue looks good on you. Blue and orange are opposite colors on the color wheel, and I like how dark navy contrasts with your carrot top hair.”
“I do look nice, don’t I?” A swelling sensation warmed his insides, because no matter how much of a bozo he was called back in school, Cait and Alana always said he looked handsome.
“You do, and this coffee’s to die for.” She took another sip.
A surge of panic slammed Brian’s chest. Had he poisoned the coffee somehow? His hands shaking, he took the mug from her. “Don’t drink it.”
She stared at him, drew back and then shrugged. “I was done with it anyhow.”
“I didn’t want you to die, or anything.”
It was lame, because his logical mind, the one that stood outside of himself and judged his actions realized she was joking about dying. It was something people did. They exaggerated or said things they didn’t mean. Alana had told him not to take things literally, to turn the words around and look at them from different angles before reacting. Except it made no sense why people wanted to be so dramatic all the time. Which was why he was only in Mrs. Thornton’s debate club and skipped her drama club, the one Cait had participated in.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She patted his hand.
He grew uneasy with her gaze, because it always burned a hole into him. She was beautiful, of course, and her eyes were a deep, dark green, complimentary colors with her dark red hair. But he couldn’t bear her staring, so he looked away.
Dogs didn’t like it when people stared into their eyes, either. They also hated to be petted on their heads. He didn’t like Cait patting his hand, either.
But she was his wife, and she probably wanted a kiss. Which meant back to the eye locking and that awkward moment of leaning in—never sure if the woman would turn away and slap him with a rejection.
Cait stood and met him halfway, giving him an easy pitch. Their lips touched, and he allowed himself to loosen up. He kissed her and she kissed him back. He kissed her again, and she kissed back. Even number still. Would it be bad luck to end with an odd number of kisses?
He moved his lips again, but this time, she also opened her mouth. Then, she grabbed him around the neck, and he lost track of when one kiss started and ended.
She tasted like bacon and coffee, but felt soft and wet and everything nice. Tiny pinpricks of panic poked at him, trying to remind him it wasn’t the time or the place and this wasn’t on schedule.
But another part of him didn’t care anymore. Whenever he was with Cait, he wasn’t a zombie or a weirdo. He was a man, and she was tender and caring, and best of all, she didn’t speak words when they were in bed.
He kept his lips busy and locked onto hers, so he wouldn’t say anything stupid, and as his body heated and took over, he let his hands roam over her, the same way Mrs. Thornton had taught him. He was a master at playing a woman’s body. It was like an exquisite musical instrument, and the sounds they made were better than going to an opera.
Cait, especially, was a worthy soprano. He loved his mastery of her, especially, because it made her happy and warm and fuzzy. When she was happy, she didn’t complain or talk as much.
