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Her hair was a halo of wild golden curls, the way he loved it. She despised the disheveled natural state of her ringlets, but he found the look beautiful and sexy, all the more appealing for its rareness.
Legs clad in a short pair of old denim cutoffs and a loose, ivory light knit sweater that hung off of one creamy white shoulder. Her nipples poked against the material. She was braless.
She smiled at him. “Here’s your dinner. All you’ll need to buy is a drink. Try not to get something with too much sugar.”
“Is my birthday the cause of your sudden concern for my health? Are you worried about my mortality?” he teased, as he hugged her from behind and placed a kiss upon her soft exposed neck.
“I am always concerned. This is nothing new.”
“Don’t you trust me to make good choices?”
She laughed. “For me, yes. For yourself, not so much. If I left it up to you, you would have the world convinced the four food groups were coffee, candy, soda, and apple pie.”
“At least one is a fruit.” He squeezed her, not wanting to let her go. Maybe he should retire.
“Hardly.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” he whispered against her shoulder.
She turned in his arms and looked into his eyes. “That’s my job. I love you and I love doing it.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her nose and she handed him his lunch. “I’m scheduled to get off around five. So long as there are no early morning emergencies I should be home by six.” If he were lucky the evening would pass in a flash.
He’d worked the same shift for years. Every week was the same. He needed to keep his routine to keep life stable and predictable for Liberty. Unfortunately, there were those nights that patients needed him to stay several extra hours and, as a trauma surgeon, if he was needed he didn’t have time to call his wife and announce he would be late. He hated those nights, knowing she worried and struggled with the change in routine.
On nights like that he usually returned early morning, the sound of her fingers pounding across the grand piano greeting him from all the way in the garage. He could always tell that Libby hadn’t slept, that she’d been awake waiting and worrying for him.
With one final kiss Mason told Liberty he loved her and she escorted him to the door. Her mouth pressed into his and he poured all of his gratitude and passion into the kiss, savoring the moment as if he could carry it with him until morning. Reluctantly he pulled away.
“Oh, Lib, I noticed my brown loafers were a little scuffed. If you have time could you see if you could buff them out for me?”
She smiled. This was another part of their routine. Liberty needed to constantly feel needed and necessary. It was difficult to do that when he was occupied at work. He made a habit of dropping small hints about ways she could please him in his absence. This usually did wonders for balancing her moods. His shoes were fine, but, regardless of their untarnished state, he would likely return to not just one shining pair of brown loafers but a closet full of perfectly polished gleaming shoes displayed as if they were being privately gifted to the prince of England himself.
He kissed her one last time and she followed him to the foyer. Pulling his coat off the hanger she held it out to him. After sliding it over his shoulders she latched each button in a way that portrayed her utter devotion to him.
“I’ll be back soon.” He pinched her chin affectionately and headed to the garage.
As he backed out of the garage bay, he took one last glimpse at his gorgeous wife standing in the doorway before focusing on turning the car and pulling out of the drive. She stood at the door, a statue of beauty and salutation, until his car turned and the vision faded.
* * * *
Sean had his doubts that the mansion he’d been parked outside of actually belonged to Mase, but when a Mercedes hummed by and zipped onto the main road he was certain he’d found the place. Shit, Mase had really done well for himself. He’d fit in around here like a hand full of sore thumbs.
The stale scent of travel clung to him. Sean looked down at the five or so coffee cups littering the cab of his truck and his old gym bag sitting beside him. Maybe he should just go. Mase hadn’t called him back. He was married to the girl with the sweet voice that answered the phone, had his Mercedes, and was finally a doctor. He’d done everything he set out to do. Well, mostly. Some things had changed. Sean wondered if this whole trip was a waste.
