Love (Uncivilized 1.5)

"Did she say why she canceled?" I asked Lila hesitantly, even though I knew the answer. I guess I just wanted to know what she might have had the gall to tell my secretary.

Lila glanced down at the carpet, her hands clasped primly in front of her. When she looked back up at me, there was censure in her eyes. At first, I thought it was directed at me, but then I knew it wasn't based on the cool sniff in her tone. "She felt your work was more important than your family. I tried to assure her, Zach, that this was an emergency."

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose in frustration. Why in the hell would Moira even think that about me? We've talked about this time and time again--about my need to bust ass and pay my dues at Cannon's. She's been in support of this, and so I'm late to dinner once... okay, a few times... well, fuck... a lot of the time, still... she knows it's not intentional. It's for the greater good of our entire family.

And yet, there was a small fissure of guilt that seemed to be burning through me. I could have easily reviewed this prospectus after dinner, I suppose. It was well within my means to put this off for just a bit, but then I got caught up in the need to outshine everyone and figured Moira would understand.

Abruptly standing up from my desk, I grabbed the prospectus in one hand and my suit jacket from the back of my chair with the other. "Call Randall back. Tell him dinner's back on; I'll finish this up later tonight."

"But," Lila said softly. "I took the liberty of ordering you some dinner. It should be here soon."

"Sorry," I said without really any apology as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Moira. "I really need to make this dinner."

It rang and rang as I walk toward the door. When her voice mail picked up, I disconnected and redialed. Moira and I had a system. We were both often too busy or wrapped up in something and couldn't answer the phone right away. If it was really important, we just dialed right back again. A second call meant it was important, and we made every effort to answer it.

Lila stepped back from the doorway just as Moira's voice mail picked up again. I halted, redialed once more, and put the phone to my ear. My eyes cut over to Lila, but she kept her own lowered in a futile attempt to give me privacy. I got Moira's voice mail for a third time, and it was then, without a doubt, that I knew I was being ignored.

Disconnecting, I lowered the phone, slowly sliding it in my pocket while guilt and anger warred within me. I was trying to make it right, and she was avoiding me. My beautiful, brilliant, but stubborn, wife was giving me the cold shoulder.

The old Zach would jet on home, pull her ass out of bed, and spank her before I fucked the ornery out of her. But all of a sudden, that just felt like too much effort on my part. I turned back toward my desk and threw my jacket on one of my guest chairs. "Let me know when the food gets here," I said absently to Lila.

"Sure," she discreetly responded. "And I'll stick around until you finish in case you need something else."

"Thanks," I muttered and slumped down in my seat, in some ways hoping it would take me hours to review the prospectus and avoid the imminent argument that I knew would be coming when I got home.

It turns out that it didn't take me all that long to go through the new prospectus. The mistake had been well identified, and the new figures were easy enough to reconcile. I had one small change to a graphic that I thought would pack a better punch in a bar form, but otherwise, I finished it before I even finished eating my food. Of course, I invited Lila to join me. She sat on the opposite side of my desk while we munched on a Thai peanut quinoa salad, and we went over the next day's agenda. That, of course, led to discussion about preparation for the next day's meetings, and we made some tweaks to a few reports that would be presented. Before I knew it, it was almost ten PM, and I felt incredibly guilty for keeping Lila working that late.

"Shit," I said as I glanced at my watch. "I can't believe the time. I'm really sorry, Lila."

"No worries," she said with a bright smile. She then stretched a bit, arching her back, which pushed her breasts out against the tight cut of her white, silk blouse. For the first time, I noticed that Lila was a very sexy woman.

I wasn't sure she was always that way. I meant yeah... she was really pretty with dark brown hair and golden eyes. When I hired her almost ten months ago, she didn't quite dress that way, favoring dark suits with blouses buttoned up to her neck. She often wore her hair in a tight bun and sported eyeglasses. Again, pretty woman... the severe, business-like suits not able to take away from that, but she was Ivy-league educated, a hard-as-hell worker, and had glowing recommendations. I didn't give a fuck what she looked like, but now, sitting here, I was starting to wonder when things changed.

When she started going a bit sexier in her clothes.

Wearing hear hair down.

Ditching the glasses.

Calling me Zach.

Spending late nights working when I did.

Becoming the person I had call my wife to cancel on time and again.

Fuck... that couldn't be--

Nope... no fucking way. Wasn't even going to consider that.

I got up and hastily packed my briefcase, telling Lila in my most-professional tone, "Miss Hendrick... make sure you submit your overtime. You get time and a half."

She looked hurt when I said that and even tried to argue. "But Zach... that's not necessary--"

"No, I insist," I said, and then got the hell out of there as fast as I could.

Now, standing outside the door to my bedroom where I share a marriage bed with Moira, I suddenly feel exhausted. I got the distinct impression tonight that Lila was coming on to me a bit, or was trying to get me to notice her, and this would normally be something I'd lay out to Moira to help me figure out what to do. But now I'm feeling the distance that has come between us over the last few months, and I know, without a doubt, that I can't talk to her about Lila because she's already pissed as hell at me.

Squaring my shoulders, I take a deep breath and slowly turn the knob. I open the door, fully expecting to have Moira come at me with gloves off, but instead, I find her sleeping. She's wearing one of my t-shirts, her normal preferred choice of sleepwear, and her face looks peaceful and relaxed. She even left my beside lamp on to welcome me home, and while that usually warms me, it makes me feel like utter shit that I'm slinking it at 10:30 PM.

Laying my briefcase on the chair by the door, I silently pad across the carpet to our walk-in closet. I quickly disrobe, keeping my boxers on, and then give a quick brush to my teeth. When I slide into bed, I turn on my side toward Moira and just watch her sleep for a bit.

No matter the ugly between us right now, no matter how angry either of us may be, it never, ever fails to amaze me how much my heart swells to absolute fullness just looking at her. I don't think the way we feel about each other is normal; at least from what I can gather talking to and observing other couples. Moira and I have something undeniably deep and solid. It's survived me coming to her as an untamed and wild man with a completely narrowed view of the world. She survived me leaving her--abandoning her for all the wrong reasons--and she never gave up, coming after me halfway around the world in the deep jungles of the Amazon.

In turn, I surrendered the only life I ever really knew and felt comfortable with, because Moira was a necessity to me. I stepped into and became a part of the modern world because I loved a modern woman. I truly cannot survive life without her, and I know without a doubt that we can work through this mess.

I consider waking her up.

To talk?

To argue?

To fuck?

Yes... fuck. It's what we do best, second only to procreating the two most beautiful kids in the world, which involved fucking to do that.

I bring my hand to her chest, feeling the soft skin at the base of her throat just underneath my fingertips. Sliding my hand down, I gently curve over her breasts and graze along her cotton-covered stomach. I push outward, skim over a lace-clad hip, and then snake my

fingertips under the edge of her panties.

Her brow furrows, her mouth parts slightly, and I start to get hard thinking about her rolling over so she'll submit to me.

But she doesn't.

Her hand comes up and she pushes my own away from her, barely opening her groggy eyes. "Not tonight," she mutters as she turns over in the bed, giving me her back. She pulls her legs up and curls into herself tight... almost protectively. Against me? Against intimacy with me?

What the fuck?

A dark feeling of dread fills me up, and I wonder where my wife has gone. Moira has never pulled away from me like that. She's certainly not been in the mood for sex on a few prior occasions and had no qualms with telling me that. I have no qualms with hearing that, because no matter her reasons for "not being in the mood," she has never once not followed that denial up with a full-on cuddle session. She would always plow her body in tight against mine, wrap her arms around my waist for a good squeeze, and burrow her face into my neck. She'd whisper sweet nothings and then she'd get drowsy... fall asleep in my embrace.

We've always, always shared intimacy. Whether it's me being balls deep inside of her, or me just holding her snugly in her slumber, Moira and I are at our best when we are touching.

Holding.

Bonding.