Spiral of Bliss 02 Allure (17 page)

“Oh…” Blissful tension began to spiral through me, and the threads of discomfort faded into a swirl of colors. I seized Dean’s forearms and pulled, wanting him closer.

His mouth crashed down on mine as he thrust again, and then we were pushing and sweating and rocking together. He filled me over and over, still slow until I flexed upward to meet his every entry.

Then his thrusts grew faster, eliciting streams of sensation that seemed endless, his shaft sliding in until he could go no farther before he pulled away and pushed forward again. The rhythm increased in pace, his breath rasping against my neck.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his thighs. My breasts rubbed against his chest with every push, sensitizing my nipples. Thoughts fell away, and there was only the feeling of his thrusts, the need spooling through my body, his hands and lips everywhere.

I convulsed again, my inner muscles clenching around his cock. He groaned and thrust deep, his body tensing above me as release coursed through him. When he rolled to the side, we both panted for breath, our bodies slick with sweat.

My sex throbbed, pleasure coating my mind like a fine mist. Dean reached over and put his hand on my belly.

“Wow,” he said. “That was… terrible.”

I started to laugh. He grinned and pulled me to him, kissing me and squeezing my bottom. I sank against him, my curves yielding to the hard planes of his body.

“Stay with me,” he said.

“Yes.”

I tumbled into a shallow sleep with the scent of him on my skin. When I woke at three in the morning, my body was sore—but in a pulsing, rather pleasant way. I hadn’t slept very well, waking and turning often, but no dreams had disrupted my light slumber.

I shifted toward Dean. I’d never slept in the same bed with a man before. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head and the sheet tangled around his waist.

I lifted myself on one elbow to look at him. Slivers of moonlight slanted through the blinds and spread over his long, half-naked body. His features were relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes shadowing his cheekbones.

Reaching out a tentative finger, I traced the half-moon line of his eyelash. Like feathers sweeping across my fingertip. He twitched. I lowered my hand and tracked my gaze over his body from his shoulders to the planes of his abdomen.

A foreign emotion rose in me—a mixture of longing and affection and fear. When I lifted my eyes back to his face, I found him watching me.

For a moment, we just looked at each other.

“Nice to wake up and see you here,” he said.

“Nice to wake up and be here.”

He reached out to push my hair away from my forehead. “You okay?”

“Remember last month when we went to the botanical gardens?” I asked.

“That day you wanted to see what plants were still blooming at the end of October and we nearly froze our asses off? Yeah, I remember.”

I grinned. “Remember how that wind was biting through our coats and stinging our cheeks, and the cold got into our bones? Then remember we went to the conservatory, and the moment we stepped inside we were in the warm, humid tropics with blooming orchids, butterflies, canaries, and waterfalls?”

Dean twined a lock of my hair around his finger.

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

“That’s how I feel.”

A slow smile curved his mouth. “You have me at your feet, Olivia Rose. You know that, don’t you?”

“No, but that sounds very promising.”

I leaned over to kiss him, pleasure flooding every part of my being. We sank into each other for a few long, luscious minutes before Dean eased away. Desire filled his eyes, and I glided my hand down his chest and beneath the covers.

He captured my wrist with a laugh. “Not so fast.”

“You don’t want…”

“Oh, I do,” he said, his gaze sliding down to my bare breasts. “And I will. But you’re probably sore, so I’m going to make us both wait awhile.”

I wondered how long
awhile
was. I stopped the downward trek of my hand and settled for rubbing circles on his abdomen. “I have a morning shift at Jitter Beans.”

“I’ll take you, then come back here. I need to get those essays finished and start grading midterms.”

Midterms were already over. It had been almost three months since that day at the registrar’s office.

“It’ll be Thanksgiving soon,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to visit your family?”

“I usually do.”

There was a dissonant note to his voice that sparked my curiosity. I leaned my head on my hand and studied him.

“What’s it like?” I asked. “Thanksgiving with your family?”

“Tense.”

“Why?”

“My mother always has this illusion about what holidays should be like, but things can’t be that way.”

“Because of your brother?” I asked.

“Because of everyone.” Dean shifted to look at me. “What about you? Not so good?”

I shook my head. “My mother and I spent most Thanksgivings at diners. Sometimes with the guy she was seeing at the time. Sometimes alone. I’ll probably visit Aunt Stella this year.”

He was silent for a moment before he asked, “Do you want to come to California with me instead?”

My heart thumped. “You’re serious?”

“Not only am I serious, I want my parents to know I’m serious about you.”

“You’re serious about me?”

“Seriously.” A smile twitched his mouth.

I tried to picture it, tried to imagine myself in the illustrious household of Justice West and his socialite wife.

“You’re sure?” I whispered.

“Beauty, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

We looked at each other for a few minutes, the air charged with this fragile understanding.

I wanted to give him everything, this man who had changed my life. He made my heart soar and my body sing. He was brilliant, handsome, kind, patient. He knew how and why the Crusades had changed thirteenth-century castle architecture. He couldn’t cook much better than I could. His chocolate-brown eyes filled with heat and affection when he looked at me. He thought boring foreign movies were fascinating. He made me laugh. I liked myself when I was with him.

A memory of his voice echoed in my mind from three months before, that night when I’d first come to his apartment for dinner.

“What’s your key, Olivia?”

“My key?”

“An old friend once told me that everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets. What’s yours?”

“Um… I’m pretty sure I don’t have a key.”

“I’m pretty sure you do.”

“Well, if everyone has one,” I said, “what’s yours?”

“Ah.” A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “You have to discover that yourself.”

“Then you have to do the same with me.”

“Challenge accepted.”

The coldness that had lived inside me for so long was dissolving now, spreading warmth through my blood. A little bud seemed to be unfurling in the depths of my soul, something with petals of velvet and a core that contained a thousand unspoken wishes, wants, and desires.

I moved closer to Dean, breathing in the scent of his skin, the heat of his body.

“Remember when you told me everyone has a key to unlocking their secrets?” I whispered. “And you wanted to know what mine is?”

He nodded. “And you told me you didn’t have a key.”

“I think I do.”

“What is it?”

“You.”

CHAPTER NINE

Dean

January 21

wake before dawn and head out for a run. Although I like winter weather and snow, I miss running outside any time of year the way I can in California. I take an old path through the neighborhood that I used to run in high school. Six miles. Feels good—doubts and fears dissolving into the sound of my shoes on the pavement, breath filling my lungs.

When I get back to the house, I shower and change, then head to the kitchen to make coffee. It’s my favorite time of day—quiet and still.

I pull the milk from the fridge for Liv and notice some deli salads that Helen brought over. After my initial surprise, it actually wasn’t horrible to see her again. And while I’m grateful for her friendship with my sister and mother, I still want to keep a few thousand miles between me and my ex-wife.

As I wait for the coffee to brew, I check email on my phone. There’s a message from Nancy the real-estate agent that the owners of the house we’d bid on have accepted another offer.

Damn. Even though I know Liv wasn’t crazy about the house, not even she can deny we need a bigger place, a good school district, a safe neighborhood. I want to give all that to her and more. I email Nancy asking her to keep looking, then turn off the phone.

I write a note and stick it to Liv’s coffee cup:

By the time I’ve had toast and coffee, Liv comes into the kitchen. At home, she always stumbles in looking sleepy with her hair a mess, but today she looks crisp and neat in slacks and a collared white blouse. Her hair is pulled back so tightly into a bun that I swear it’s stretching her eyebrows up.

“Good morning.” She gives me a smile and glances around as if checking to see who else is there.

“Morning.” I hand her a cup of decaf.

She reads the note I’ve stuck to the cup.

“It’s a pear,” I say before she can make a comment about my artistic abilities. “The
fruit
.”

“I see that.” She smiles again. “It’s a grape drawing, professor.”

“Thank you.” I pick up my mug and lean against the counter. “What’s up with the hair?”

“What do you mean?” She smooths her hair with her hand.

“Looks like you’re wearing a swimming cap.”

“Hey.” She frowns, but the skin on her forehead is pulled so taut that not a line forms. “This is a very sophisticated style.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Come here.”

“No.”

As she moves past me to get to the table, I snag her around the waist. She tries to frown again. I take her cup and put it on the counter.

“You’re going to get a headache if you don’t loosen that up.” I pull her closer so that her hips settle against mine. I fumble with the pins holding her gorgeous hair back.

“Don’t.” She pushes at my chest. “I spent half an hour fixing it like this.”

“It looks terrible.”

“It does not! It looks elegant.”

“I like your hair down.” I tug at the pins again. A few come loose. “Like to run it through my fingers.”

“You are in so much trouble.”

“Awesome. Hope we get to have make-up sex.”

“You’re not getting any kind of sex.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe.”

“I accept.” A bunch of pins clatter to the floor.

Liv’s not making much of an effort to escape, especially when I drag my hands through her hair, freeing it from the ridiculous knot. I comb the thick mass with my fingers until it’s loose around her shoulders. Just the way I like it.

When she opens her mouth to complain again, I slide one hand around the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. After a few seconds of half-hearted resistance, her body softens against mine. She winds her arms around my waist.

Ah, good. Sinking into her. Nothing but her lush mouth against mine, her breasts pressing against my chest.

“Morn… oh, sorry.”

Liv stiffens and jerks away at the sound of Paige’s voice. My sister enters the kitchen, shooting me a look that appears to say,
“Really, Dean? Right here in the kitchen?”

Liv wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Uh, morning, Paige. Sorry about that.”

Paige pours herself a cup of coffee. “What time is Dad’s surgery?”

“Ten.” I glance at the clock. “We’re leaving in half an hour, if you want to come with us.”

“Might as well.” After getting a container of yogurt, Paige sits down to eat and read the paper.

I make Liv an egg and toast. She glowers at me while attempting to put her hair back into some sort of order. I mouth the words
“I love you,”
which makes her smile even as she tries to maintain the glower.

Warmth fills my chest. Nice. Like the way it used to be.

My mother comes in soon, and there’s some discussion about the weather and the day’s schedule before we head to the hospital. My father is awake and looking better than he did yesterday. The doctor performing the bypass surgery is a well-respected heart surgeon, so my father seems optimistic.

Which is to say he’s not opposing the doctor’s orders.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asks me.

“The semester doesn’t start until February, so I have another couple of weeks.”

My father looks at Liv. “Hello, Liv.”

He sounds almost cordial. Liv smiles.

“Sounds like everything will be fine, Mr. West,” she says.

“Tell me that if I make it out of surgery.”

“Richard, don’t be dire.” My mother starts to unnecessarily rearrange his pillows. “Did I tell you that Marlene called to see how you’re doing? Gordon had heart surgery a few years back, do you remember that? Turned out just fine, and now he plays tennis three times a week.”

My father doesn’t respond. I can see him tune her out. Still my mother keeps up the inane chatter until the nurses arrive to prep my father for surgery. We file out to wait.

Three hours in, we’ve watched way too many daytime talk shows and had at least two cups each of bad vending-machine coffee. Around lunchtime, Liv and I walk to the cafeteria to bring back sandwiches for Paige and my mother.

As we stand in the food line, I tell her about the real-estate agent’s message.

“Oh.” Liv breathes out a sigh. “Well, that’s too bad.”

She doesn’t sound terribly sorry.

“We’re going to need a bigger place soon, Liv.”

“I know.” She hesitates. “Are you going to tell your parents that I’m pregnant?”

Not until the baby’s born.

“Not until we’re sure everything’s okay.”

“Everything is okay, Dean. Dr. Nolan has been saying that all along.”

Yeah. That’s also what Helen’s doctor said, then she miscarried three times. Once in her second trimester. Then she needed a D&C to scrape out her uterus and—

Fuck.
Fear claws at me. I grab several prepackaged sandwiches and head for the cashier’s line. Liv follows, but doesn’t speak until we’re back in the elevator.

“I just thought you’d want to tell them in person,” she says. “Since we’re here and everything. And it might make your parents happy.”

Doubtful. My mother has never liked Liv, for no good reason except that she’s not as accomplished as Helen. And I sure as hell don’t want to deal with any more crap from my family, least of all anything directed toward my wife.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, even though I’ve decided against it.

Liv doesn’t bring it up again. When the doctor finally comes out with a report that the surgery went well and my father is back in his room, Paige and my mother go in to see him.

I decide to return later that day. Liv is looking tired, and now I’m hyperconscious of her pregnancy, so I take her back home. She puts up some resistance when I suggest she take a nap, but eventually she heads upstairs.

I go into the library. My brother’s telephone number is still scribbled on a pad by the phone. I’ve left a few messages on a generic voicemail. Archer hasn’t returned my calls.

Not at all surprised. For my mother’s sake, I call again. “Archer, it’s Dean. The surgery seems to have gone well. Mom thought you’d be back by now. Call her.”

I leave our mother’s number, not that he needs it, and hang up. Then I turn to the computer and log in to my university email.

There’s a message from Frances Hunter, the chairperson of the history department, in response to my letter about the grad student Maggie Hamilton needing to seek a new advisor.

Professor West,

I received your letter (copy attached) and have forwarded your concerns to both the registrar’s office and the Office of Judicial Affairs (OJA). I need to inform you that the student in question, Margaret Hamilton, has approached me with some concerns of her own as to the appropriateness of your professor-student relationship.

     While Ms. Hamilton has NOT made any formal accusations, I have an obligation to you both to investigate the matter further. Please let me know when you expect to return, and we can set up a convenient time to discuss this.

Regards,

Dr. Frances Hunter

I can’t make sense of what I’m reading. I understand the words, the sentences, but they don’t form a coherent whole. They’re fragments, puzzle pieces, clues.
Concerns… appropriateness… accusations… investigate… professor-student relationship…

What the fuck?

A surge of nausea burns my throat.

My hands shake. I hit the reply button and hammer out a response.
Frances, tell me what the fuck this is…

I take a breath. Delete the string of words and retype.

Professor Hunter,

Thank you for your message. Please explain Margaret Hamilton’s “concerns.” I will be in California for the next week and would like this matter settled quickly.

Send.

I shove away from the desk. My brain spins with disjointed thoughts.
She wouldn’t… no fucking way… even if she did…

I can’t finish any of them.

A bell rings. For a second, I don’t know what it is.

Another ring. Doorbell.

I stride to the foyer. Open the door to find Helen standing there.