Allure Page 15

  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.

  “I brought you a few more groceries.” She holds up a canvas bag. “Give you one less thing to think about with the surgery and all.”

  She eases past me and goes into the kitchen.

  “Thanks.” I follow her in, grateful for the distraction.

  “Just happy I can be there for Paige and your mom.” She starts putting the groceries away. “They were always there for me during the rough times.”

  She doesn’t have to elaborate what rough times she’s talking about. She shuts the freezer door and rolls up the canvas bag.

  “Paige said the surgery went well,” she remarks.

  “Yeah. So far, so good.”

  “I’m glad. This was all such a shock.”

  She crosses her arms and leans against the counter. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Her eyebrows draw together.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” Formal accusations? “Uh, you want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Not the answer I was expecting. Helen smiles faintly and moves to the coffeepot.

  “I’ll make it,” she says.

  “I can—”

  “Sit down, Dean. I know this has been tough on you, too.” She grinds the coffee beans and fills the coffeemaker with water. When it’s done, she pours two mugs before sitting across from me at the table.

  “So,” she says. “You’re happy?”

  Not the question I was expecting.

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” I swallow some coffee. Stop thinking about that email. Stop. “You?”

  She looks at her mug. “With my work, yes. I’ve traveled a lot over the years, met interesting people. My career is fantastic. So are my friends.”

  “But?”

  “Oh, you know, Dean.” She runs her hands through her short hair. “I’ve always been sorry it didn’t work out between us. Always thought you were the one for me. And I still haven’t found someone else who actually is.”

  I have no idea how to respond to that. There might’ve been a time when I’d fooled myself into thinking Helen was also the one, but after Liv came along, I knew there had never been anyone else for me. There never would be.
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br />   “I guess you found someone, though,” Helen says, breaking the sudden silence.

  Once again, no idea how to respond.

  “Liv seems nice,” Helen continues. “Sweet.”

  “She is.”

  “Paige said you met at a university?”

  “In Wisconsin.”

  I don’t want to discuss Liv with Helen. Something about her probing tone sets me on edge even more than I already am.

  “How long had she been attending?” Helen asks.

  “Couple of months.”

  “Was she your student?”

  Christ. What if Liv had been my student? We’d never have gotten together. I wouldn’t have pursued her, no matter how much I wanted to.

  “No,” I tell Helen. “She was a student, but not mine.”

  She was mine in a totally different way.

  “And what does she do now?” Helen asks.

  “She volunteers at the Mirror Lake Historical Museum.”

  “What else?”

  “She helps out at a friend’s bookstore. And she’s learning how to cook.”

  “That’s it?” Helen raises an eyebrow. “Did she finish college?”

  “Of course.” I hate the defensive tone in my voice. “She was a library sciences and literature major.”

  “Did she ever do anything with that?”

  I shove my chair back. The legs scrape against the tile. Tension knots my shoulders.

  “What’s this about, Helen?” I snap. “Are you so jealous of what I have with Liv that you need to demean her?”

  “I’m not jealous, Dean…”

  “Then what? No, Liv doesn’t have a PhD. No, she’s not a Harvard professor. You think I give a shit?”

  I put my hands flat on the table. Lean in to look her in the eye. “So she was a student when we met. She was also schlepping coffee. Best damn coffee I’ve ever had. One look at her and I was a goner. Done. Since that day, I’ve never had it so good. So don’t try and put her down because you can’t. She’s everything you never were. Everything you’ll never be.”

  A gasp sounds from the kitchen doorway. Paige and my mother are standing there, both looking shocked.

  Well, shit.

  I straighten and drag a hand down my face. Helen is staring at me. My chest is a snarled mess of nerves. I can’t take back what I said. Can’t think of any way to soften it either.

  I push past my mother and sister and go upstairs to Liv.

  She’s asleep on the bed, half-curled around a pillow. Her hair is spread around her shoulders, across another pillow. Just the way I like it.

  I kick off my shoes and lie down beside her, pulling her back against me. She shifts, sighs, nestles her ass against my crotch.

  Just the way I like it.

  My tension eases. I shove aside thoughts about Frances’s message, Helen, my parents, my brother. Instead I focus on Liv’s body against mine. Her hair brushes my face, and her peaches scent fills my nose. My pretty wife.

  Mine.

  Liv sleeps for another half hour. She shifts again and turns toward me.

  “Hey.” She gives me a sleepy smile. “When did you get here?”

  “Few minutes ago.” I run a hand over the curve of her hip. “You feel okay?”

  “Mmm.” She yawns. “Tired lately, though.”

  She tucks her face against my shoulder and closes her eyes again. I stroke her hip, which seems curvier than usual, then move my hand around to her belly. Her pants are unbuttoned and the zipper is down. I ease a finger beneath her underwear.

  “What’s this about?” I ask.

  “Hmm? Oh… my pants are getting tight. Sort of uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah?” I spread my hand across her belly, which does seem rounder. A flash of… something fills my chest. Expectation? Hope?

  Whatever it is, it feels good.

  “I think your pants are getting tight too.” Liv nestles her face against my neck as her fingers brush the bulge in my jeans.

  “No wonder, considering you were rubbing your ass against me.”

  I feel her grin against my neck. She fondles my crotch.

  “Is it uncomfortable?” she asks.

  “Very.”

  “Hmm.” She slides her other hand between us and starts working the buttons on my fly. When she moves her fingers beneath my boxers to grasp my cock, my whole body tenses. She strokes me slow and easy as her breath gets hotter against my skin. Then she wriggles back to pull my jeans down.

  I watch her, wondering what other parts of her body are getting bigger that I haven’t yet noticed. I tug at the hem of her shirt.

  “Take this off.”

  She flashes me a smile—Christ, I love that smile—and unbuttons her shirt.

  How the hell had I missed that? Her breasts are starting to swell over the top of her bra.

  She follows my gaze down. “They’re getting bigger, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I reach for the front clasp of her bra and flick it open.

  Ah, fuck. Full, creamy, perfect. Nipples like berries.

  “Come here.” I’m already so hard it hurts. “Now.”

  She eases out of her pants and crawls back across the bed to me. Her lips part on a sigh as she looks at my stiff cock and straddles my thighs. With her poised above me, I can see it all now—the greater width of her hips, her rounder belly, those incredible breasts.

  I grasp her hips and position her above my prick, then guide her down. Like a glove, she sinks onto my shaft.

  “Oh!” She leans forward, bracing her hands on my shoulders. Her hair falls in a curtain on either side of my face.

  I grab a swath of her hair to pull her closer for a deep kiss. She sinks farther onto me until I’m throbbing inside her. She shifts, gasping. I dig my fingers into her hips.

  “Ride me,” I whisper. “Hard.”

  “Jesus, Dean.” Liv sucks in a breath and writhes again. Her body strains. “I feel like I’m going to come already.”

  I thrust upward, fast enough to jolt her. “Do it.”

  She stares down at me, her breath fast and a flush painting her skin pink. “But I want it to last.”

  “I’ll make you come again.”

  “But I… oh, God…” Her eyes drift closed as I push upward again. She swivels her hips again, faster, rubbing her clit against me. Just when I think she’s going to take me with her, she gasps and shudders. “Dean… oh!”

  She rides the wave of her orgasm, which makes her ripple around my shaft. Then she puts her hands on my chest, her fingernails digging in as she lifts herself up and down. That’s what I want—the sight of her working herself on my cock, her breasts bouncing and her belly rippling. Pressure builds fast in my groin.

  It’s not going to last long for me either, and when she slides down and clenches around me, I’m done. I thrust up into her and come like a rocket, pulling her down to me. Her breasts pillow between us, her nipples hard as pebbles, her breath hot on my mouth. She wiggles her hips, drags her breasts against my chest.

  “Dean, I want to come again.” Her voice is strained.

  I roll her onto her back and move lower on the bed. I slip my hands between her thighs, spreading them apart. She watches me as she cups her breasts, her fingers playing with the nipples. The sight is almost enough to get me hard again.

  She moans and bucks upward when I start to lick her. Sweat beads on her inner thighs. I close my lips around her clit, slip a finger into her, stroking and sucking at the same time. When she fists a hand in my hair, I know she’s close and increase the pace. She comes again with a shriek, gripping my head, holding me against her.

  I move back up to her and pull her close. Her chest heaves as she drapes herself across me. Her body is
warm and loose. I brush my lips across her hair and feel her sink into sleep.

  This is the only place I want to be. Right here, with her.

  Everything else has to stay the hell away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Olivia

  omething is weird. Paige and Joanna West have never made a secret of their hostility toward me, but they haven’t flat-out ignored me. Now when I enter the kitchen to ask about helping with dinner, Joanna avoids looking at me. And at Dean, for that matter.

  When I catch his eye, I tilt my head toward the garden terrace.

  Once outside, I turn to him with a frown. “What’s going on?”

  He scratches the back of his neck.

  “Dean?”

  “Well…”

  “Dean?”

  A faintly abashed look enters his eyes. “I got into an argument with Helen about you.”

  “What?”

  “Well, not an argument exactly. She said some things I didn’t like, and I told her off.”

  I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “What, exactly, did you tell her?”

  “That you’re the love of my life and she could never compare to you.”

  I stare at him. “Really?”

  “Not in those exact words, but close.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I’m getting a little mushy inside, but part of me is very aware that Helen likely didn’t take such a comment well. “Um, what did she say to that?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “Why did you have to say that to begin with?” I ask.

  “She was being bitchy about you. I didn’t like it.”

  “And were your mother and sister there at the time?”

  “Yeah.” He holds up his hands in defense. “But I didn’t know it. They walked in on us.”

  “Dean.” I groan and drop my head into my hands. “That’s why they’re being so weird to me. They’re on Helen’s side.”

  “I didn’t realize there were sides.”

  “Of course there are sides! When your ex-wife and your current… not to mention last, thank you… wife meet for the first time, how could there not be sides? Especially when your ex-wife is BFFs with your mother and sister?”