Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set Read online

  “I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. Unease roils in my stomach. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Just… next time, tell me, okay?”

  I nod, unable to shake the edgy sense of fear surrounding both of us, the stretching reach of old shadows.

  Dean wraps his arm around my shoulders as we head home. Once inside, he slides his hand to the back of my head, a slight pressure that turns me toward him. Tension still ripples through him as his lips come down on mine.

  I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt and tug him down harder. His mouth is cold and minty. Heat burns through the morning chill clinging to our clothes.

  A sudden, hard rush of longing fills my chest. My eyes sting. I put my hand on his stubbled cheek and part my lips under his. He works the zipper on my jacket and pushes it to the floor, then slides his big hands under my bottom to lift me against him. I fold my arms around him as he goes into the bedroom and lowers me to the bed.

  I grab his shirt and yank him down to me.

  “Hurry,” I gasp.

  A burn flares in his eyes. He levers himself over me, planting his hands on either side of my head before descending for another kiss. I arch upward to meet him and wrap my legs around his hips.

  He is the one who once rescued me from bitter isolation. I need him to defeat it again now.

  I pull his lower lip between my teeth, drive my hands into his thick hair. He matches my swift urgency without hesitation, tugging off my shirt and bra, then pulling my sweatpants and panties off and dropping them to the floor.

  He’s hard already. I can feel his cock pressing against me beneath his jeans. A tremble quakes through me, centering in the throb of my heart. Dean’s breath skims over my neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my throat as he slides a hand up my inner thigh and into my cleft.

  “Open,” he whispers, brushing his mouth across mine.

  I part my legs to give him access and fist my hands in his shirt. He strokes a path over my folds, his adept touch wrenching a gasp from my throat. I twist underneath him, tears blurring my vision, heat surging across my skin. When his forefinger slides into my body, I push upward and grasp his wrist to keep him inside me.

  He’s saying something, a steady stream of murmurs in my ear, but I can’t make out his words past the sound of my heartbeat. He circles his thumb around my clit, pressing against a spot he knows is especially sensitive.

  My nerves stretch hard, a rubber band close to snapping. I fumble for the button-fly of his jeans. My hands shake.

  “Dean.”

  “Easy, beauty…” He presses his mouth to the tears that have slipped from the corners of my eyes and down my temples. His breath rasps against my ear. “Come first, and then I’ll fuck you.”

  A wave of heat pours over me. I turn toward him, and our mouths collide hot and wet. Our arrested lust and the strain of the previous night suddenly explode into crazed need. He splays his fingers over my clit and with one stroke, I come hard, bucking up against him and crying out his name.

  When the sensations ebb, he moves away just long enough to take off his clothes before descending over me, his body hard and straining with urgency. Gasping, I wind my arms around him, crushing my breasts against his chest, pushing my tongue into his mouth.

  His cock throbs against my thigh, and I writhe around to try and nudge him into the right position, aching to feel him immersed deep inside me.

  “Wait.” He pulls back to grab a condom from the bedside table. Then he slides his hand down my side and kneels between my legs. His eyes smolder as he strokes his gaze over my damp, naked body, lingering on the swells of my breasts and taut nipples. “You’re so damn sexy, Liv.”

  Renewed arousal flares in my blood at the desire-thick tone of his voice, the heat in his expression. Dean presses his hands to my knees to urge them farther apart, running his finger over my folds. He rolls the condom on before putting the swollen head of his erection against me, then grabs my hips and pulls me onto his shaft.

  “Oh, God, Dean…” It’s a delicious shock, the sudden pulse of his long, hard length filling me. I tighten around him the instant he starts to thrust, and then everything disappears in the face of his heavy, repeated plunges, his eyes still raking my body, his hands gripping the undersides of my thighs.

  I want it to last forever. I want him slamming into me hard and fast, want my body rolling under the force of our fucking. I splay a hand over my breasts and push upward to match his movements.

  Tension spools inside me, a thread pulled too tight, and then convulsions tremble through me from head to toe all over again. My inner muscles clench around his cock. Dean braces his hands on the bed, sweat trickling down his jaw.

  “Liv.” His voice is strained, taut.

  “Wait. I want to…”

  Gasping, still shuddering, I push upward as his thickness slides out of me and he shoves to his feet. I close my fingers around his shaft and roll the condom off, then wiggle to the edge of the bed and open my mouth.

  “Ah, fuck…” With a groan, he grasps the sides of my head and nudges his cock past my lips.

  My chest heaves. I lean forward, closing my eyes and putting my hands on his hips. He’s big, and I have to remind myself to breathe slowly as I take him in. The salty taste of him fills me. His grip on my head tightens as I press my tongue to the vein throbbing on the underside of his shaft.

  For a moment, he stills. Above me, his breath saws through the air and restraint cords his muscles. He fists his fingers in my hair. I slide my hands to grip his buttocks and encourage him to move. Then he does, gently at first, then faster.

  Even in the heat of lust, he’s careful not to thrust too deep. I draw back to lick the hard knob and slacken my jaw, my mind filling with images of how we must look, sweaty and disheveled with him fucking my open mouth.

  When he presses the sides of my head in warning, I pull back at the same time he does. I dart a quick glance at him, my blood swimming with heat at the sight of his raw, lust-filled expression and burning eyes.

  I grasp his shaft again, sleek, pulsing, and begin to stroke. The air vibrates with his groan as he creams over my breasts, warm liquid dripping down my cleavage and tight nipples.

  “God, Dean, that’s so hot…” I shudder, pressing my thighs together as the sight elicits a surge of excitement.

  I fall back onto the bed and cup my breasts, smoothing my hands over them until my skin is glossy with his release. Dean sinks onto the bed beside me and reaches out to rub my abdomen. Our bodies ease into relaxation, our breath gradually slowing.

  I roll to my side, loving the scent of him on my skin, the delicious soreness between my legs—evidence of his complete possession.

  He pulls me closer. I slide against him, my bare leg falling between his as I press my face into his shoulder and run my hand over his damp chest.

  “Don’t leave, beauty.” His voice is a rough whisper.

  “Never.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  August 16

  “OKAY, SO THAT’S PRETTY MUCH IT.” Allie chews on a pen and slams the cash register drawer closed. “I get shipments about once a week, but they vary in size. Invoices go in that basket over there. I run a weekly ad for a fifteen-percent discount on one item, so if someone comes in with one, give me a holler and I’ll show you how to run it through. Any questions?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m not going to extend my weekend hours just yet because I’ve got a… thing this Saturday.”

  “A handsome thing?” I ask.

  Her face gets pink, but she returns my smile. “Brent. He’s an assistant manager over at the Sugarloaf Hotel. He’s very cute.”

  “Nice. Where’s he taking you?”

  “We’re going on that dinner b
oat out on the lake. Ever been?”

  “No, but I heard it’s great, especially at sunset.”

  “It’s my first date with Brent, but if things work out maybe we could double sometime,” Allie suggests. “It would be fun.” She glances at my left hand, where I wear a platinum wedding ring. “I mean, if you’re…”

  “I’m married,” I say, “but my husband occasionally likes to have fun.”

  “Occasionally, huh?” Dean’s deep voice rumbles across the bookstore.

  Allie and I both look up to see him strolling toward us, carrying a paper tray with two covered cups from a coffee joint.

  He’s in full-professor mode, wearing a gray suit that perfectly sheathes his muscular body. His hair is brushed away from his forehead, framing his strong, clean-shaven features, and his brown eyes are creased with amusement.

  I can feel the awe radiating from Allie as he approaches, and frankly I get a little tingly myself. The man not only looks gorgeous, he has a commanding presence that exudes both authority and sex appeal.

  He sets the tray on the counter and addresses Allie.

  “More than occasionally,” he assures her, “do I like to have fun.”

  She smiles. “I don’t doubt it.”

  He extends a hand. “Dean West.”

  “Allie Lyons. Welcome to the Happy Booker.”

  “I brought you both coffee, but had to guess what you’d like.” He pulls a cup out and hands it to her. “Two mochas with whipped cream.”

  “Perfect.” Allie leans toward me and announces in a stage whisper, “I love him.”

  I grin at Dean. “He’s okay.”

  He winks at me and hands me the second cup. “You’re here all day?”

  “No, just for the morning so Allie can show me the ropes. I’m volunteering at the library this afternoon. I’ll pick up something for dinner on the way home.”

  “Call if you need me.” Dean glances around the area in front of the cash register and buys two magazines, a bar of gourmet chocolate, and a hardcover history of the Civil War.

  After handing him the bag, Allie cranes her neck to watch him leave. I do too because the back of Dean is as appealing a sight as the front of him.

  “I mean it,” Allie says. “I love him. Where’d you meet?”

  “Madison. I was going to the UW.” I twist my wedding ring around on my finger. “He’s a professor at King’s. Medieval Studies.”

  “No kidding? Like romances of knights in armor and courtly love and all that? Wow.” She gives a dreamy sigh.

  I decide not to burst her bubble by explaining that Dean is more interested in the concentric fortification of a castle. There was a time, however, when romances of knights captured his imagination. And courtly love… he is quite the expert on that.

  I rub my arms against a shudder, remembering our hot encounter last weekend. Another tingle sweeps through me, and I’m already anticipating getting home to him tonight.

  I started my period two days after I took the test, so I’m definitely not pregnant. And even though I’ve been unsettled by the pregnancy scare (why is it called a scare?), my new job and Dean’s work routine have settled things back to normal.

  I think.

  When Allie disappears into the backroom with instructions to “holler” if I need help, I make my way to the health section. Two shelves are filled with books about pregnancy and birth, while the shelf below is dedicated to child-rearing. I leaf through a couple of the I Want to Get Pregnant and I Am Pregnant—Now What? titles.

  Then with a mutter of irritation, I push the books back onto the shelf and return to the front counter.

  “A Miss Spider tea party!” Allie bounds out of the backroom, shoving her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Isn’t that a great idea? The kids can come dressed as their favorite insect and we can serve juice in tea cups and, like, bee-shaped cookies and gummy worms. Oh, and we can get some of that Halloween cobweb stuff for decorations.”

  “Do you have kids, Allie?” I ask.

  The suddenness of the question makes her stop. “Kids? No, not yet. Why?”

  “Just curious. You’re really good at all this kids’ stuff.”

  “Oh, yeah, I love thinking up things like this. My mom and I always had these elaborate birthday parties when I was growing up. My favorite was our Alice in Wonderland party when I turned ten. We had little cups with ‘Drink Me’ on them and a Red Queen cake. We played croquet, of course, and my uncle dressed up as the Mad Hatter. My dad even built this rabbit hole out of plywood and shrubbery, and the kids had to go through it to get to the party in the backyard.”

  “Sounds nice.” It sounded more than nice. It sounded like a freaking Disney movie.

  The memory of my own tenth birthday stabs the back of my head. I suppress a tide of nausea and focus on straightening the piles of bookmarks on the counter.

  “Do you and Dean have kids?” Allie asks.

  “No.” I’m not sure whether I should add not yet. “No kids.”

  “Pity. You really need to ensure the propagation of your gene pool.”

  Although she’s teasing, I think about what she said for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe that’s all it is, this weird preoccupation I have now. Maybe I just have a sudden urge to propagate Dean’s and my lineage.

  When I get home, I set the table for dinner and divide portions of a store-bought roasted chicken and a green salad from the deli.

  Dean comes home around seven and drops his briefcase and keys on the counter. He sheds his suit jacket, loosens his tie, and drags a hand through his hair.

  He’s got that rumpled, “I have been thinking very, very hard about something esoteric” look to him. It’s a look he wears extremely well.

  As self-possessed as he is, when he’s tired from working too hard, his whole demeanor softens with vulnerability… which makes me want to tuck him right beneath my heart and hold on tight.

  The way he has always done with me.

  He crosses to the kitchen and curves one arm around me, pressing a warm kiss to my temple. He pulls a glass from the cupboard and pours a couple fingers of scotch—his one vice, and only when he’s beat.

  “How was your day?” I ask.

  “Long. Yours? Bookstore job was good?”

  I nod. “I like Allie a lot, despite the massive crush she has on my husband.”

  “A crush, huh? She has good taste.” He winks at me and tilts his head back to take a drink. I watch the column of his throat as he swallows, the ripple of scotch sliding to his chest.

  “She does, indeed,” I murmur.

  Heat simmers through me, though I tamp it down because Dean and I need to talk first. I occupy myself with cleaning the living room and give him an hour or so to wind down before we have dinner.

  As I spoon out a portion of seasoned rice, I glance across the table at him. “So I gave Dr. Nolan a call.”

  A frown creases his forehead. “About what?”

  “My period being late. Just because I’m usually so regular.”

  “Did she think it was a reason for concern?”

  “No. She said to keep track of my cycles and let her know if the irregularity continues. She said she could put me on birth control pills to regulate them, if it becomes an issue.”

  “The pills made you sick, remember?”

  “Yeah, well, I… I was wondering if maybe you wanted to give it a go without any birth control at all.”

  That didn’t come out quite the way I’d expected.

  My heart is pounding hard as Dean looks up. That shutter descends over his face again, like a transparent shield that allows me to look at him without really seeing him. My insides twist.

  “You want to try and have a baby?” he asks.

  I haven’t even expl
icitly asked myself that question yet. I poke at a grain of rice.

  “Liv.”

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “If you don’t want to use birth control, you should know.”

  Of course he’s right. Silence stretches taut between us.

  “Liv.” Dean reaches across the table and tilts my head up to look at him. “You told me before we got married that you didn’t want children.”

  “That means I can’t change my mind?”

  “Have you?”

  “I don’t know.” For some inexplicable reason, tears spring to my eyes. I push away from the table and stalk to the living room, tension coiling through me. “What if I did?”

  “Then we’d have a lot to discuss.” Dean follows me and stops in the doorway, his gaze level. “Is this all because your period was late?”

  “It’s not all because of that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just want to talk about it.” I turn to face him. “Haven’t you thought this might be a good time to consider starting a family?”

  “No, because we’d never intended to have children.”

  “But we’ve been married for three years, we’re settled here for the foreseeable future, you’re financially secure, you have a tenure-track job, and I—”

  My voice breaks like a dry twig. I… what?

  “You what?” Dean asks.

  His question is low and quiet. I look at the floor.

  I’d be a good mother? My doubts about my abilities are just one of the reasons I’ve never wanted children. I spent most of my own childhood yielding to my beautiful, self-centered mother, who was anything but nurturing.

  “I was just thinking about it,” I mutter.

  “Because you’re looking for something to do?”

  I’m so shocked by this question that I can only stare at him. I can’t even speak. He continues looking at me, and worse than the actual words is the fact that he doesn’t try to apologize or take the question back—not that that would do any good.