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  She eases away just enough to be able to get at my fly. She unzips it and takes my cock in her hand. I stop thinking. She sits back on her heels. Her breasts are reddened from my mouth and hands. She’s all flushed, pretty, and hot.

  I can’t stop staring at her. I wind a swath of her hair around my hand and pull her in for a deep kiss. Her tongue swirls against mine, her fingers closing on my cock. She slides her lips down my jawline, my neck, over my chest and down. She envelops the head of my prick in her mouth.

  “Ah, Liv…” I tighten my hand on her neck. It’s tense and explosive, her going down on me.

  Urgency fills my blood as she works her mouth on me, licking and sucking and tasting. I thrust harder, wanting to fuck her mouth. Tension collects along my spine. I dig my fingers into her scalp in an indication that she needs to stop or I’m going to lose it. She pulls back and glances up at me.

  “How do you want it?” she whispers.

  “You under me.”

  Liv pushes away from me and heads for the bedroom. She stretches out on the bed with her legs over the side and props herself up onto her elbows to watch me. She’s like some sort of goddess with her hair all loose and tangled around her shoulders, her brown eyes glazed with arousal. A faint smile curves her gorgeous mouth.

  Damn, but I missed her.

  I climb onto the bed beside her. Run my hand over her breasts, the swell of her stomach, down between her legs. She’s warm all over. She shifts a little and sighs. I roll my tongue around her nipple, tasting peaches and Liv. She bucks up against me, spearing her hand into my hair.

  “Dean, I’m ready. I want…”

  “I know what you want.”

  I move to stand beside the bed and stare at her flushed face, her eyes glazed with lust. I run my hands over her soft thighs, pressing them apart, watching her open for me. She gasps and twists her nipples, arching her hips. I ease my prick into her. She’s wet, and so fucking tight that one more squeeze and I’m done for.

  I put my hands on her spread knees. Breathe deep to regain control. An unbearable ache builds at the base of my shaft.

  “Dean.” She reaches out to pull me closer, but then falls back onto the bed and hooks her legs around my hips. “Fuck me hard.”

  Oh, Christ. The sound of her husky voice, her raw words, slams into me. My blood goes into full boil. I pull back and thrust forward hard enough to shake her entire body. She shrieks and grabs hold of a pillow.

  Again. Again. Again. With every thrust, her body strokes mine into a firestorm. She clenches around my shaft, pulling me in before releasing me so I can push again. Her breasts bounce, her hands fist in the bedcovers, her teeth bite down on her lower lip. She’s close—I can tell by the look in her eyes, by the way her body is starting to strain.

  “Dean,” she gasps. “I’m almost there… almost…”

  I pump a few more times to get her right to the edge. Sweat rolls down my back. I push all the way in and run my thumb around the knot of her clit. Two strokes. She cries out, clutching my forearms as shudders course through her. I wait until she’s slipping down the other side before driving toward my own explosion. Which is so fucking powerful it leaves me boneless and panting for air.

  But I’m not done. Not yet.

  I move in front of Liv and spread her legs again. She stares at me, her chest heaving, her breasts damp. I kneel in front of her. The scent of her fills my head. I lean forward to taste her, licking her up and down, circling my tongue around her clit.

  She lets out a groan that makes me throb. She grips my hair, her body straining. I slide my hands under her ass to bring her closer. She wriggles against the bed. Her breathing quickens.

  “Dean… I can’t… oh… oh, God.”

  She bucks her hips and digs her fingers into my scalp. Her body spasms so hard I feel the vibrations down to my bones. I press my tongue lower, spreading my hands across her hips to settle her.

  When I lift my head, she’s staring down at me, her face flushed. She opens her arms. I move into them. Her body slumps against mine. She smooths her hands down my back. For a very long time, we just lie there. I breathe her in, then roll over to stare at the ceiling.

  As the pleasure eases, reminders of the day return with needle-like persistence. I don’t want them there. Don’t want to remember. Don’t want anything unpleasant to invade our privacy.

  But I have to tell Liv about Maggie Hamilton. Can’t forget that secrets are what nearly killed us. Words tangle in my brain.

  “Liv.”

  “Dean.” She slides over so that she’s lying on top of me, the length of her lush body pressed to mine. She strokes a finger over my mouth and smiles, her eyes soft.

  Now the words jam up in my throat. I can’t get them out with her looking at me like that. Exactly the way she used to before all the shit happened.

  “So earlier today I was thinking.” Liv edges her leg between mine.

  “About?”

  “You know how it’s just us again? Like it was that first Christmas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I was thinking about how we both fantasized about each other when we were apart.”

  My shoulders tense. I hate that phrase. When we were apart.

  “What were you thinking?” I ask, forcing my tone to stay even.

  “Maybe we could tell each other exactly what we fantasized about.” She stares at my mouth, rubbing my lower lip.

  “Uh…” I spread my hands over her ass and squeeze. “I fantasized about fucking you.”

  She chuckles. “Well, I know that. I meant, maybe we could talk about the scenarios and stuff. Like I had this great fantasy of us doing it in the woods.”

  “The woods?”

  “Mmm-hmm, this grove of trees with the sun filtering through the branches, and you had me all spread out on a bed of pine needles that—”

  “Scratched your pretty ass?”

  Liv swats my chest. “It was very sexy and romantic.”

  “Sounds uncomfortable.”

  “You mean, you don’t want to hear how I was moaning and gasping in the throes of passion…”

  I grasp the back of her neck and pull her closer for a kiss. “Why would I want to hear how you were moaning and gasping when I can just make you moan and gasp?”

  She murmurs a low, husky sound that goes straight to my blood. She eases her lips from mine and squirms, rubbing her breasts against me.

  “Because it would be exciting, you know?” she says. “Something different.”

  I have no idea why we need anything different, but she’s looking at me with such expectation that there’s no way I can disappoint her. And if this idea means I can focus on Liv without anything else getting in the way, I’m all for it.

  “Okay,” I agree. “Tell me your fantasies.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not all at once. I meant, like, over the next few weeks.”

  “Okay.” I’m still a little baffled.

  “And you do the same for me. Like a fantasy exchange.”

  “Uh… can you write down the rules?”

  Liv grins. “There’s only one rule.”

  “Which is?”

  “We both win.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Olivia

  January 15

  rofessor Hottie alert.”

  I glance up from the order invoice. Allie Lyons, my good friend and owner of The Happy Booker bookstore, is peering through the front window with a pair of plastic binoculars that came with a kid’s explorer kit.

  “Quick.” She drops the binoculars back around her neck and comes over to the front counter, fluffing out her red curls. “How do I look?”

  “Your nose is a little shiny.” I take her bag from beneath the counter and pass it across to her
.

  She digs around for her compact, powders her nose, and freshens her lipstick. She tilts her heart-shaped face toward me for approval. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect.”

  The bell over the door rings, and we watch as Dean enters the store. He’s handsome as ever with his dark brown hair ruffled by the wind, his cheeks flushed with cold. Beneath his open peacoat, he’s wearing a blue flannel shirt and jeans that hug his long legs. Although he spends much of his time in a lecture hall or at a desk, his shoulders and chest—his whole body—are hard and muscled from his athletic pursuits.

  “Hi, Dean,” Allie says breathlessly.

  “Hey, Allie.” His voice is like hot water sliding over a polished floor. “How’s that boyfriend of yours treating you?”

  Allie smiles, her face getting a little pink. “Really well, thanks.”

  “Good.” Dean reaches out to give my long ponytail a gentle tug. “And how’s that husband of yours treating you, Liv?”

  I meet his gaze, my heart thumping at the potent combination of heat and tenderness in his eyes. “He does all right.”

  “Guess he’d better work harder, huh?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “God, you two. Get a room.” Allie fans herself with a magazine and rolls her eyes.

  Dean and I smile at each other before he pushes back his cuff and glances at his watch.

  “Still off at four?” he asks.

  “You can leave early if you want, Liv.” Allie glances around the store and sighs. “It’s not like I’m expecting a dozen people to come in during the next half-hour to stock up on New Year’s reading.”

  The Happy Booker has had a tough year, what with a rent hike, customers who browse rather than buy, and a dwindling stock that has left several of the shelves bare. All of Allie’s efforts to increase business—kids’ parties, book clubs, educational seminars, Free Cookies and Milk Day—haven’t stopped the store’s downhill slide.

  “Hey, a new biography of Darwin.” Dean hefts the hardcover up from the front display rack and gives it to me to ring up. “And a book about cosmic mysteries. And, um, a guide to aquaponic gardening. I’ve been wondering about that.”

  He hands me a few more books. Allie shakes her head at me, her eyes bright with amusement behind her purple-framed glasses.

  “Did you ever talk to Brent about finding a way to incorporate a café?” I ask her as Dean heads off to look at the history section.

  “Too expensive,” Allie admits. “And I’d never get approved for another loan. I can barely pay off the one I already have, and my credit is maxed out. Brent is still paying off his student loans, and I really don’t want to ask my dad for more help.”

  “What about opening the store to other events, like writing workshops?”

  “I’d love to, but I don’t know how that will bring in much revenue.” She straightens up a few magazines with a discouraged sigh. “Heaven knows my children’s parties haven’t been much of a draw either.”

  I glance to the back of the store, where Dean is browsing the shelves.

  “What if I apply for a loan?” I ask Allie. “Like as a business partner?”

  The instant the words are out of my mouth, my heart stutters. I’ve never even considered being a business partner before.

  Allie blinks. “You want to invest in the bookstore?”

  “I can try. If you want me to.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love you to be my partner.” The excitement in her eyes fades a bit. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated or go into debt just to bail me out.”

  “If I’m a partner, I wouldn’t be bailing you out. I don’t think I would, anyway.”

  “You’d be taking on my business debt, though, which is totally unfair. I can’t let you invest in a failing business. You can’t do that. It’s way too risky.”

  “I’d rather do that than see you file for bankruptcy.” I hold up my hand to stop her from protesting again. “Honestly, Allie, I don’t know much about business. I don’t even know the steps in the loan application process. But at least let me look into it. If I can find a way to help you, then I really want to.”

  She hesitates. “Okay, but promise you won’t do anything without talking to me first.”

  “Promise.”

  “New book about the siege of Leningrad too.” Dean approaches and puts three more books on the counter.

  As I ring up the books, it occurs to me that I could ask Dean to invest in Allie’s bookstore. He would do it, too, without hesitation. But as easy as that would be, my exact words to Allie were, “What if I apply for a loan?” I did not say, “What if I ask Dean for a loan?”

  I swipe his credit card through the machine and slip the books into a paper bag. “Allie, are you sure you don’t want me to stay until closing?”

  “No, Brent will be here any minute.” She waves us out the door. “Have a good afternoon. And thanks, both of you.”

  I grab my coat from the back office and button it up as Dean and I go outside into the frozen, clear afternoon. Our breath puffs out in plumes of white.

  “So where are we going?” I ask as we get into the car.

  “You’ll see.”

  He drives toward the university, but then detours into one of the residential neighborhoods that are populated by expensive, newer homes with views of the lake and mountains. When he pulls up in front of a Colonial-style house that looks as if it belongs in the glossy pages of House Beautiful, my breath sticks in my throat. There’s a For Sale sign in the front yard.

  “Dean…”

  “I haven’t made an offer yet,” he says. “But it looks great for us.”

  “I don’t—”

  He’s already getting out to greet a short-haired woman in a business suit who is walking toward us from a car parked on the street. They shake hands and speak as if they’ve met before.

  “Liv, this is Nancy Walker with Regent Properties,” Dean tells me. “I contacted her for a showing.”

  “I’m sure you’ll love it,” Nancy gushes as we head toward the front porch. “I told Dean it’s just the perfect family home.”

  The house is gorgeous, everything so sleek and shiny that it reminds me of a museum. We take off our boots so we don’t muddy the floors. Nancy talks about the square footage (“almost five thousand!”), the size of the bedrooms (“perfect for every age child, from babies to teenagers!”), the quartz countertops (“maintenance-free!”), and the oak hardwood floors (“just refinished!”).

  Then she and Dean launch into a discussion of the roof, the heating system, the warranty on the appliances, the property taxes, the size of the lot. Their voices almost echo in the vast spaces of the multiple rooms. The kitchen alone looks like it’s the size of our apartment.

  “What do you think, Liv?” Nancy asks.

  She and Dean are both looking at me expectantly.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say truthfully.

  “I’ll leave you two alone to talk for a few minutes.” Nancy digs her phone out of her purse as she heads back to the foyer.

  “Do you like it?” Dean asks me. “If you like it, we’ll buy it.”

  “Dean, love of my life, you don’t have to buy a house just because I like it.”

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “What’s not to like? We can’t live in that apartment forever. With the baby, we’ll need more space, a yard, another bedroom. This is a great school district. We wouldn’t have to think about moving anytime soon. It’s close to both the university and downtown. Not to mention it has an amazing view of the lake.”

  The knots pull tighter in my stomach. “It… um, it must be terribly expensive.”

  “We can afford it. The trust fund my
grandfather left me has been sitting there for years, and I’ve gotten a great return on my investments. We wouldn’t even need to take out a mortgage, unless it makes financial sense.”

  He looks through the large kitchen window at the backyard. “I like that it’s on a quiet street. Property values in this neighborhood have been stable for years, so if we did need to sell we likely wouldn’t have to take a loss. Good investment, in addition to being necessary.”

  I run my hand over the gleaming quartz countertop. I’ve never thought of a house as necessary. Houses put you into debt and create a thousand worries. It’s hard to leave a place if you own a house. Or if you lose a house for some reason, you could end up with nowhere to go. When I was living with my aunt Stella, I was always afraid that she might kick me out of her house. Like my mother’s parents did to her when she got pregnant with me.

  “Better that we buy now when we have time to get organized,” Dean says, turning back to face me. “Our apartment lease expires in July, so we can spend the next few months figuring out what we need to buy. We can stay at the apartment until the house is furnished and we’re ready to move in. There’s that huge furniture store over near Rainwood. We can probably buy everything there, including the crib. Plenty of time to fix anything that needs fixing, hire a cleaning service, get tools and a lawnmower, change our address on all our paperwork.”

  “We don’t have to do all of that right now.”

  “We’re not waiting until you’re seven or eight months pregnant before we buy a house,” he argues. “You don’t need that stress.”

  “I mean… we don’t have to buy a house anytime soon. Babies are tiny, right? Our apartment is fine for now.”

  “Liv, it’ll be a lot more hassle trying to close on a house when we have a baby.” He studies me. “Don’t you want this house?”

  Although his tone is curious and not reproving, I feel about two inches tall and horribly ungrateful. What kind of person wouldn’t leap at such an offer?

  I loosen my fingers from the edge of the counter. “I just don’t want you to think you have to be so extravagant.”