Spiral of Bliss 03 Awaken (23 page)

“Dean, would you shut up and listen to me?”

She’s crying. My throat aches.

Is
that
it? Have I been stifling her so much that I can’t see any other way? Is that why she insisted I leave? Does she really think she can’t do anything with me near her?

I stare out the window. The courtyard blurs in front of my eyes.

Do I love my wife too much?

“Dean? Dean… are you there?”

“I’m here.”

I’ll always be here. She could rip me open, tear me apart, and I’d still crawl back to her. She’s had me whipped since the day she stood in front of me on the sidewalk with her hair all windblown as she asked me about medieval knights.

And while I’ve been trying my damnedest to give her what she wants—I’d promised her I would—I can’t stand the thought that she’d ever believe us being apart is a good thing.

I try to breathe. My heart is racing. The walls are closing in.

“I need you to listen to me, Dean.”

“I am.”

Liv takes a breath. “When I asked you to leave, when you left, yes, I knew it was a chance for me to stand on my own. And I have. But I also…”

“What?”

“I knew… I knew that if anything happened here, if Maggie started spreading rumors, if something got out about the charge, I knew you’d be safer if you were gone.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, all the wind knocked out of me.

“You—”

“I wanted you to be safe,” Liv admits, her voice still thick. “It was… it was the only way I could think of to protect you from anything bad that might happen here. And to keep you away from my mother. I told you I don’t want her to poison my life any more than she already has, but more than anything I don’t want her to poison
you.
”

“She… she can’t hurt me.”

“She already has. You’ve always been angry with her for what she did to me, for what she
didn’t
do. I just… I knew if you went back to Italy, she couldn’t touch you. But because you are such a stubborn ass, I also knew you’d fight me tooth and nail if you thought my mother was the reason you had to leave again.
I
can handle her. But I don’t want you to have to.”

“Liv.” I picture her all curled up in my office chair, hugging her knees to her chest, her hair sliding over her shoulders. I’m about to break in half.

“I’m here,” she says.

“Okay.” I shut my eyes. “Okay. I love you.”

“I’m yours,” Liv whispers. “I’ll always be yours. You told me once that I became your world the minute you saw me. It was the same for me. I’ll never forget it, Dean, the instant I looked up and saw you. Something opened in me, something I didn’t even know existed. And then when you reached out to touch me… I couldn’t believe how I was reacting, this intense, hot
pull,
like I already knew I belonged to you.”

“Damn right you belong to me.” My voice roughens. “You belong
with
me. I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not staying away from you. I need you, dammit.”

“Oh, Dean.” Liv’s breath escapes on a rush. “Whatever you need from me, you know I’ll give it to you. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Then get ready for me. I’m coming home.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Olivia

April 28

y mother moves in with the owner of the auto repair shop after she takes her car in to be fixed. Our apartment seems lighter without her, and though she still comes to help at the café on occasion, we don’t speak much after our argument.

I try not to think about the fact that she is very likely still here because she’s feeling the loss of her own mother in ways she probably never comprehended. And all her futile attempts to convince me to come with her again are a sad way of easing the loss. I try not to think about the fact that I might even pity her.

The day before Dean is scheduled to return, I go to the university for my meeting with Ben Stafford of the Office of Judicial Affairs. He is a slender, bearded man with a long, narrow nose who reminds me a little of Inspector Clouseau. This is rather comforting, as I’d been having images of me sweating under hot interrogation lights.

“Can you please tell me when you first met Professor Dean West?” Mr. Stafford asks, after we’re seated in his office.

“When I was a student at the University of Wisconsin.”

“First year?”

“Yes, but it was my junior year. I was twenty-four. It was my first year as a transfer student.”

“Your major?”

“Library sciences and literature.”

“How did you meet Professor West?”

“I had some trouble with transfer credits and was at the registrar’s office trying to work it out. He was there and offered to help.”

Ben Stafford peers at me. “How did he offer to help?”

“He suggested I go to the professors directly and ask them to approve the credits. I did, and the problem was solved.”

“When did you begin dating?”

“A few weeks later, after he came into the coffeehouse where I was working.” I’m starting to get nervous, which seems silly since I’m just telling the truth. But I’ve never talked to anyone about how I met Dean, let alone our relationship, and it feels like I’m divulging our secrets.

I know there has always been a teaching dynamic to my relationship with Dean, mostly because of our different world experiences, not to mention his sexual confidence and history. But never has that dynamic been controlled by a sordid sense of power.

I take a drink of water and try to steady my shaking hands.

“Did you ever take a class with Professor West?” Stafford asks.

“No.”

“Did you ever enroll in one?”

“No.”

“Any Medieval Studies classes?”

“No.”

He nods and makes a note on his legal pad. “Do you remember your first date?”

Seriously? How could I ever forget?

“Yes,” I say. “Dean asked me to attend a lecture he was giving at a local museum. We had dinner afterward.”

“At the time he asked you to attend the lecture, did Professor West make any implications about your class schedule or grades?”

“No.”

“Did you discuss your academic work?”

“During the date, yes, but just casually. Like what classes I was taking, that sort of thing.”

“Did you find it odd that a professor would ask a student out on a date?”

“No, because I wasn’t his student. I knew it wasn’t against university regulations.”

“At any time did Professor West indicate that your response to his requests would affect your academic work?”

“Never.”

Mr. Stafford scribbles notes again and asks more questions—how much did I know about Dean’s classes, did I ever interact with any of his students, what was my level of involvement in his work.

The questions go on for about an hour before Stafford seems satisfied. He asks me to sign a form before reaching to turn off the recorder. As I put the pen down, I notice a small framed picture on the desk of Mr. Stafford, a blonde woman who must be his wife, and two young girls.

“Your daughters?” I ask, gesturing to the picture.

He nods with evident pride. “Emma and Nellie. They’re seven and nine.”

“You should bring them to the grand opening of our café,” I suggest, taking a flyer from a folder inside my satchel. “It’s at the beginning of June, and we’re going to have all sorts of fun activities like face painting and a bouncy house. Lots of free food too.”

“Sounds like fun.” Stafford glances over the flyer as he walks me to the door. “I apologize again for having to involve you in this, Mrs. West, but you saved us some time by contacting me.”

“I assume you also have to investigate Miss Hamilton’s history as well.” I turn to shake his hand. “To see if she’s made such an accusation before?”

The second the words are out of my mouth, something jars loose in the back of my mind. I try to grab it as Stafford nods solemnly.

“We’re covering all bases, Mrs. West, I assure you. As I told your husband, please don’t try to contact or speak to Miss Hamilton. It’s best for all involved if you communicate everything through the OJA.”

We thank each other again before I leave the office and go outside.

What the hell am I trying to remember?

As I walk back to the parking lot, I think of the day last fall when Maggie Hamilton confronted me. She’d gotten angry and made a nasty comment about Dean expecting more from his female students than good scholarship.

What else did she say? Why do I feel like I’m missing something important?

I get out my cell phone and leave Dean a message telling him that Stafford was polite and respectful, and the meeting was fine.

After I hang up, I push aside thoughts of the investigation and focus on my happiness that Dean is coming home. Despite my belief that his time in Italy did us both good, I know that he’s right, that the next step for us is learning how to handle all of this
together.

I go to the café where Allie, Brent, and a few other friends are busy working. After greeting them, I head to a bathroom to change into ratty jeans and a T-shirt, then grab a paintbrush and get to work.

“Liv, that looks great.” Allie comes into the room where I’m painting the window trim. “Brent is bringing in more paint for the murals tomorrow, and Marianne wants us to meet her at the restaurant supply place sometime this week to finalize our order.”

“I’m free anytime after noon,” I tell her. “Just let me know.”

We discuss a few more business-related issues before I finish the windows and go out to pick up pizzas for everyone. After eating, I get back to painting until it starts to get dark.

“Liv, we gotta go,” Allie shouts up the stairs.

“I’ll stay and work for a couple more hours,” I call. Dean will be back tomorrow morning, and I want to be at home when he arrives. “I’m almost done with this room.”

“You shouldn’t stay here alone, so come on. We’ll finish it tomorrow.”

Knowing she won’t leave without me, I put my supplies away and head downstairs. I decline Allie and Brent’s offer of a ride and walk home, enjoying the fresh air. Streetlamps are starting to twinkle over the sidewalks, and the sky is covered with reddish clouds.

I pick up the mail and go upstairs to the apartment. The instant I step into the foyer, my heart leaps.

And I
know.
I know without needing to see him that Dean is here.

Anticipation fills me. I drop my satchel and jacket and go inside. His travel bag is by the sofa. I hurry into the bedroom just as the bathroom door opens.

Dean steps out, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and his chest glistening with water droplets.

“Oh.” I stop, my breath escaping on a rush. His masculine beauty strikes me right in the heart, flooding me with pleasure. “Hi.”

His dark gaze sweeps over me from head to toe, a slow appraisal that has my pulse kicking into high gear. It’s a touch, that look, sending a waterfall of shivers over me. A taut, leashed energy radiates from him. He hasn’t shaved yet, and the coating of stubble over his jaw combined with the coiled tension of his powerful body and the intense look in his eyes…

I swallow to ease the dryness of my throat. “I… I was expecting you back tomorrow.”

“You’d better expect me right now.” His voice is edged with roughness, like a torn piece of paper.

He steps toward me, his muscles steeling. I can’t move, can only stand there staring at him as he approaches me with a determination that has my whole body zinging with eagerness. His gaze pins me to the spot. Urgency builds in me like steam, and I’m aching to let my own gaze slide down the sculpted muscles of his torso to the front of his towel…

But I don’t—can’t—look away from those gold-flecked eyes that have always watched me with heat, love, tenderness. I can’t read them now, can’t see anything beyond the fierce, contained resolve that vibrates from every fiber of his being. A combination of anticipation and excitement twirls through me.

Dean stops inches from me. Heat emanates from his damp skin. The delicious smells of soap and
him
sink into my blood, warming me from the inside out. A drop of water slides from his hair over his smooth shoulder, and I’m seized with the urge to follow the path with my tongue, to lick the strong column of his throat…

He plants both hands on the wall behind me, caging me between his arms. He presses closer, pushing me to retreat until my back hits the wall. And then I’m surrounded by him, engulfed by the heat of his body, his mouthwatering scent, the desire coursing through both of us.

I lift a hand to touch his face, running my fingers over the whiskered planes of his jaw, over his lips, down to the hollow of his throat. My heart races. His gaze never leaves mine.

He moves even closer and lowers his head. I part my lips to draw in a breath, desperate for a strong, possessive kiss that will overwhelm me with lust and eradicate any barriers still lingering between us.

He touches his lips to mine. Lightly, almost not there at all, but I feel it, feel
him,
and I curl my fingers into my palms against the growing ache of need. The contrast between the hard urgency of Dean’s body and the restraint of his kiss is wildly exciting. The pulsing between my legs expands into a heavy throb.

Dean doesn’t take his hands from the wall behind me as he lifts his head to look at me again. He motions with his head to my clothes.

“Take them off.”

An intense surge of desire rockets through me. My hands shake. I unfasten my jeans and push them over my hips. Again, dammit, I’m not wearing my sexy lingerie. At least my legs are shaved this time, but I’d planned to meet him all pretty and perfumed-up, clad in my polka-dot panties and lace-edged bra…

I push my shoes off and wiggle quickly out of my jeans, kicking them aside. Dean nods at my T-shirt.

“And that.”

I grasp the hem and yank the ragged shirt over my head. My nipples push against the stretched fabric of my bra. I unhook the front clasp and toss the bra on top of my discarded clothes.

Cooler air sensitizes my nipples, which ache with the need to be touched. My blood pounds. I want Dean to cup my breasts in his big hands and twist my nipples while kissing me so hard and deep I forget my own name.

His eyes burn with lust. He pushes his knee between my legs. My heart jolts with arousal. Beneath the towel, his thick erection presses against my belly. I swallow and lean my head back against the wall. Dean’s lips brush mine, his tongue probing into my mouth, his chest rubbing against my taut nipples. Everything inside me softens and yields to him.