CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dean
November 21
“THIS ONE IS CRUELLA DE VIL. The Queen of Hearts. Poison Ivy. Maleficent.”
That was when I knew I could fall hard for her, this girl with the long, dark hair who named her houseplants after villains.
The girl who tried to make something good out of something wicked. Who made me want to know her as much as I just wanted her.
I watch Liv as she plucks dried leaves from the hibiscus beside the window and checks the soil. She hasn’t named her plants since we got married. I haven’t realized that before. Now she says, “My amaryllis needs water,” or “My violets bloomed.”
Liv goes into the kitchen and returns with a small watering can. She waters all the plants, then opens the curtain to let in the first rays of sun.
“What happened to Cruella de Vil?” I ask.
“Cruella de Vil?”
“You haven’t named your plants since we got married.”
“Oh.” She looks faintly surprised by the comment. “No, I guess I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
Liv shrugs and tips the watering can over the last plant.
“After we got married, I didn’t need to make something good anymore,” she says, heading back to the kitchen. “I’d already found it.”
I drop the newspaper onto the coffee table. Try to stifle the bitter shame and guilt.
“I’m working at the bookstore until six.” Liv pauses in the kitchen doorway. “Do you want me to pick up anything for dinner?”
“No. I can grab something on the way home.”
Liv nods and goes into the bedroom. I wait for her to finish getting ready before going in after her.
She looks pretty and autumn-like in a russet wool skirt and blue sweater with little pearl buttons marching up the front. As I watch her brush her hair, I have a sudden image of unfastening those dainty buttons one by one to expose the creamy swells of her breasts. I want her to look at me with heat brewing in those brown eyes. I want to taste her.
“I’ll see you tonight, then.” Liv drops the brush back onto the dresser and peers at herself in the mirror.
My heart is beating too fast. Tonight sounds like an eternity.
“You have time for coffee later?” I ask.
“Sure. My shift at the Historical Museum ends at twelve-thirty, but I have to be at the bookstore by two.”
“I’ll meet you downtown, then.”
As she passes me in the doorway, I grab her around the waist and pull her against me. I lower my head to kiss her hard. A gasp stops in her throat. My blood heats. I increase the pressure of my mouth until she opens for me. Her body arches, her hand spreading over my chest.
You’re mine, Liv. Remember that.
Before jealousy can burn me again, I ease away from her and rub my thumb over her lips. “I’ll call you around one.”
“Okay. Love you.” She slides her hand against my chest again before she leaves. A few seconds later, the front door closes.
I go take a cold shower and change into a suit and tie, then head to the university. The town’s awake, people easing into their days. Students traipse across the frost layering the quad, huddled into coats and hats, grasping paper cups of coffee.
I stop at the main office of the history department. Exchange a greeting with Grace, the administrative assistant, and a few comments about the weather. After collecting the papers and mail from my box, I head to my office.
Halfway down the hall, I see Maggie Hamilton coming toward me. Tension and anger fill my veins. We both stop.
“Professor West.” She gives me an uncertain smile. “I was just coming to see if you were in your office.”
For a second, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want her in my office. I also don’t want to do this in the corridor.
I step toward my office and push on the door, wedging it wide open. “Come in.”
She follows me in. I move behind the desk to put it between us. I remain standing and cross my arms. My spine is stiff enough to break.
“I heard you approached my wife recently.” I dig my fingers into my biceps. Try to keep my voice low. “That was entirely inappropriate.”
She nods, looking contrite. “I know. I was just… desperate, you know? Nothing I do seems to be good enough for you.”
“No excuse. I could write a letter to Dr. Hunter as department chairperson about this, but I won’t as long as you change advisors.”
Maggie stares at me. “I can’t change advisors. You know that. It’ll delay my degree even more.”
“You should have thought of that before you…” …lied about my integrity.
I have a sick feeling that will open another can of worms, so I leave it alone. And all I need is to remember that my wife didn’t know whether or not to believe those implications.
My chest tightens.
“… before you chose your topic,” I finish. “It’s no secret how you got into the program, Maggie. If I’d been the Medieval Studies professor at the time, I’d never have approved your admission.”
Angry tears spring to her eyes. “Look, I know I wasn’t the best student, okay? But I’m here because I have to get good grades and a master’s so I can get into law school. If I don’t, I’m totally screwed. I’m going to stay with my parents so I can—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Go talk to the registrar about changing advisors. That’s all I can tell you.”
There’s a movement at the open door behind her, and one of the other grad students peers in.
“Jessica.” Relief eases my tension. “Come in.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.” Jessica glances warily from Maggie to me.
“It’s okay.” I give Maggie a pointed look. “We’re done.”
Maggie swipes at her eyes, glowers at Jessica, then stalks out of the office. An awkward hush descends. I move a few books off the desk so Jessica can put her backpack down.
“Sorry about that.” I wait for her to take a seat before I sit down in my office chair.
“Sorry you got stuck with her,” Jessica replies wryly as she unzips her backpack. “I know she’s under pressure from her father, but… well, anyway, I wanted to check in with you about my paper before Thanksgiving break.”
“Sure. What’ve you got?”
She pulls out some notes, and we spend the next hour discussing Foucault, dedicatory prologues of medieval illuminations, and cosmic imagery. It’s a welcome respite, and by the time Jessica leaves, my jagged thoughts have eased.
I get to work for the rest of the day. Organize notes, give a lecture on medieval monasteries, and head a grad seminar on visual culture. There’s a Medieval Studies meeting in late morning, then a few of the other professors and I go to lunch.
After we’re done eating meatball subs and discussing a course on Latin paleography, I step outside and call Liv on her cell.
“Hi.” She sounds breathless. “Are you at work?”
“Just finished lunch at the Boxcar. Where are you?”
“Deli down the street,” she says.
“I’ll come and meet you.”
I shut my phone and head to the intersection of Avalon and Poppy Streets. The Italian deli is crowded with lunch customers, so I wait outside.
Through the window, Liv is giving her order to the young guy behind the counter. He says something that makes her smile. He smiles in return, then gestures with his hands. She laughs.
Jealousy floods me fast and hard. I know that kid. His dad owns the deli. He’s friendly to everyone. And I fucking hate that just the sight of Liv smiling at him makes me feel like… like this.
I stalk away from the window and wait at the curb. My blood is hot with anger at myself for not trusting her, at her for not trusting me.
It’s a knife-like stab, the memory of Liv’s hesitation when I asked if she believed Maggie’s lies. Five years ago, when Liv and I first met, she’d never have thought I was capable of wrongdoing. Never. She wouldn’t have given me a chance if she had.
Liv steps out of the deli with a paper bag in one hand. She gives me a little wave as she crosses the sidewalk. She tucks herself against me for a hug and kisses my chin. Some of my anger drains.
“How was your morning?” Liv asks.
“Good. Busy.”
“I picked up our Thanksgiving turkey before my shift at the museum. Anything else you want for dinner?”
“Whatever you make will be great.” I pull her closer. “Let’s get a coffee, and I’ll walk you to the bookstore. My next class doesn’t start until three.”
She slides her arm around my waist as we walk. I wish it were enough to make everything okay.
“This is it!” Liv circles the entire Douglas fir and reaches out to skim her hand over one of the branches. “Nice and fluffy. There’s this space back here, but we can turn that toward the wall. What do you think?”
“Looks great.”
“Good.” She beams at me. She’s all bundled into her winter coat with her cheeks red from the cold. “Let’s get it, then. I’m going to buy some holly and mistletoe too. You get them to wrap the tree up, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She trundles off to the shack to pay, and I flag down a guy to wrap the tree in netting. We haul it out to the car and get it secured on the roof before Liv comes out with a bag containing enough holly to fill our living room and a bunch of pine boughs tucked under her arm. She has always insisted in getting our Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, as if she’s trying to extend the holiday season as long as possible.
“I’ll make us some hot chocolate when we get home,” she says after unloading her bounty into the backseat.
At home, we drag the tree into the foyer and up the stairs. Liv disappears into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate while I set up the tree in its usual spot beside the window.
“Perfect! I love it.” Liv hands me a mug of chocolate and puts another one on a table. “Let’s get the lights up. I already checked them, and they all work.”
I watch her as she puts on a CD of Christmas carols and unwraps the lights. There’s a pretty glow about her, a sense of anticipation that she always gets around the holidays as she decorates and plans, making Christmas into a freaking magical winter wonderland.
The way she’s always made it for me. The way she never had it as a kid.
That’s the thing about Liv. She’s pure. Despite experiences that could have irrevocably fucked her up, turned her into someone hard and jaded, she’s still wholesome. She has a wary edge, a guard against the world, but it never affects her core of innocence.
I love that about her. When she looked at me over the counter at Jitter Beans, her brown eyes glowing with sincerity (“Room for cream in your coffee, sir?”), I felt like my heart was about to pound out of my chest.
She might as well have said, “Room for me in your life, sir? Room for me in your bed?”
Yes. And hell, yes.
Sure there was some Neanderthal instinct. Not just for sex, though that was powerful. There was also an urge to make her mine, to claim her so she’d never belong to another man. So she’d never want another man.
Which is just one reason her thing with that cook is still messing with my head.
What the fuck did I do wrong? How did I fail?
It was more than not having told her about my first marriage. It had to be more than that. If that was it, then maybe I shouldn’t have told her at all because I can’t for the life of me figure out how to fix any of this.
“Can you get the top branches, Dean?”
I set down my mug and go to help her hang the lights. We decorate the tree together with shiny glass balls and ornaments Liv has collected over the years. She tells me where to hang the mistletoe and spreads the holly over the fireplace mantel, then digs around for the stockings.
I sit on the sofa and watch her for a few more minutes. When the decorations are finished, glittery and sparkling, I crook a finger at Liv.
“Come here.”
She sits beside me and folds her body against mine, her hand sliding over my thigh. I tangle my fingers in her hair and pull her head up to mine for a kiss. She tastes like chocolate, her breathy sigh warm against my mouth before she eases back to look at me.
I know that look in her eyes. It’s a look that makes my blood heat.
“It’s been too long,” she says.
I take her wrist. “You feel okay?”
“Fine. My hand doesn’t hurt at all anymore. I just… you know. I miss you.”
Ah, hell.
I tuck my fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. “How about I just make you feel good?”
“You always make me feel good. But I want you, Dean.” She shifts around until she’s facing me and straddling my lap, a position that makes me burn. “Badly.”
“Liv.”
“Come on.” She rocks her hips. “Fuck me.”
Christ. Raw words from her pretty mouth, and I’m hard in an instant.
She starts working the buttons on my jeans. Her nipples tent her sweater, and her breathing is getting faster. Just watching her get turned on makes me hotter.
By the time she has my prick in her hand, I know I’m done for. She moves off my lap and kneels on the sofa beside me.
“It’s always so good with you.” She swipes her tongue across the head of my cock. “Especially when it’s been a long time.”
A bolt of shame, embarrassment, hits me hard. It’s been a long time because I fucked up. I let my screwed-up relationship with Helen dictate how I treated the love of my life.
I kept a big secret from Liv because I wanted to protect her. I only ended up hurting her, driving her to kiss another man. If things hadn’t blown up when they did, who knows what else might have happened…
A growl starts low in my chest. Possession and lust flood me. I grab Liv’s hair and yank her up to me, kissing her hard enough to make her gasp in surprise. Although some part of me is aware enough to be mindful, I’m none too gentle as I slide off the sofa and bring us both to the floor.
Not only does Liv not care, she wraps her arms and legs around me like tentacles and opens her mouth under mine. My prick pulses hard against her thigh. She twists her hips.
“Take off my jeans,” she says, reaching for the hem of her sweater. She pulls it over her head, and my heart kicks into high gear at the sight of her breasts straining against her bra.
She unwraps her legs from my waist and rises onto her elbows to watch as I yank her jeans off. I press my hand between her thighs. Heat burns through her panties. She spreads her legs, watching me. As much as I want to rip her underwear off and sink into her, I want even more to make her beg. I slip a finger beneath the elastic of her panties and tease her cleft.
A visible shudder ripples through her. I nod toward her bra.
“Now you take that off.”
She flicks at the clasp, and the white straps falls off her shoulders. Jesus. Every time I see her naked breasts, I can’t wait to touch them, pinch her nipples, feel them pressing against my chest. Can’t wait to watch them bounce in time with my thrusts.
I stop, my breath hard. Liv stares at me, then reaches for the drawer of the table beside the sofa. She grabs the package of condoms inside, rips one open, and moves back toward me. Her face is all flushed with heat, her hair spilling around her shoulders as she rolls the condom onto my erection.
“Dean.” Her voice is strained.
“Tell me.”
“I want you.” She lies back and stretches her arms over her head in a pose that’s sexy as hell.
“Say it.” I pull her panties down her legs.
“Fuck me.” She hooks her feet around the small of my back. “Please.”
I move between her thighs. Our prolonged abstinence makes the flame of pleasure stronger. I sink my cock into her, all thought dissolving into pure urgency as her hot tightness grips me. She shifts, opens wider, grabs the sides of my head and pulls me down closer.
Her tongue pushes into my mouth as I thrust into her. Need boils through me. She hugs my hips with her thighs and bucks upward. It won’t last long, not for her or me.
I brace my hands on either side of her head and pump harder. My head spins with the sensation of her clenching around my shaft. My whole body tightens with pleasure.
“Oh, Dean.” Her fingernails rake my back. “Dean.”
I slide a hand down her stomach, through her damp curls to her clit. Liv moans, her fingers digging in harder as I start to rub. Her body tenses, her breath catching hard in her throat, and then she sinks her teeth into my shoulder and comes hard and fast.
Her flesh vibrates around my shaft, milking an explosive orgasm from me that I can’t contain. Coming with her is like nothing I’ve ever felt, a deep pumping and release that shatters us both.
I manage to roll to the side, taking her with me and pulling her on top. Her naked body goes limp against mine, her chest heaving. I push her hair away from her face, stroke my fingers through the long tangles.
“So good,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my throat. “It’s always so good with you.”
She never answered my question. When she confessed she’d kissed that bastard, I asked her if it was good.
Why the hell did I ask that? Why was that my first question?
“Are you sure you want me to answer that?” she’d replied.
Fuck no. But her non-answer made it worse.
Liv lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes darken.
“What is it?” she asks, but then comprehension and guilt pass across her face. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. She pulls away and reaches for her bra. “It’s never going to go away, is it?”
I push to standing and go into the bathroom to get rid of the condom. My heart’s pounding, but no longer from lust. The physical satisfaction disappears like smoke. I return to the living room and put on my boxers.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. Jealousy tightens my chest. “Was it good with him?”
Liv stops in the motion of pulling her sweater on, then slowly pokes her head through. She drags her fingers into her hair and twists it into a ponytail.
I can’t stand it. Can’t fucking stand the thought of another man getting close enough to touch her. To kiss her.
My fists clench.
Liv rummages in a drawer and finds a rubber band. She’s stalling.
“Liv.”
She snaps the band around her hair. “Why do you want to know?”
Good question. Because I like torture?
“Answer me.” My fingers dig into my palms.
“Yes.” She fumbles with the cuffs of her sweater. “It was a decent kiss. It meant nothing, but it was fine. Nice.” Sadness and remorse flash in her brown eyes. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make it better?”
There’s no answer to that.
I turn away—away from the Christmas tree, the holly on the mantel, the mistletoe tied with a red ribbon. Away from Liv.