Liv managed to walk the next day, and the others after that, but not for his lack of trying. He was making up for lost time at a staggering, sexually gratifying pace. With the stamina of a frat boy coursing through him, the woman was lucky she wasn’t chained to the bed, naked and on all fours.
A good portion of the summer had flown by since their soul-baring reconciliation, Ash doing his best to lavish her with attention and spoil her with multiple orgasms. She wasn’t complaining. The telltale glow of a woman well-loved radiated from her, a nice side effect to Ash and Liv Rebooted. He was feeling damn good himself, having usurped Sam as numero uno at the office, thanks to a repeat-customer discount at the red velvet cupcake bakery.
And the good didn’t stop at the physical.
Independence Day had come and gone while they’d settled back into married life with the zeal of newlyweds, minus the learning curve.
He didn’t leave the toilet seat up, and she didn’t make a meal without meat.
She didn’t complain about how he loaded the dishwasher, and he didn’t gripe about her expanding shampoo and conditioner collection.
She didn’t bring up Marshall when he asked about her work day, delicately avoiding any mention of his father. He didn’t leave town for Scorpio, but readied her—reassuring her—for the impending time when he would.
All was right in their world, and they were ridiculously happy.
But years of military training had taught him many things, and lesson number one, drilled into him by every CO he’d ever had, was to never get complacent. That’s when missions went FUBAR. Which meant he was on standby for the other shoe to drop.
Actually, right this second, he was all about getting Liv’s panties to drop.
Hazy golden rays of sun slanted across the disheveled bed, sweeping over her fluttering eyelids, her long lashes like gossamer wings. His very own angel of the morning.
Topless angel of the morning.
Face to face and sharing a pillow, he slid his hand over the arch of her hip, hooking a finger under the band of those offending panties.
“Mmm, good morning,” she mumbled, eyes opening drowsily. “If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.”
“You can go back to sleep if you want, but it’s gonna make what I’m about to do a little creepy.” His fingers strayed inward, her womanly heat a beacon. “And a felony. Don’t press charges.”
Face turning into the pillow, she laughed. “Say please first, or I’m calling the cops.”
A debate raged within him. Fight the string panties and her relaxed body to get them off in a dignified manner? Or rip the white cotton into pieces and beg forgiveness after he gained access?
The sound of fabric ripping at the seams was followed by the ring of her cell phone, vibrating from the nightstand on his side of the bed.
“Hey!” She propped herself up, pushing away blonde hair Barbie would envy to look at her torn underwear. “What the hell?”
“Sorry?” That shit apology wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
“Maybe try saying that without a grin on your face. It’ll be more believable.”
“Can’t help it,” he muttered, lowering his mouth to hers. “I’m a terrible liar.”
A warning bell sounded in his head as he sipped from her lips, the mental SOS increasing by the day. He’d let this woman become important to him again, become his lifeblood, vital nourishment needed to survive. There’d been no talk of a future, beyond her statement to see where things took them, and yes, love was freely mentioned, but trust took time to rebuild.
In the back of his mind, that corner where he allowed vulnerability, it felt like she’d signed a temporary marriage contract with an option to opt-out anytime.
Opening himself up again, letting emotion dictate action, was a high-stakes gamble.
“Okay, I forgive you,” she whispered between kisses, her hand snaking down his naked body, “but only because you’re commando.”
She stilled just south of his belly button, her annoying phone ringing again.
“There’ll be severe punishment if you answer that.” His lips grazed her temple. “In the form of a light spanking on that luscious ass of yours.”
“Yeah, right.” Her tone wry, the sudden blush told him she was more intrigued than she let on.
“Okay, you win. I’ll spank you as hard as you want. Our safe word will be pancakes. But then, I need food.” He lifted his head off the pillow, checking the time. “I’m starving. Let’s hit that farmer’s market in Encinitas later. I’ll make coconut shrimp and mango salsa for dinner.”
It was a lazy Sunday, and they’d slept in. According to his gorgeous wife however, it was against the law to consider seven-thirty late. Apparently, it was a known fact to everyone but him that those who valued sleep defined in as anything after ten.
“Hand me that.” She gestured for the phone when it rang a third time. He raised a brow, and she giggled. “I’ll accept my punishment, but only if you promise to kiss and make it better afterwards.”
“You drive a hard bargain. Really hard.” He pointed to his rapidly rising cock, and her smile made his head spin. “But you have yourself a deal.”
Seeing the vineyard’s house number on her caller ID, he hissed a vile curse, handing it over with a scowl.
“Mrs. Coleson speaking,” she drawled into the phone. Sinking her teeth into his shoulder, she licked the bite mark and added, “I’m in a very important meeting with the younger Mr. Coleson at the moment, so I hope this is worth the distraction. Y’all know he’s so dreamy, right?”
Mrs. Coleson. God, he’d never get tired of that.
A garbled, panicked voice crackled in the background, speaking without pause, and Liv shot straight up in bed. Her smile fell as the caller rambled. “I’ll be right there,” was her only response, the phone dropping to her lap.
“What is it?” He sat up, rubbing her arm when she didn’t respond. “Liv?”
Shaking her head, she came out of her trance. “It’s Marshall. I have to go.”
“Oh, fuck him,” he said with disgust. “That guy’s gotta cut the cord. You’re his employee and his daughter-in-law, nothing more, nothing less. It’s Sunday, and you’re not going to work today. You’re spending it with your husband.”
“No,” she whispered, “you don’t understand. That was Rosa.” Slow motion to frenzied rush in a heartbeat, she jumped out of bed, holding her hand out to him. “Ash, get up. This is important.”
“What?” He eyed her wagging hand like a snake.
Grabbing his forearm and tugging, she laid a trembling hand on his chest when he rolled to his feet. “Your dad is on his way to UC San Diego Medical Center in the back of an ambulance. He collapsed in the rose garden this morning. Benny found him unresponsive, and the paramedics are trying to revive him.” She bit her bottom lip, hesitating. “I’m so sorry. They don’t think he’ll make the ride in.”
Banding her arms around him, she laid her cheek against his pec muscle and held tight.
Squeezing briefly, she let go and ran into the closet, flinging clothes at the bed and darting into the bathroom.
Coming out a minute later, she saw him stuck to the same spot and shooed him with her hand. “Go! Get dressed! We can be there by the time the ambulance arrives.”
He stood there, staring at her as she hooked a lacy black bra and hopped on one foot to pull on a pair of tight jeans, slices cut across the knees and frayed spots dotting the denim.
“Did those jeans come ripped like that when you bought them? What genius figured out people would pay good money for worn-out clothes?”
The questions were ridiculous, given the circumstances, but it was a logical inquiry. Since his mind had shut down at the words “he won’t make the ride in,” it was the best his brain could do at the moment.
“What?” Liv’s high-pitched voice brought him out of it. “Get dressed, Ash! We gotta go.”
“No.”
“What?” Her hands threaded through her hair, tugging the blonde mane into a messy ponytail. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not going. And I don’t want you to, either. He doesn’t deserve it.”
Stunned, she stared at him. If she was searching for signs of life, of panicked compassion or resigned duty, she’d be looking all day.
Pointing a Ferrari-red fingernail at him, he realized he’d never told her how much he liked that nail polish color. It made him think of cherries. Of her. Juicy and tart on his tongue.
“You’re getting dressed and coming with me to that hospital, Asher Coleson. If I have to call Sam and have him pick up your smoking-hot body and carry it there forcibly, so help me God, I will do it.”
“Gonna take more than him.”
“I’m sure I can find four more happy to help. Now move your ass!”
He stood his ground.
“Four fucking years, we were apart.” His sinister tone matched his change in mood. “He interfered in our marriage, time after time, for years. He played me and ruined my life, all because he held a grudge over easy access pussy. I have no loyalty to him, alive or dead, and neither should you. Your loyalty is to me. And only me.”
Her head snapped back. “Wow. What a macho, elitist attitude. It’s good to be king, huh?”
“I’m king of nothing, Liv. I’m jack shit. My wife is running off to play nurse to my enemy, to the man who was a third wheel in our relationship from day one.”
“Your enemy?” Rushing past him, she grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter, rifling through it for her car keys. “This isn’t about you. Or us. It’s about an old man who’s probably dying alone right now, while you stand there throwing a temper tantrum.”
He shook his head, watching her walk out on him. Again.
“I’m not playing this game. If you leave right now and go running to him, then we’re—”
His ego—and his shit for brains—made him issue the ultimatum, but his heart wouldn’t let him finish it.
Didn’t matter. The message came through loud and clear.
They’d be done. Over.
She froze, her hand on the front door. Slowly, woodenly, she turned to face him, and the level of hurt in her eyes pierced his soul. His only reason for living had vanished the minute he’d voiced the irrational, but necessary condition.
Looking toward the heavens for guidance, her face crumbled.
“How can one man give me so much pleasure, yet cause me so much pain? Dear God, help me get through this again,” she whispered, the watery prayer laced with suffering.
A slow, torturous death was the least he deserved. This moment, with the love of his life weeping, bleeding from wounds he’d inflicted and praying for divine intervention, was why he’d survived the battlefield. That death sentence was too merciful.
Sinners—killers—didn’t get a fast pass to Hell on a ticket for one. No, sir.
Instead, he carried a malignancy within him that would only be satisfied after it destroyed everything he held dear, allowing him the relief of death only once those he loved sufficiently suffered. By his own hand. His own words.
Suitable punishment for past transgressions against mankind.
Rolling her lips together, her damp eyes sliced through him like razor blades. His Livvy was a strong one because her voice brooked no argument.
“I was once in the hospital fighting for a life, reeling from the loss of my baby, and the one person I wanted with me more than anybody else, needed with me more than anyone else in this entire world,” she stressed, her breath hitching, “wasn’t there. He was busy. So, I want to make this very clear to you and your hardheaded noggin.” She tapped the side of her head. “I’m going to my father-in-law’s side, and I’ll stay by his side for as long as he needs me. And do you know why? Because nobody, no matter how many moral crimes you think they’ve committed, deserves to feel the same way I felt. Intentionally abandoned and utterly alone.”
Silent only long enough to let her words sink in, she opened the door, bright sunlight highlighting her in an ethereal glow.
“Now you get your stupid ass to that hospital pronto. Not for Marshall. Not for me. And not even for you, because there’s a price to pay for selfishness. You’re gonna do it for your sister. Hope will need you, and if there’s anybody in this world you will show up for, it’s her.”
Slipping on her sunglasses, she shot her last arrow. “You’re a good brother, Ash, but you’re a shitty husband.”
Bullseye.