Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set

by Nina Lane

  It’s not going to last long for me either, and when she slides down and clenches around me, I’m done. I thrust up into her and come like a rocket, pulling her down to me. Her breasts pillow between us, her nipples hard as pebbles, her breath hot on my mouth. She wiggles her hips, drags her breasts against my chest.

  “Dean, I want to come again.” Her voice is strained.

  I roll her onto her back and move lower on the bed. I slip my hands between her thighs, spreading them apart. She watches me as she cups her breasts, her fingers playing with the nipples. The sight is almost enough to get me hard again.

  She moans and bucks upward when I start to lick her. Sweat beads on her inner thighs. I close my lips around her clit, slip a finger into her, stroking and sucking at the same time. When she fists a hand in my hair, I know she’s close and increase the pace. She comes again with a shriek, gripping my head, holding me against her.

  I move back up to her and pull her close. Her chest heaves as she drapes herself across me. Her body is warm and loose. I brush my lips across her hair and feel her sink into sleep.

  This is the only place I want to be. Right here, with her.

  Everything else has to stay the hell away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Olivia

  SOMETHING IS WEIRD. PAIGE AND JOANNA West have never made a secret of their hostility toward me, but they haven’t flat-out ignored me. Now when I enter the kitchen to ask about helping with dinner, Joanna avoids looking at me. And at Dean, for that matter.

  When I catch his eye, I tilt my head toward the garden terrace.

  Once outside, I turn to him with a frown. “What’s going on?”

  He scratches the back of his neck.

  “Dean?”

  “Well…”

  “Dean?”

  A faintly abashed look enters his eyes. “I got into an argument with Helen about you.”

  “What?”

  “Well, not an argument exactly. She said some things I didn’t like, and I told her off.”

  I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “What, exactly, did you tell her?”

  “That you’re the love of my life and she could never compare to you.”

  I stare at him. “Really?”

  “Not in those exact words, but close.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I’m getting a little mushy inside, but part of me is very aware that Helen likely didn’t take such a comment well. “Um, what did she say to that?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “Why did you have to say that to begin with?” I ask.

  “She was being bitchy about you. I didn’t like it.”

  “And were your mother and sister there at the time?”

  “Yeah.” He holds up his hands in defense. “But I didn’t know it. They walked in on us.”

  “Dean.” I groan and drop my head into my hands. “That’s why they’re being so weird to me. They’re on Helen’s side.”

  “I didn’t realize there were sides.”

  “Of course there are sides! When your ex-wife and your current… not to mention last, thank you… wife meet for the first time, how could there not be sides? Especially when your ex-wife is BFFs with your mother and sister?”

  Confusion furrows his brow. “When my ex-wife is what?”

  “When they’re best friends forever. BFFs. God, you are such a dork.” I start to pace. “I know I can’t compete with their friendship, and I don’t want to, but I would like it if your mother and sister didn’t wish I was out of the picture. And that Helen was still in the picture.”

  “Come on, beauty, they don’t think that.”

  I harden my heart against the endearment that usually makes me weak in the knees. “Yes, they do. And now they’re going to think it even more if you’ve painted us as… as Lancelot and Guinevere.”

  He grins, which annoys me further.

  “Guinevere ends up a nun at the end of that story,” he says.

  “So?”

  “You could never be a nun.”

  I whirl around to face him. “Why could I never be a nun?”

  “You’re too lusty.”

  With that comment, he glances at my breasts. His eyes darken. Desire tingles through me from that one look. I cross my arms again and frown.

  “Don’t change the subject. I meant that now your mother, sister, and Helen all think we have some great, passionate love affair—”

  “We do.”

  Oh, crap. How much do I adore this man?

  I struggle to maintain my indignation.

  “It makes your history with Helen seem even more horrible,” I continue. “So now they’re all going to resent me for giving you what she couldn’t.”

  “Why should they resent you?” he asks. “You didn’t take me away from her. You didn’t even really come on to me until I made the first move.”

  “They don’t know that, Dean, and besides it’s irrelevant. It’s a classic story straight from high school. The old girlfriend and her BFFs always resent the new girlfriend.”

  “You’re a helluva lot more than my girlfriend, Liv.” He frowns. “You’re my wife. And I won’t apologize for defending you. Anyone has an issue with you, they have to take it up with me.”

  His protective tone is back, and again I have to admit I like it. He’s the only person who has ever defended me.

  “I just don’t want them to resent me more,” I say.

  “Okay, look.” He spreads his hands in the universal male gesture for what the hell do I do now? “What do you want me to tell them?”

  I sigh. “Nothing. But please, don’t compare me to Helen anymore. In fact, don’t even mention us in the same breath.”

  “That’s a rule I can follow,” he says, pulling me in for a bear hug.

  Then he tilts my face up to his so he can give me a heart-melting kiss that makes my lingering irritation dissolve.

  “You and me, beauty,” he reminds me, his eyes gentle.

  “You and me, professor.”

  When we return to the kitchen, Paige and Joanna already have dinner on the table. I keep quiet for most of the meal, still not liking the thought of what Helen might have said. Or the fact that Joanna West likely agreed with her.

  I help clean up after dinner, then go upstairs to change into my nightgown. I power up my laptop to check my email. There’s a message from the loan officer of the bank with the subject line Loan Status.

  My stomach twists as I click to open the message.

  Dear Mrs. West,

  We regret to inform you that your application for a small business loan has been denied for the following reasons…

  I stop reading and close the email. I already know the reasons. And while this is the answer I’d half-expected, I couldn’t help hoping that maybe I could do it.

  I forward the letter to Allie, typing “Sorry” in the body of the email. I’d warned her nothing might come of this, but again part of me had wished for a different outcome.

  I suppose I could apply with other banks and companies, but there’s no reason why the response would be different. Nothing about my finances and collateral will change anytime soon, unless I list Dean’s assets. Which I don’t want to do.

  After opening a new window, I type “how to save a bookstore” into a search engine and make a list of my findings. Poetry readings, concerts, a used book section, newsletters, membership, a mail-order book website.

  I compile the information into a document and send it to Allie. Then I email my supervisor at the Mirror Lake Public Library and ask her if she has any ideas for either increasing Allie’s business or joint programs the bookstore can do with the library.

  “Hey, I got an email from Nanc
y the realtor,” Dean says as he comes in and heads toward the bathroom. “Says she has a few more showings lined up for us when we get back.”

  “Great.” I try to sound enthused as I turn back to my research.

  When Dean emerges from the bathroom, he’s wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and no shirt. I take a moment to admire him as he walks across the room and gets into bed, putting his reading glasses on and picking up a book from the bedside table.

  Pleasure uncoils inside me. I love the contrast of his scholarly demeanor with the outright sexiness of his muscular chest and arms. It’s a look that belongs only to him. And is only mine to enjoy.

  “Hey, Dean?”

  “Hey, Liv.”

  I climb onto the bed. “Why did you follow me that day at the registrar’s office?”

  “You mean after you left?”

  “Yeah. I was upset and hurried out of the office. You followed me. Why?”

  “I wanted to help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you said we.”

  “I said Wii? The video game thing?”

  He laughs. “When the clerk said you couldn’t transfer your credits, you said, ‘There must be something we can do.’ There was a problem, and you knew you were part of the solution.”

  “Seriously?” I sit back on my heels, a little disappointed. “That’s why you came after me?”

  “Because you were resilient and strong and determined, yes.” He puts the book aside and tugs me closer, warmth brewing in his eyes. “And because you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. When I first looked at you, my heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest. I wanted to kiss you right there on the sidewalk. You were wearing a white T-shirt and your jeans had a rip across the thigh, and I had to force myself not to stare at your astonishingly sexy body. Then when you stayed and talked to me… so damn pretty with your hair all messed up by the wind… I couldn’t let you get away.”

  “Well.” A flush of sheer pleasure sweeps over me. “That’s better.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Did you already know I was working at Jitter Beans when you came in a couple weeks later?” I ask.

  “No. That was the best coincidence of my life.”

  “Mine too.” I tilt my head as I study him. “When did you decide to ask me out?”

  “I wanted to right away, but I had to find out about the professor-student dating rules.”

  I grin. “You looked up the rules before you asked me out?”

  “Uh huh. Then I figured if you agreed to go to the museum lecture, it would mean you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I was so glad you asked me.” I rub my hand over his leg. “I had a big crush on you.”

  “I know.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You know?”

  “Why else would you knock the other girls aside whenever I walked in?” Dean looks rather pleased with himself.

  My mouth drops open. A flush scorches my cheeks. “I did not knock the—”

  “You sure did. And you think I didn’t notice the chocolates or the extra cookie you’d put on my plate? Or the time you gave me a box of shortbread and told me it was a free sample?”

  Now he looks downright smug. My face feels like it’s on fire. So much for trying to be subtle.

  “Yeah, well, I… I mean… you know, keep the customer happy and all that,” I mumble.

  “Oh, you kept this customer happy, all right.”

  He’s grinning in earnest now, and I can’t help smiling. He reaches for my waist and pulls me so that I tumble on top of him. He pushes his hands into my hair, stroking it away from my face as he presses his lips to mine.

  Then there’s lovely kissing that makes my pulse pound. Every time Dean kisses me, every time he looks at me, I’m reminded of how right I’d been in allowing him past my defenses. In deciding that he was the one to whom I could open myself. In knowing that he wouldn’t flinch.

  I press my hand to his erection beneath his pajama pants and rub against him. A mutual, unspoken agreement descends between us, as he eases me to the side and slides his hand between my thighs.

  I spread my legs apart to give him access, squirming when he runs his forefinger along the edge of my panties, slipping beneath them just far enough to tease.

  “Don’t you want to know why I wanted you?” I ask breathlessly, losing focus for an instant as he trails his fingers lower.

  “I already know.” He moves his lips down to my throat, licking the hollow where my pulse is throbbing.

  “You do not.”

  “Uh huh.” He strokes his thumb up my cleft. “The professor thing got you all hot and bothered.”

  He’s not far off, so I don’t bother to argue. I gasp and sink back against the pillows when he thumbs my clit and slides his mouth down to my breasts beneath my nightgown.

  “And your suit.” I fumble to slip his pants lower so I can touch his exposed cock. It springs warm and hard into my hand. “I thought you looked… amazing in your suit. And then at the lecture, when you started talking about… oh, God… when you were standing there… with that… I was… what were you talking about again?”

  “Monastic architecture and sarcophagi.” He tugs lightly at my nipple with his teeth. Sparks fly through me. I tighten my hand on his shaft and begin to stroke. “Also monastic scribes.”

  I spread my legs wider. Part of me wants him to yank my panties off me, but I like the feeling of the damp cotton against my folds. Plus his fingers are doing such delicious things down there that I don’t want him to pause for anything else.

  “Did they have sex?” I pull back a little to look at him, faintly curious beneath my arousal. “The monastic scribes?”

  “Some of them said sex was the root of… fuck, Liv, tighter… of other sins.”

  I swirl the pad of my thumb over the head of his cock. “But they had sex even though they were monks?”

  “Probably. Some of them were certainly obsessed with it.”

  “Oh, that sounds wick… wicked.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  Then his lips cover mine and we’re kissing hot and deep. He slides his finger over the outside of my panties, rubbing the fabric into my cleft, and I moan against his mouth and wiggle my hips around to try and make him stroke deeper.

  I move my hand up and down his cock, and then the urgency builds higher and we both start groaning and thrusting toward each other harder and faster. Our legs get tangled together, and I rub my breasts against his chest to ease the aching tingle in my nipples. Our tongues slide together, two of his fingers slip inside me, and then one flick of his thumb and I gasp his name and clamp my shuddering thighs around his hand.

  I stroke him faster as his body quakes with his own release, and it’s all pulsing vibrations and heat and salty sweat. And somewhere in the midst of the slick pleasure, I wonder when everything became so comfortable with Dean, when I’d lost my inhibitions and discovered that being sexy could be so breathtaking, so satisfying. So easy.

  Maybe there hadn’t been a moment of discovery at all. Maybe, with Dean, it had just always been like this.

  On Tuesday, almost a week after we first arrived in California, I decide to venture out by myself while Dean visits his father. Since the Wests have several cars, Dean returned our rental a few days ago. After he gives me the keys to his father’s car, I head downtown.

  Los Gatos is a vibrant place filled with cafés, boutiques, restaurants, and shops. It reminds me a little of Avalon Street, except without the lake breeze. People are eating early lunches and having coffee at outdoor seating areas. Brightly colored awnings line the sidewalks.

  It’s cool enough to wear a light jacket, and I spend some time poking around a few gift shops, art galleries, and furniture stores.
I stop for a decaf cappuccino at a coffee-and-chocolate shop, then buy a bag of chocolate-covered almonds for Dean and a box of assorted chocolates for his mother.

  Might as well try to keep things sweet.

  I browse a few more shops, entering a women’s clothing store that looks as if it has stylish but casual clothes.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” A saleswoman with helmet hair approaches me.

  “Just looking, thanks.”

  I glance over the racks of business suits and silk blouses, the blazers, and pencil-slim skirts. It would be silly to buy anything in my regular size since I’ve already gained weight. Not to mention I have no reason to wear career clothes.

  I pull a somewhat voluminous shirt from a rack, then realize I’ve made my way to the maternity section at the back of the store.

  “I have a chart, if you need help with sizing.” The saleswoman pauses beside me again, her gaze flickering to my midriff.

  “Oh, I probably won’t need maternity clothes for a few weeks yet.”

  “We have a number of styles that will work throughout your pregnancy.” She takes several pairs of pants from the rack and shows me the different adjustable waistbands and front panels. “And for blouses, use whatever size you are now to determine your maternity clothes size. Let me get the chart, and we can do some measurements.”

  Next thing I know, she’s wrapping a measuring tape around my hips and bust, then consulting her chart. I decide to roll with it—I like the elegance and simplicity of the clothes, and I don’t mind buying a few things to keep on hand. By the time we’re done, I have two pairs of pants, two pairs of jeans, three blouses, and a heather-gray skirt.

  I pay for the purchases and loop the bag over my arm before heading outside again. As I pass a restaurant, the smell of pizza fills the air. My stomach growls. I pause to study the menu taped in the restaurant window when two women walk out. Paige and Joanna West emerge, Paige holding the door open as Joanna fishes around in her purse.