Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set

by Nina Lane

  “You were?” I can’t even imagine withstanding the force of Kelsey March’s dislike.

  “Yeah,” she says. “But you made it impossible. The first time I met you was in LA at the farmer’s market. After Dean introduced us, you gave me this… this Liv hug and asked me to join you for crepes.”

  She shakes her head, as if I’d asked her to fly over the rainbow.

  “Um… I like crepes,” I say.

  “Liv, I mean you just accepted everything, you know? Me. You never questioned my friendship with Dean. Never felt threatened by it. Not many people have figured out how to deal with me as fast as you did. Like you didn’t miss a beat. And you made your husband better, which is saying something.”

  She shoves off the chair. “Okay, I’m done. That little speech will self-destruct in five seconds.”

  I know enough not to respond to any of that, but my heart fills with love and affection for Kelsey and her bad-ass self.

  “So, we’re finishing up the final numbers,” I say, turning to the spreadsheet. “Can I get back to you next week?”

  “Yeah. You and Allie figure out if you need me, and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t get all mushy about it.”

  The sound of footsteps comes down the stairs, signaling Allie’s approach.

  “Liv, I really think that front room should be the witch’s castle room,” she remarks, “because it has that view of the mountains, and the witch’s castle was surrounded by mountains. Hold on, let me grab my portfolio from the car and we can sketch out some ideas.”

  She hurries out the back door. I gather up all the spreadsheets, and Kelsey shrugs into her jacket just as the bell over the door rings. We turn to see a tall man in his mid-forties enter, shedding his coat and pulling a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He’s dressed with casual elegance in khakis and a button-down shirt.

  “Can I help—” I start to say.

  The back door bangs open, and Allie bustles in again. “Oh, hey, Dad.”

  Dad?

  Kelsey and I watch in astonishment as Allie and the man exchange a bear hug.

  “Thanks for coming,” Allie says. “Did you meet Liv?”

  “Not yet.” The man extends his hand to me and smiles. “Max Lyons. Allie’s father.”

  I shake his hand in disbelief, stunned by the fact that not only is he quite young to have a twenty-seven-year-old daughter, he doesn’t look anything like I’d imagined.

  From what Allie has told me, her father moved to one of the artsy neighborhoods on the other side of the lake, after Allie’s mother died years ago. Allie hadn’t wanted to ask him for more money to help with the bookstore or the café, and I’d assumed that was because he’d helped her out a lot already and didn’t have much money himself. In fact, I’d pictured Max Lyons as a long-haired hippie who wears frayed jeans and smells faintly of pot.

  I did not picture a man who looks as if he’s just stepped from the pages of GQ.

  “And this is Kelsey March,” Allie tells her father. “She’s a professor at the university.”

  “In which department?” Max Lyons asks, holding out his hand to Kelsey.

  I can’t believe it. My majestic friend is standing there as if she’s just lost the ability to speak.

  “Atmospheric sciences,” I pipe up, giving Kelsey a quick poke in the side.

  “Uh, yeah.” She shakes Max’s hand, then takes a step toward the door. “Weather forecasting. Nice meeting you.”

  “You too.”

  “I asked Dad if he could stop by and give us his opinion about the building,” Allie tells me. “He’s an architect.”

  “Oh.” Now things finally fall into place. “Well, that’s great.”

  “Come on.” Allie tugs on Max’s sleeve. “I’ll tell you what we’re planning for the upstairs rooms. Liv, could you call Marianne and ask if she can stop by?”

  “Sure.”

  Kelsey and I walk to the front porch as I take out my cell and leave Marianne a quick voicemail.

  Dean’s car pulls up to the curb. My heart gives a welcome, familiar leap as he approaches, his black peacoat buttoned against the cold. In contrast to his rumpled appearance this morning, he’s now wearing a tailored suit with a navy tie knotted at his throat. His thick, dark hair is brushed away from his forehead, emphasizing the masculine planes of his face.

  Although I always love the sight of my handsome husband in full, distinguished-professor mode, now my pleasure is shadowed by a twinge of despair.

  Dean brushes his lips across my cheek and turns to hug Kelsey.

  “How long are you staying?” she asks, pulling her car keys from her pocket.

  “Ten days.”

  “Racquetball tomorrow, then?”

  My stomach twists. Dean and Kelsey often work out together at the university gym, but with him not allowed to be on campus now…

  “No, I’ve got stuff to do,” he tells her.

  Kelsey glances at me, as if she senses something is up. Then she shrugs and goes down the steps to her car. I move closer to Dean, disliking the ever-present knowledge of what he has to contend with.

  “When is the meeting?” I ask.

  “Wednesday. I’m going into Forest Grove this afternoon to consult with a library board about their medieval manuscript collection.”

  “What’s the Wednesday meeting about?”

  “It’s a mediation meeting, see if we can come to some resolution so the case won’t go to the university board of trustees.” Dean gives me a reassuring smile that doesn’t ease the concern in his eyes. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”

  He runs his hand over my hair and nods toward the café. “So tell me what you’ve got planned here.”

  Pulling open the door, he steps aside to let me precede him. He takes his coat off, tossing it over a chair before unbuttoning his suit jacket.

  I stop and do a double-take. Beneath his jacket, he’s wearing…

  “Is that a sweater vest?” I ask in astonishment.

  As if he’s forgotten, Dean looks down at the navy, buttoned vest he’s wearing over a gray shirt. “Yeah.”

  “Since when do you wear sweater vests?”

  “Since the girl at the store told me it looked good.”

  I stare at him, struck by how a piece of clothing so dorky can make a man like Professor West look like… well, like this. With his hair burnished by the lights, the knot of his tie tucked against his collar, the sweater vest molding beautifully to his sculpted torso…

  “That girl was right,” I admit.

  “So you like it?” he asks.

  I lean closer and whisper, “Makes me want to rub my naked body all over you.”

  His eyes flare, and he strokes his thumb across my lips. “Hold that thought.”

  “Keep that vest. It’s incredibly sexy on you.”

  “You’re incredibly sexy on me too.”

  I smile and stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Before I can ease away from him, he plants his hand on the small of my back and tugs me closer. His eyes fill with that combination of heat and tenderness that I know so well and have missed so much.

  He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, sending a burst of sparks over my skin. My breath catches in my throat as he crowds me up against the wall and lowers his mouth to mine in a hot, heavy kiss that scorches my veins with desire.

  I can’t help a small moan, my body going weak against the wall as Dean presses closer, his tongue seeking mine. I wind my hands around his neck, tucking my fingers into his hair as his kiss deepens and fills me with a thousand tiny fires. My sex throbs, my pulse kicking into gear. I fight the urge to slide my hands beneath his vest and unbutton his shirt, running my palms over the hard slopes of his chest—

  “Ahem.”

  I break away from Dean so fast the back of my head thunks against the wall
. He moves in front of me, all effortless composure, and turns to greet Allie.

  “Hey, Allie.”

  “Well, well.” Allie’s voice brightens. “I didn’t know you were back, Dean.”

  “Just for a few days.”

  Allie introduces Dean to her father, which gives me a chance to regain my own composure before I emerge from behind Dean’s shoulder. Dean steps forward to talk to Max, as Allie approaches me with a sly grin.

  “Sorry,” I mutter with embarrassment.

  “No worries,” she replies, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. “There’s a reason I call him Professor Hottie, you know.”

  I pull Dean away from Max so I can give him a tour of the building and tell him all of our plans. He is gratifyingly impressed and supportive, though he doesn’t offer any ideas of his own. On purpose, I know. He’ll keep his word and stay out of it.

  “It’s fantastic, Liv,” he tells me. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

  “We’re trying.” I hesitate. “But I’ve been worried about us having enough working capital. I mentioned it to Kelsey this afternoon, and she offered to partner with us.”

  “That’s great.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because I turned you down when you offered financial help. But a business partnership with Kelsey is different from me taking your money.”

  “Liv, you wouldn’t be taking my money. Everything I own is yours too.”

  “But this is a business. I need to treat it like one. Which means partnership agreements and budgeting, and not taking money out of our personal accounts just because it would be the easiest thing to do.”

  Dean studies me for a second, then nods.

  “Okay,” he says. “I get it.”

  My slight anxiety eases. “Good. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me.” He shakes his head, faint amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re the one going into business with a pit viper.”

  I smile. “More like a pit bull, don’t you think?”

  “That too.”

  After we return downstairs, Dean and Max, to neither Allie’s nor my surprise, begin talking about the history of architecture from the Coliseum to Frank Lloyd Wright. Their conversation then turns to the findings of the Altopascio dig, major-league spring training, a recent state senate bill, and finally this awesome bacon burger Max had at a new restaurant in Rainwood.

  “How cute,” Allie whispers to me, nodding to where Dean and Max are standing by the front counter. “They’re BFFs already.”

  It is pretty cute watching these two tall, handsome men discussing manly things. I think it’s kind of hot, too, though I don’t tell Allie that.

  After another half hour, I walk with Dean back out to his car so he can head to Forest Grove.

  He opens the car door, then turns to kiss me. His mouth, warm and firm, lingers on mine as he cups the side of my face in his palm. Before I can lose myself in his kiss again, he eases away to look at me.

  “Six,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with heat. “Be ready for me.”

  “I am ready for you,” I breathe, as shivers shoot through my veins and settle between my legs.

  “Be more ready.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek and turns to get into his car.

  I watch him go, thinking all those medieval knights had nothing compared to the intense, sexy chivalry of Dean West.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Olivia

  WHEN I GET HOME, THERE’S A box wrapped in brown paper outside the front door. The name Mrs. Olivia West is scrawled in Dean’s familiar handwriting. With a smile, I bring the box inside and lift off the lid to reveal a clutter of puzzle pieces.

  I dump the pieces onto the floor and start putting the puzzle together. Halfway to completion, I know what it is. An upwelling of love and emotion fills me.

  I lock the last piece of the puzzle into place and stare at the photograph of me and Dean on our honeymoon in front of the Saint-Chapelle chapel in Paris. I grab my phone to call him, but his voicemail picks up. A text message from him buzzes a few seconds later.

  Forty-five minutes.

  I hurry to shower and dress in a purple, flower-print bra and matching hiphuggers under a fitted slip. I zip myself into a black sheath dress with a lace overlay, taking extra care with my hair and makeup.

  I open the front door when I hear the foyer door snap closed. I step onto the landing just as Dean looks up.

  A sizzle of energy arcs between us. My pulse zings through my veins at the sight of him—tall and handsome in a navy suit beneath his black coat. His hair gleams in the foyer lights, and a smile curves his mouth as he walks up the stairs to me, extending a bouquet of a dozen perfect red roses.

  “Thank you.” I take the bouquet, the flowers’ perfume filling the air.

  “If I’d thought about it earlier, I’d have recited a poem or something too.” Dean stops in front of me, his gaze filled with appreciation. “You’re so damned beautiful.”

  “That’s all the poetry I need.” I stand on tiptoe to press my lips against his cheek. The scent of him slides into my blood—a hint of spicy aftershave mingling with the crisp night air.

  “I love the puzzle,” I tell him.

  “Good. One day soon I’ll take you to Paris again.” He tilts his head toward the street. “Ready?”

  “Let me put the flowers in water and get my coat.” I gesture for him to come inside, while I go into the kitchen to find a vase.

  After arranging the roses, I bring the bouquet into the living room. Dean is standing by the window, his hands in his pockets. The sight of him back in our apartment, right where he belongs, warms me down to my toes. With the town lights shining behind him, he’s so breathtakingly handsome that my heart does a little flip of happiness at the knowledge that he’s mine. All mine.

  I set the vase on the coffee table and fuss a little more with the arrangement of the roses.

  “Your peace lily bloomed,” Dean says.

  “What?” I glance up.

  “Your peace lily.” He tilts his head toward the open flower. “It’s pretty.”

  I smile, pleased that he noticed. “It’s the same kind of plant I gave you that first time I went to your place for dinner.”

  “I remember.” Warmth brews in his eyes as he returns his gaze to me. “That plant thrived because you took care of it the whole year.”

  “And I thrived because you took care of me the whole year.”

  Dean looks at me for a minute, then shakes his head. “Ah, Liv…”

  I go to slide my arms around his waist, loving the hard press of his body against mine. He takes my hips in his hands, a murmur of pleasure rumbling from his chest as our lips meet.

  “Let’s go, beauty,” he whispers, trailing his lips to my neck. “If we don’t leave now, my plan will be shot to hell.”

  I laugh and untangle myself from him. We get our coats and walk to his car, and I’m so caught up in being with him again, breathing the same air, feeling the warmth of his presence beside me, that it’s a good half hour before I realize we’re heading out of Mirror Lake and up into the mountains.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.”

  It’s a cloudy, crisp evening with reddish clouds skimming the mountaintops. Dean guides the car over a narrow road toward a domed building sitting on the crest of a ridge.

  “The observatory?” I don’t quite get it. “What are we doing here?”

  “Dating.” He winks at me and offers me his arm.

  With a smile, I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow as we walk toward the entrance to the building. There’s a truck parked nearby, though I can’t see the lettering on the side of it. Dean holds the door open for me, and we walk in
to the hushed silence of the lobby.

  He pulls open the auditorium door, and all the breath escapes my lungs at the sight of the silent room lit by a million brilliant stars spread over the arched ceiling. Soft music plays from hidden speakers. It’s a singular, private universe, the stars and planets contained within this space, and for this moment, it’s all ours.

  “How did you manage this?” I ask as Dean takes my hand and leads me to a cloth-covered table set up on the stage.

  “Pulled a few strings,” he replies. “Closest I could get to giving you the universe.”

  I smile. “Good one.”

  “Wait here.”

  A bouquet of spring flowers blooms on the table, which is set with china plates and wineglasses. A candle flickers, but the light can’t compete with the illumination of the stars. Dean returns a few minutes later with two delicious-smelling filet mignon dinners from the catering truck parked outside.

  And under the dome of our own private universe, we spend a lovely hour eating and talking. My eyes keep straying to Dean’s mouth, the curve of his hand around his fork, the way the starlight glows off his hair.

  I’m reminded anew of our very first date, which included our first kiss. Even now, my body tingles at the memory of the heat filling Dean’s eyes as he’d taken my face so gently in his hands.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he’d whispered, a second before our lips touched in a kiss that spun me into a whirlwind of knowing I could love this man.

  That one day… I would.

  Never before had I been so certain of my own instincts, and that knowledge has brought us to now.

  After dinner, Dean spreads out a blanket on the stage and we lie back to look up at the stars sprinkled like sugar across the sky. Dean points out all the constellations and starts talking about medieval cosmology and philosophy. His deep voice flows over me, and I ease closer to him so our bodies touch.

  “I wish it could be like this forever,” I whisper. “Just us and the stars.”