Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set

by Nina Lane

  “What are you going to do with all those pictures?” Liv asks.

  “Plaster them on the ceiling like stars so I can look up at them at night.”

  “Aw.” She smiles. “Good one.”

  I don’t know how it is that this one woman can both bring me to my knees and make me feel like the greatest knight in history.

  I click through the photos on the camera, pausing at one where a shadow falls across her neck and into the open V of her shirt.

  A thought hits me like lightning. “Take your shirt off.”

  “What?”

  I lift the camera again. “I want a picture of you with your shirt off.”

  “Me topless in an old tower?” Liv asks. “This sounds suspiciously like a rather kinky medieval fantasy, professor.”

  “Too bad I don’t have any manacles, huh?”

  She smiles again, but shakes her head. “Dean, I can’t undress here.”

  “Why not? No one’s around. I bet not many people even know about this place.”

  “Florence Wickham does.”

  “I guarantee you that Florence Wickham isn’t going to break in through the side door and come up to the tower.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” Liv mutters.

  To ease Liv’s mind, I shut the door leading to the staircase and turn the rusty lock. “Okay?”

  She’s watching me, wariness and… curiosity appearing in her brown eyes.

  “Live dangerously,” I suggest.

  She lets out her breath and slowly sheds her sweater, tossing it over the back of a chair. My heart kicks into high gear when she reaches for the buttons of her blouse. She unfastens two buttons and glances at me.

  “I don’t have sexy lingerie on,” she admits.

  “Good.” I don’t want her in sexy lingerie. I want her exactly as she is.

  Liv unfastens another button. Even from a short distance, I see her hands trembling. Warmth floods my chest. Finally she gets all the buttons undone and pulls the shirt off her shoulders.

  Ah, God. Just the sight of her cleavage cupped by a plain white bra has my blood heating. I focus on adjusting the aperture setting.

  “Now I’m kind of nervous,” she tells me.

  “Liv.” I lift the camera and focus on her. “You have no reason to be nervous.”

  I snap the shutter. She fidgets at first, crossing her arms, winding a strand of hair around her finger, shifting from one foot to the other, but when I start to tell her how beautiful she is, she begins to relax.

  A series of photos follows that I swear would win awards in photography competitions, for no other reason than the fact that Liv is a subject like no other—all at once sexy, sweet, assured, shy, and captivating. The light changes as the sun descends, painting her in shadows.

  I look at her again.

  “Take it off.” My voice is hoarse.

  Liv’s gaze shifts away from me. After a heart-stopping second, she reaches back to unfasten her bra. All the breath leaves my lungs at the sight of her naked breasts, her nipples hardening in the cooler air, her long hair falling to curtain them.

  So fucking beautiful.

  I try to pull my attention from my lust as I adjust the camera again and get back to taking pictures. At my instruction, Liv moves to different areas of the tower—against a boarded-up window, near the door, in the center of the room, beside a rocking chair—and does what I tell her to.

  “Put your arms over your head… that’s it…” click click “…now pull your hair back like you’re going to put it in a ponytail…” click click click “…one hand on your hip, the other on the doorjamb… both hands behind you on the windowsill…” click click “perfect… so damn pretty…”

  Then I lower the camera.

  “Touch them,” I tell her.

  Liv’s throat works with a swallow, but she runs her hands over her breasts, cups them in her palms, pinches her nipples. I can see her getting aroused, all those telltale signs I know so well—her breath is getting faster, her cheeks flushed, and her thighs tense as she presses her legs together.

  By the time she slides one finger down the valley between her breasts, I’m rock-hard and aching to get my hands on her. I force myself to focus on the camera and keep clicking the shutter.

  Then, without my needing to ask, Liv unzips her skirt and steps out of it. Naked except for cotton underwear and her low-heeled shoes, she smiles at me, as if she knows quite well that the balance of power has shifted.

  Which it has, since I’m at her mercy.

  “You’re killing me, lady,” I mutter, changing the shutter speed.

  “This was your idea,” she reminds me. She runs her hand down her torso to her panties. “Do you still want me to touch myself?”

  Holy fuck, do I ever.

  “Do it,” I tell her.

  I click the shutter again, my pulse pounding as she eases her fingers into her underwear. A sigh escapes her. Then, half to my shock and half to my utmost pleasure, she hooks her fingers into her panties and tugs them halfway down her thighs.

  I try and shift the discomfort of my erection, then snap a series of photos that I don’t even need since this image of Liv is burned into my brain forever—naked except for her panties tangled around her thighs, her hand still easing down toward her slit, her hair a tumbled mess over her bare shoulders, her breasts so full and perfect. Arousal brewing in her eyes. I can feel it from across the room, pulsing through her like lava.

  I lower the camera. I want her bad.

  “I think…” I clear my throat. “I think the camera is running out of memory.”

  “Oh. I was hoping to get a few shots of you.”

  I shut the camera down before she can act on that. The air is thick, hot. I want to pull her into my arms, feel her body crushing against mine, pliant and yielding.

  “Dean.”

  I lift my gaze to hers. She’s watching me, her breath still quick.

  I can’t stand it anymore. I put the camera down and cross to her in three steps. Grab her shoulders and haul her against me. Capture her sweet mouth and kiss her senseless.

  She sucks in a breath, her body going all soft against me, her arms winding around my waist. Her full breasts press against my chest. I can feel her nipples clear through my sweatshirt. My head spins with the feel and taste of her.

  She runs her hand down my stomach to my erection. The heat of her hand burns through my jeans. She steps back far enough to unfasten them, pulling them and my boxers down. When she closes her hand around my stiff cock and starts sinking to her knees, my head almost explodes.

  “Wait.” I yank my sweatshirt over my head and drop it onto the floor in front of her.

  She shoots me a quick smile, adjusting the sweatshirt so she can kneel on it before she turns her attention to my cock. In one, easy movement, she has me in her mouth.

  I tighten my hand on her hair. The sight of her kneeling in front of me, her lips and tongue working over my shaft, drives all thought from my brain. There’s only her wet mouth and my blood pulsing. Tension builds like steam.

  I grip the back of her neck. She slides her mouth off me and sits back, her chest heaving. I reach down to palm her gorgeous breasts, rubbing my fingers over her nipples in the way I know she likes. She lets out a sigh and pushes herself into my hands. I tug her to her feet and turn her toward one of the boarded-up windows.

  “Hold on.”

  She grasps the windowsill and pushes her ass toward me. I tug her panties down her legs and pull them off.

  “Jesus, Liv.” My chest burns as I stare at the curve of her back, her round ass, her legs spread apart. “I’m going to come before I get inside you.”

  “Oh, don’t,” she breathes. “I want to feel you again…”

  I rub my hand across her pretty ass. She gasps, spreading h
er legs wider. She’s still wearing her heeled pumps. She’s sexy as hell.

  I trail one finger down to her slit. She moans. I ease a finger into her. Grasp my shaft with my other hand and squeeze. Pressure cords my spine. As much as I’d like to draw this out, I know I can’t last much longer.

  Liv lowers her head, her hand sliding between her legs to her clit. “Dean, please. I need you now.”

  I push my knee between her thighs to press them farther apart, then position my cock at her slit. One thrust into her tightness, and my blood goes into full boil. She groans, pressing one hand to the board and pushing backward again.

  Heaven. Pure, sweet heaven.

  I clutch her hips and shove into her again and again. Her ass slams against my stomach. Moans stream from her throat. The air is drenched with heat.

  Part of me never wants this to end. I could do this forever, pumping into her, feeling her inner muscles clenching around my shaft, her body shaking as she takes the force of each thrust. I dig my fingers into her hips, wanting to drive us both to the edge.

  “Dean, I’m… oh, God, don’t stop.” Liv moves her hand up to play with her breasts, the other still braced against the window. “Oh, you feel so good.”

  I pump into her a few more times, then pull out. I grab her waist and tug her upright. She turns toward me, her hair falling into her face as she sinks against me for a hot kiss.

  “Come here.” I take my sweatshirt off the floor and toss it onto the parlor chair. After sitting down, I motion for Liv to come closer. Her gaze tracks down my chest to my rigid cock. I slide my hands to the backs of her thighs and turn her around.

  She spreads her legs over my lap and reaches back to take hold of my shaft. In one smooth movement, she lowers herself onto me and starts to ride. The sight of her ass bouncing up and down on my thighs, her skin glistening with sweat and her hair sticking damply to her back… I’m on fire inside and out.

  My body tenses with the effort of trying to retain control. Liv moves off me and turns, lowering her head for a kiss as she sinks onto my cock again. Now with her breasts right in front of me, her nipples hard as cherries…

  “Oh, fuck, Liv…” With a groan, I pull out of her and let go, shooting with a volcanic force. I push my hand between her legs. One rub on her clit, and she gives a sharp cry as her body convulses over mine.

  She gasps and falls against me, pressing her face to my shoulder. I run my hands over her smooth back. She’s all soft, sweaty heat, her breath steaming against my skin, her body still trembling.

  She shifts, pressing one hand to my cheek. She opens her mouth above mine and runs her tongue over my lower lip. Warmth rushes through me. She leans her forehead against mine.

  “I’m going to miss you all over again, professor.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” Everything in me is fighting the idea of leaving my wife again.I got it the first time, the idea that if I left Mirror Lake, I couldn’t be accused of any new transgression that could screw things up even more.

  But now? With the poisonous Crystal Winter in town? With Edward Hamilton accusing me of having a precedent of getting involved with students? With Stafford investigating my relationship with Liv?

  What if he wants to know more about her? What if he digs into her past?

  The thought of Stafford bringing Liv’s history into this investigation sickens me with fear. And what the hell am I supposed to do about it from five thousand miles away?

  “Hey.” I pull in a breath to suppress the growing anger. “How about I figure out a way to stay here? I can—”

  “Dean.” Liv touches my face. “You have to go back. They’re expecting you, and I… with my mother here, it’s better if you’re away.”

  A wave of frustration hits me. I don’t want to be away from my wife. And I hate that she wants me to go.

  “It’s better if I’m away?” I repeat, unable to keep the irritation from my voice.

  “You know it is.” She eases off me, shaking her head. “Don’t fight it again, Dean, please. You have to go back to Italy.”

  Tension floods me as I reach for my jeans. I pull them on and watch Liv as she slips into her underwear, her hair swinging in a curtain over her shoulder, her skin still damp.

  My chest tightens. Somehow, always, everything is okay when it’s just the two of us alone together. It’s when we have to deal with the rest of the world that everything gets fucked up.

  And I still have no idea what to do about it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Olivia

  April 11

  THIS TIME AFTER DEAN LEAVES MIRROR Lake again, I’m almost relieved by the fact that he’s away. Not because I want to be separated from him again, but because an ocean’s distance between him and my mother is a good thing—especially when my mother hasn’t yet given me any idea of how long she intends to stay.

  I don’t have much time to worry about her though, because between the café and my hours at the museum and library, I have a commitment every day. I have to quit my bakery job, which doesn’t bother Gustave after we make plans to have him supply the café with croissants and brioche.

  Marianne continues to help us with logistics, and with Brent as the café’s general manager, we move toward our early June grand opening. Marianne brings us a million samples of curtain fabrics, glasses, tablecloths, and soon we’re repainting the walls and installing a new subfloor.

  I don’t see much of my mother during the week after Dean leaves. We exist in a strained but not overtly hostile way, and she continues to help out with the painting at the café. She’s never home in the evenings, as she goes out every night to clubs and bars, returning long after I’m asleep.

  Though I talk to Dean at our usual time every night, safely ensconced in his office with the door locked, things are different than they were the first time. Now they’re strained by the unspoken presence of my mother and the threat to our future hovering over us like smoke.

  One night shortly after he’s left, he reminds me that he didn’t use a condom the evening we fooled around at the Butterfly House.

  “I’m not pregnant,” I tell him. “I started my period yesterday.”

  “Oh.”

  My heart thumps suddenly as I wait for more. “Oh, good”? “Oh, too bad”? “Oh my God, let’s try again”?

  There’s nothing else. Just “Oh.”

  “I guess we got carried away,” I say.

  Even with all we’ve been through, I’m not surprised by this. We’ve had a rough time since last October, and we’ve both been trying to navigate this new territory between us. And in an old, gabled tower on a hill above Mirror Lake, isolated from discovery, wrapped in the intense sexiness of Dean photographing me naked… it’s no wonder we lost ourselves in cascades of heat and unreality.

  “So… what if I were pregnant?” I ask.

  Dean is silent. My heart pounds.

  “Then I’d buy a house,” he finally says.

  I can’t help laughing, even as sudden tears sting my eyes. “But would you want to buy a house?”

  Silence again. Then he says, “Do you remember that time we went to the Vilas Zoo in Madison?”

  “We went lots of times.”

  “Yeah, but there was one time we went on a cold fall morning during the week,” Dean says. “Lots of mothers there with babies and little kids in strollers. I was waiting for you near the gift shop, by that front gate that swings back and forth. When you came through the gate, you looked behind you to see if anyone was following.

  “Then you held the gate open so a woman pushing a double-stroller could get through. There were two kids in the stroller, a boy and a girl, all bundled into jackets and hats. The woman stopped to say something to you, and then one of the kids started getting upset and crying. And as you were talking, you put your hand on his head, right on top of his fuzzy w
inter hat.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I say.

  “I don’t think you even realized you did it,” Dean says. “But the kid settled down in about two seconds. Just like that. Stopped crying and waited for the stroller to get moving again. And I looked at you and thought, She would be a great mother.”

  I can’t speak. I don’t think I can even contain my heart right now.

  “But it’s easy when it’s just us, Liv, you know?” he continues. “That’s why it’s always been so damned good. And these past few months… half the time I want to take you to some tropical island where we can just lounge around naked eating bananas.”

  I smile through the tears still blurring my eyes. “We have a tropical island, Dean. It’s called our marriage. And I’d be happy to lounge around naked eating bananas, if that’s what you want.”

  “I want to be with you,” he says. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I hate that things get screwed up every time… every time it’s not just us anymore.”

  Now we’re both silent. The air between us vibrates with tension. I sense an odd shift in those few seconds, as if he’s the one seeking reassurance for once.

  “Dean, having a child doesn’t make our lives not us,” I say gently. “It makes our lives more than us.”

  He doesn’t respond. I can picture him lying on his bed, one hand behind his head, his gaze staring out the window, as if all the answers to the world can be found in the dawn light.

  “I can think of a thousand reasons to say no,” he says.

  “Me too.” I press a hand to my chest and close my eyes. “But if we look hard enough, we can always find a reason to say no. We can always find a reason to be afraid. So maybe it’s time to stop looking and see what finds us instead.”

  We fall silent again. A very long time passes with nothing but the sound of our breath.

  “I might not come out of this investigation alive,” Dean says.

  “Yes, you will. But I won’t be waiting for you when you do.”

  “You won’t?”

  “No. I’ll be at your side.”