Spiral of Bliss: The Complete Boxed Set

by Nina Lane

  Even now, all these years after we first met, my pulse still quickens at the sight of him, my heart rising like a balloon into a clear blue sky. His features are strong in profile, his thick, dark hair threaded with silver, his jaw shadowed with scruff.

  He’s not teaching summer classes this year, so his hair is a little longer and messier, and his skin is tanned golden brown from all the time he’s spending outside—working in the garden; kayaking, hiking, and fishing with Archer and Nicholas; two weeks in Monterey with Bella volunteering for a marine wildlife organization, and most recently, coaching a sports club for at-risk kids.

  He turns his head, as if he senses my approach—of course he does—and our eyes meet with the hot tenderness that belongs to us alone.

  Dean smiles his beautiful, hint-of-wicked smile, his eyes creasing at the corners. He extends his arm to me.

  “Hey, beauty.”

  “Hi, professor.”

  I tuck myself against his side and wrap my arms around his waist. The scent of him—sun, wind, summertime—fills my head. Dean hugs me against him, bending to brush his lips across my temple.

  “Good day?” he asks.

  “Good day.”

  Good life.

  We go inside to order our coffees and take them to a table by the window. In some ways, it’s like the days we used to spend at Jitter Beans, after I’d finish a shift and join Dean at the table where he’d been sitting for a couple of hours.

  “Pretending to work,” he once told me, “but really sneaking glances at you.”

  We’d spend another hour talking about everything and secretly wondering how we could extend the time so we didn’t have to leave each other. Now, we no longer wonder that because we don’t have to leave each other at all.

  My phone buzzes with a text from Bella informing me she has to be at the mall in half an hour. As we sometimes do, Dean and I obey our daughter’s summons and return to the Butterfly House.

  Fitzy Darcy, seventy pounds of happy, tail-wagging dog, bounds up to meet us. Bella follows with a pleading look on her face.

  “Can I please get a ride home from Cara?” she asks. “It’s just so embarrassing when I’m the only one whose Dad picks her up from the movies.”

  “I could wear a disguise,” Dean suggests, scratching Fitzy behind the ears. “Fake glasses and a mustache.”

  Not dignifying that with a response, Bella turns to me. “Please, Mom?”

  Dean and I exchange glances and come to an agreement. We’ve known Cara and her family since she and Nicholas were in fourth grade together, and she’s a responsible, trustworthy girl.

  “All right,” I agree. “But only if Cara is driving.”

  “And text us when you’re leaving so we know when to expect you home,” Dean adds.

  “I will, I promise.” Bella comes over to hug me. “Thank you so much.”

  “Have fun.” I squeeze my daughter tightly and send up my usual silent prayer for the universe to keep her safe. “And be careful.”

  She hurries out to the car. Dean picks up his keys and glances at his watch.

  “Guess I’ll stop by Home Depot after dropping her off,” he says. “I need a new lawnmower battery.”

  “Nicholas is working late, then going to a bonfire,” I tell him, tapping my fingers on the counter.

  “Okay. I’ll also get some new brackets for the shelving in the—” Dean stops and looks at me with interest. “Both kids are going out tonight?”

  I nod slowly. “I was thinking we should use the time to clean out the basement storage.”

  “Ah, great idea.” Dean backs toward the door, his gaze on me. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started down there? I’ll be back with some hardware you might need.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We exchange goofy smiles before Dean turns and heads out the front door.

  Calculating I have forty minutes at most, I spring into action. I toss a blue-and-white cloth over the table in the garden, turn on the miniature globe lights strung through the trees, and set the table with white china plates, wineglasses, and a votive candle. I run upstairs to change into a flowing, white cotton sundress, doing a light-speed washing up and makeup reapplication.

  By the time Dean’s car comes back up the drive, I’m in the kitchen heating the pasta dish I’d made last night. I dim the lights, set a bottle of wine on the central island, fluff out my hair, and lean my hips on the counter in what I hope is a casually sexy pose.

  Dean comes into the kitchen and stops, his eyes warming with appreciation as he looks at me, sliding his gaze over my body as if he’s already touching me. My skin tingles.

  I expect him to cross the room and haul me into his arms—just the thought leaves me breathless—but instead he continues watching me in that way of his, a look of both tender warmth and awe, as if even after all these years he still can’t believe the girl from Jitter Beans is his wife.

  I know, because I often look at him the same way.

  “Give me a kiss, beauty,” Dean says.

  With a smile, I close the distance between us. Our lips meet in a kiss as warm and good as hot cocoa on a snowy night, ear massages, the scent of cinnamon, honey melting over fresh-baked bread.

  When we slowly part, Dean tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.

  “There’s a medieval doctrine of philosophy called illuminationism,” he tells me.

  I lift an eyebrow. “Is there?”

  “The philosophy states that humans need divine grace to aid their thoughts,” he continues. “Saint Augustine was an early proponent of the idea. He said a man couldn’t have full knowledge of the truth without heavenly intervention. The philosophy is also related to the idea of a divine light that banishes darkness and illuminates everything good and true.”

  I reach up to smooth his disheveled hair away from his forehead, gazing into his chocolate-brown eyes that will forever hold the key to unlocking my soul.

  “And do you possess this divine illumination?” I ask.

  “Of course.” He lowers his head to brush his lips across mine. “Her name is Liv West.”

  My heart goes into a slow, curving free-fall, like a feather knowing it will come to rest right in the palm of this man’s hand.

  “You are my eternal grace.” Dean brushes his lips across mine. “My divine light, the illumination of everything good and true.”

  He slides his hand up my midriff to my breast. “And you are without question my most heavenly body.”

  “Well,” I murmur, spreading my hand over his chest, “you’re definitely getting lucky tonight, professor.”

  “I’m already lucky. Luckier than I could ever have imagined.”

  I smile, curling my fingers into his T-shirt as our lips meet in another kiss. He moves his hands to the sides of my neck, tilting my head to just the right angle before delving his fingers into my hair. I sink against him, my body curving along his with the ease of a flower stem bending to the wind.

  The world slips away, distilling into the familiar touch of our lips together, the irrepressible desire that floods between us. Only when the timer on the stove dings do I pull away from him, pressing a series of kisses over his jaw.

  Twilight shines through the windows, dusky and golden, and birdsong rustles on the breeze. I dish up plates of pasta, Dean pours the wine, and we sit at the garden table to eat under the glowing lights.

  In the woods beyond, The Castle Two sits nestled in the trees, still beloved after all these years and kept in good condition for—maybe one day—our future grandchildren.

  Because both Bella and Nicholas have keys to the house and could change plans any second and come home, Dean and I go upstairs to the bedroom after dinner. He locks the door behind us, and we step into each other’s arms, a move as natural as a heartbeat. I still experience a sense of relief when my hu
sband’s arms close around me, as if we’re locking together, as if the earth is settling into place, as if the planets and stars are aligning.

  Of course they are.

  A slow, languid heat rises between us. Dean twists his fingers into the straps of my sundress, his touch warm against my bare skin. He trails his lips from my mouth across my cheek and down my neck to my shoulder.

  I shiver, loving the scrape of his stubble, the tickle of his thick hair against my bare skin. Heat radiates from him, as if he’s absorbed the summer sun. I pull him toward the bed, wanting his strong body on top of me so I can arch against him like a cat stretching in the sunlight.

  I love this, cherish it like breathing, the return to a private island where my husband and I shed the roles of mom, dad, professor, mentor, volunteer, lecturer, café owner, cook, advisor, board member, consultant… the place where we simply return to the beginning of what we became.

  Wrapped in Dean’s arms, intoxicated by his kisses, I’m just Liv again, the starry-eyed girl who melts at his touch, and he’s the captivating man who loves me with an adoration that is more powerful and eternal than time itself.

  He undresses me slowly, working the buttons lining the front of my dress, his fingertips skimming across my bared skin. Delicious quivers rain through me. I shift to take off my bra as he slides my panties over my hips and lowers his head to press gentle kisses over my torso, up to my breasts, across my neck.

  He moves away only long enough to shed his clothes. Currents of heat pool in my belly as I gaze at his gorgeous body that I love so much—the smooth planes of his shoulders, his muscular chest, the thick ridge of his cock that makes me clench my thighs with hot anticipation.

  Dean lowers himself on top of me, bracing his hands on either side of my head as I part my legs to let him inside. Our lips lock together in unison with our bodies, the push-and-pull movement that has the rhythm of the tides. I wrap my legs around his thighs, loving the heavy, deep thrust of his cock as he drives our need higher and higher. There’s no end to it, this pleasure that streams over us like water.

  I fall into the cascade, the world softening at the edges until there is only the delicious friction of our bodies, the press of his mouth, the feel of his hard chest against my breasts.

  Time coalesces, over twenty years falling away, and we’re in Dean’s former university apartment, indulging in each other for hours on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I’m twenty-four again, happy, excited, and eager to let this beautiful man show me how deliciously raw and uninhibited we can be together, how completely we can love each other.

  And oh, how we have loved across the years—often with the same hot, passionate fervor of our early days, but also with a rich, gentle elegance that over two decades together have given us, like a pearl slowly polished by time.

  My husband and I know and cherish everything—the flaring burn of lust that drenches us both in need; the easy, leisurely fucking like indulging in a decadent dessert; the emotional reconnection after a fight, the flirtatious teasing that leads to the sudden urgency of wanting each other right now, the sizzling excitement of dirty talk, the comforting predictability of turning to each other at the same time; the rough edginess of total control (his) and complete surrender (mine), the thrill of quick, secret interludes, and all the other unique, Liv-and-Dean nuances that paint our love with such intense, vivid colors.

  I thread my fingers through Dean’s thick hair as he lowers his head to press his lips across my throat, down to my breasts. His hands glide over me with smooth assurance, reminding me that in all of history, he—and only he—has ever possessed the instinct and knowledge to touch me in all the right ways. He is the man who has perfected the incomparable art of making love to me, of loving me.

  He thrusts into me again and again, his scruff tickling my skin, his muscles flexing beneath my hands. As the spool of bliss winds tighter, Dean stills, lifting himself over me and bringing his mouth down on mine the instant I come with a cry. Sensations tear through me, hot and intense, as I clench tight around him. He groans, burying his face against my neck as he surges deep inside me and surrenders to his own release.

  We fall against the pillows together, sweaty and breathing hard. Dean wraps his arm around me and pulls me into the space against his side where I will always fit so perfectly.

  As we catch our breath, Dean’s fingers linger on my left breast, absently tracing the decade-old surgery scar and radiation burns that are now concealed by a tattoo. An intricate design of flowers and vines surrounds an orange-and-black monarch butterfly, delicate wings arched and poised to take flight. Nestled among the vines is an interwoven L and D.

  Dean has a smaller, matching version of the tattoo on the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse beats. We’d gotten the tattoos the fifth year I was declared free of cancer, and all tests and scans since then have come back clear. Though we never need reminding, the tattoos are small evidence of big things.

  Dean and I have walked through fire together and kissed in the moonlight, but one strong, glittering thread binds us more powerfully than anything else. Throughout this life of ours, we know we will always be us, one heart beating beneath all that we do and all that we are.

  A professor who showed a damsel in distress what it means to love and be loved. A student who learned how to trust that man alone with her body and her soul. A gentleman who waited for her. A barista who saved the freshest cookies for a certain handsome customer. A dorky medievalist who championed obscure foreign films. A girl who discovered she already had all she needed to become a woman. A man who protected her with every beat of his fiercely steadfast heart.

  Everything Dean and I were once upon a time, we are at this moment. We’ll forever be a white knight and his beauty who battled monsters and won. We’ll always be a husband and wife who never gave up, who still believe in library call numbers, rainy Saturdays, houseplants, string figures, coffee houses, and lists of Important Things.

  We’ll always be Liv and Dean, who knew at first glance that we would do more than simply live a life together.

  We knew we would create a life together, one in which promises are kept, blessings are counted, and our marriage is the blissful haven to which we always return. We knew we would laugh, hold hands, cry, learn, argue, grow, cherish, and kiss an awful lot.

  And so we’ve done all those things and more. As the years pass, the medieval history professor and the girl from Jitter Beans will continue, with wild passion and tenderness, to love so very happily ever after.

  Thank you for reading ALWAYS. Please consider providing a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I hope you enjoy Liv and Dean’s story.

  Thank you so much for reading the Spiral of Bliss series! Liv, Dean, and the whole Mirror Lake gang remain very close to my heart. Please consider leaving a review for the boxed set and/or individual titles, as reviews are always much appreciated.

  As I wrote this series, I greatly enjoyed the imagery of cupcakes, flowers, gardens, and Paris that emerged as part of Liv and Dean's marriage. I'm delighted to have those themes revealed in THE SPIRAL OF BLISS COLORING BOOK, which features intricate illustrations hand-drawn by artist and author Victoria Colotta. A visual expression of hope and love, this is the book Liv creates when she draws pictures of “things that make her happy.”

  Proceeds from the sale of A Spiral of Bliss Coloring Book will be donated to the following breast cancer organizations: The Wisconsin Breast Cancer Coalition, Hope Chest for Breast Cancer, and The Metastatic Breast Cancer Network.

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