by Nina Lane
He crooks his finger at me, his lips curving with that hint-of-wicked smile that is reserved for me alone.
“Come here, beauty.”
My heart pounds, a throbbing beat centering in my core. I approach him slowly, reaching up to take the halo off my head. He grabs my wrist, his eyes darkening.
“Leave it on,” he orders.
I laugh.
“Okay,” I agree, sliding my gaze over him in consideration. “But that means you have to leave your horns on. And your cape, for that matter. Maybe your boots too.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. He pulls me toward him by the wrist before lowering his head and settling his mouth across mine.
A little moan escapes me as my knees weaken. Dean slips the organza wings off my shoulders before moving me backward until my hips touch the edge of a table. He pushes me gently onto my back and leans over me, bracing his arms on either side of my head. Our gazes meet, hot and electric.
My heart pounds. In the shadowed light, with that black cape and red tie, Professor West really does look as if he’s a dark lord of the underworld. One who is intent on doing dirty, wicked things to an innocent angel.
I hook one leg around his thighs, pulling him closer. He looks down at me, something menacing radiating from him as he twists his fingers into the straps of my gown and pulls it slowly over my shoulders and down to my waist.
I swallow, flicking my tongue out to lick my lips. With a quick twist of his fingers, Dean unhooks the front clasp of my bra and pushes the cups aside. A rush of cooler air brushes across my nipples, stiffening them into tight peaks. He groans low in his throat and bends to capture my nipple between his teeth, sending a shock of heat to my core.
My breathing increases as he lavishes attention on my breasts, cupping one in his hand as he presses his lips around my areola, down to the crevices beneath. His scruff scrapes exquisitely against my skin.
I tangle my hand in his hair and tug gently, urging him back up to me. As our mouths meet again, I grasp his red tie and work the smooth knot. I leave the unfastened tie around his shoulders as I unbutton his shirt and waistcoat to reveal his powerful chest.
His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, his heart thumping with the heavy beat of a drum. I squirm underneath him, my arousal intensified by the contrast of the hard table under me, and my hot, muscular husband on top of me.
“Hurry,” I whisper, pushing my gown and slip up to my waist.
He moves closer to the table, his gaze on mine as he unfastens his trousers and drops them to the floor. His erection presses against his boxer briefs, a hard ridge along his thigh. I reach out to palm the length, tracing my fingers over the shaft.
He takes off boxers, and I wiggle to the edge of the table so he can better position himself. My pulse throbs as I watch him—black cape billowing, red tie like a streak of blood down his chest. He tangles his fingers into the straps of my panties and pulls them off, exhaling a groan of appreciation at the sight of my damp sex. He presses his fingers into me, flicking his thumb over my clit.
I lift my knees, gasping as he presses the head of his cock over my folds and slowly down to my opening. Then he’s pushing inside me, throbbing against my inner walls and firing heat through my nerves.
I moan, pulling him closer as he starts to thrust, and we both fall into the push-and-pull, give-and-take rhythm that has always come so easily to us. He tightens his grip on me as his thrusts increase in pace, driving into me the exact instant I arch my hips upward.
“Come on, beauty,” he whispers, lowering his head to kiss my shoulder. “So fucking good…”
“Yes.” I dig my fingers into his biceps as the coil of pleasure winds tighter and tighter. “Dean, I’m…oh, harder.”
He thrusts deep, jolting me against the table. One more press of his fingers on my aching clit, and my whole body arches upward, flooding with intense vibrations that wrench a cry from my throat. His mouth comes down on mine as the pace of his thrusts changes to a long, slow glide. I wrap my legs around his waist, opening myself fully as he gives a hoarse shout and comes deep inside me.
Dean’s breath rasps through his chest as he lowers himself on top of me, his hands on either side of my head. I thread my fingers through his gorgeous hair, stroking it away from his damp forehead as I gaze up at his face—loving the satisfaction in his eyes, the lingering heat, the ever-present tenderness.
With unspoken and reluctant agreement, we part slowly and get back into our costumes, helping each other adjust our clothes and accessories so we don’t look too terribly rumpled. I clean off the table while Dean finishes dismantling the beanbag toss booth. As we’re leaving the room, he grabs me around the waist and gives me a hot, hard kiss.
“I fucking love you, beauty,” he says against my lips. “And I love fucking you.”
I laugh and stroke his cheek, a riotous combination of love, longing, and happiness flooding me. I give in to the urge to sink against him for an instant, his arms closing around me in that warm, protective circle I know so well before we separate to return to the outside world.
Chapter 3
Olivia
The Halloween bonfire blazes against the night sky, patrolled and tended by several residents to ensure everyone’s safety. Wizard’s Park is filled with parents supervising their children, most of whom are running around comparing their candy hauls and sneaking pieces from their buckets.
A line of people snakes behind the trees where the Mirror Lake Railway depot is awash in orange lights for the haunted train rides. Dean and I find Kelsey on a bench, trying her best to ration Nicholas and Bella’s candy, even though their plastic pumpkins are half-filled with empty wrappers.
“Sorry,” Kelsey says wryly. “But Nicholas did share his M&M’s with Archer.”
“Ah, well.” Dean shrugs. “This is the night for treats, isn’t it?”
He catches my eye and winks. I smile.
“Thanks, Kels.” I pick up a few wrappers littering the ground. “Nicholas, do you have all your stuff?”
“My sword is in Aunt Kelsey’s car.”
“Come on, Snowbell.” Dean hauls Bella into his arms and rubs his nose against hers. “Way past your bedtime.”
Dean and I load up with our children, their pumpkins, coats, gloves, and bits and pieces of their costumes. After saying goodbye to Kelsey, we walk back to the car and buckle the kids into their seats.
“Halloween candy,” Nicholas says as Dean maneuvers out of the crowded parking lot. “That’s an Important Thing.”
“True,” Dean agrees. “And town bonfires.”
“Jack-o’-lanterns,” I say.
“Ghosts,” Bella adds. “They were on train.”
“Yeah, but they’re not Important,” Nicholas says, his mouth sounding suspiciously stuffed with chocolate.
“On Halloween night, I think they are,” Dean says. “Along with witches, goblins, and monsters.”
“And angels and devils,” I point out.
“Devils aren’t Important Things,” Bella remarks.
“Sure they are. If there were no devils, there wouldn’t be any angels. You can’t have the good without the bad.”
“Or the sad without the glad,” Nicholas says. “Or the best without the rest.”
“Or the dad without the plaid,” Dean suggests.
We all chuckle.
I look out the window as we pass our former apartment on Avalon Street, remembering the fall mornings when Dean would sit on the balcony in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms. I remember pushing aside the blue curtains and joining him with a tray of coffee and muffins.
Now the French doors of the apartment are closed, the balcony empty. I don’t think anyone has lived there since Dean and I left, and the thought elicits a twinge of sorrow.
That apartment was where Dean and I began our lives in Mirror Lake. The home where we both loved wildly and overcame so much. It’s a place that should still be filled
with life. It’s an Important Thing.
I glance into the backseat of the car. Bella is already asleep, and Nicholas is struggling to stay awake. There’s a smear of chocolate on Nicholas’s face, and Bella’s hair is a mess from the cupcake hat.
Important Things, indeed.
I turn back around, my heart feeling both rock-solid and unbearably fragile. Nicholas was the one who started the Important Things family game, after he and I read Stuart Little and Stuart asks a classroom to name some very important things, like a note of music and ice cream with chocolate sauce.
“What do you think are Important Things?” Nicholas had asked me.
After he and I had listed all the Most Important Things—our family and friends, love, our house, our good health, the café, Nicholas’s and Bella’s schools and teachers, and Dad’s work—Nicholas thought we should keep an eye out for other Important Things and keep lists. The only rule is that we can’t repeat the same thing twice, but it’s okay if we forget that we already named it.
So our basket of Important Things gets fuller every day, and we keep track on our individual lists.
NICHOLAS
Star Wars. Bugs. Legos. Cartoons. Learning to ride my bike without training wheels. Reading with Mom. My best friend Henry. Playing baseball with Dad. Pirate sloops. Hamburgers.
BELLA
Flowers. Hoot the Owl. Crayons. Cupcakes. Hedgehogs.
LIV
Twelve Oaks. Good books. Clear fall days when the leaves are red and gold. Sailboats on the lake. The bouquinistes along the Seine. Nicholas and Bella’s laughter. Learning something new. Keeping your word. Ice Cream. Musicals.
DEAN
My wife and children.
(Nicholas: “You always say that, Dad.”)
DEAN
(List #2)
Frisbee in the park. Coffee. A brand new pen. Shaving soap. Bella’s drawings. Discovering a new transept wall at Altopascio. Watching Nicholas play soccer. The Crusades. A dedicated student. Jitter Beans. Library call numbers.
When we get home from the bonfire, Dean carries a sleeping Bella to her room. Nicholas adds “Halloween candy” to his List of Important Things before I coax him upstairs and into his pajamas. I tuck him into bed and turn off the light.
“Sleep well, Nick at Night.” I kiss him on the forehead. “I love you.”
He mumbles something in response and rolls over. I pass Dean in the hallway as we each go to say goodnight to the other child, exchanging a fist-bump of mutual triumph over the fact that both our children are in bed sleeping.
I go into Bella’s room. Dean managed to get her out of her cupcake costume, but didn’t bother changing her out of her white leotard and sweatpants.
Just the sight of my daughter sprawled out on the bed like a skydiver, her head nestled against the blue pillow and one arm around Hoot, makes my heart ache with love and gratitude.
I bend to kiss her, and her long eyelashes flutter against her perfect creamy cheeks. I pull the comforter over her before returning to the master bedroom.
“Oh, don’t take it off,” I say mournfully, leaning against the doorjamb as I watch Dean unfasten the ties of his cape.
“I’m too sexy for my cape,” he replies.
I laugh. “You’re too sexy for a lot of things, professor.”
He winks at me as he hangs the cape in the back of the closet. “If you ever want me to wear it just for you, beauty, all you have to do is ask.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I remark. “Same goes for my wings.”
I walk to the bathroom, feeling his gaze follow me and warm every part of my being. We get ready for bed and crawl under the covers, fitting our bodies against each other with a silent click that locks us together.
Despite all the changes in our lives, this falling-asleep position has always been a constant—resting my head on Dean’s chest, soothed by the sound of his strong, everlasting heartbeat and the gentle slide of his fingers through my hair.
I shift, pressing my breasts against him. A twinge of discomfort travels up my side, and I wiggle again. I rub the area under my left breast, where the skin is tender and a bit irritated from Dean’s scruff.
“What’s going on, squirmy?” he asks, his eyes closed and his body relaxed.
“You marked me with your whisker burn.”
“Ah. That’s the price you pay when you dance with the devil.”
“Well, you do lure me into places where angels fear to tread.”
“That’s why you should give the devil his due.”
“Oh, I will.” I rest my elbow on his chest and lift myself to look at him. “After all, he does know how to show a girl one hell of a good time.”
Dean opens his eyes, his gaze meeting mine with hot tenderness. “Only when the girl is heaven sent.”
“We are such dorks,” I murmur the instant before our lips touch.
Chapter 4
Dean
November 16
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Not bad.
Though Darcy was kind of a dick at the ball, at least he didn’t skulk around longing for Lizzy and never going after her. The guy had a pair.
And I reluctantly admit his confession of love was more poetic than mine had been. Though come to think of it, Liv was the one who said, “I love you” first, when we were staying at a motel in Castleford after visiting her aunt and uncle.
For a second, all I could do was stare at her. Trying to absorb the shockwave right to my soul.
She loved me. The only woman who’d ever brought me to my knees. The woman whose name sounded in rhythm with my heartbeat. The woman who had me at first look.
“I’m really glad to hear that, beauty. Because I love you too.”
No, it wasn’t all that poetic. But nothing could compare to the raw, honest truth that thickened the air in that dingy hotel room. Nothing could compare to the way Liv was looking at me, her eyes filled with certainty, like she was just telling me something she’d known all along. Nothing could compare to the extraordinary realization that this was it. She was mine.
“Hey, Dean.”
The voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I turn my office chair away from the window toward the door.
“Approved.” Jessica Burke, my former grad student-turned-colleague comes into my office, waving a printed sheet of paper. “The World Heritage Center will take five students for a two-week period next April to work on the medieval churches in Kosovo.”
“That’s fantastic.” I put the book on my desk and scan the paper from the director of the WHC.
“Are you reading Pride and Prejudice?” Jessica asks.
“Yeah. Liv got all up in arms because I’d never read it, so I’m correcting my character flaw.”
Jessica blinks. “You’ve never read Pride and Prejudice?”
What is it with women and this book?
“I’m reading it now,” I tell her. Before she can get on my case too, I gesture to the WHC paper. “We should start putting together a call for applications soon. These are the students we should recruit for the World Heritage Studies program.”
“Already done.” Jessica sits in the chair in front of my desk. “And we have three new applications this week. I talked to Britta from the University of Munich, and she hopes she can participate in the ecology program.”
For the hundredth time, I think of how glad I am that the university board took my recommendation to hire Jessica as the assistant director of the new World Heritage Studies program.
In partnership with UNESCO and the World Heritage Center in Paris, the WHS program at King’s University will offer courses in historical conservation, ecology, globalization, cultural change, architecture, geology, and heritage management—with plenty of opportunities to work at sites around the world. It’s a union of everything I’ve worked on for the past ten years and feels like the culmination of my entire career.
Jessica and I go over more det
ails before I walk to the lecture hall for an undergrad class, then hold office hours. At two-thirty, I shrug into my coat and head out to pick Nicholas up from school.
Cartoon turkeys, smiling pilgrims, and fruit-filled cornucopias decorate the windows of the shops on Avalon Street. November is one of my favorite times of year in Mirror Lake—red-and-gold leaves carpet the sidewalks, the air is brisk, and we’re looking forward to the holidays, which Liv always puts her heart and soul into making magical.
Buses line the drop-off zone of Mirror Lake Elementary, and the parking lot is full of cars. I park on the street and walk to the entrance, where other parents are standing around waiting for the bell to ring.
“Dad.” Nicholas’s yell has me turning toward the school doors. Streams of children are starting to pour out toward their parents and the buses.
“Hey, slugger.” I bend to capture him in my arms, grateful that he’s still okay with me hugging him in public. “Good day?”
“Yeah. I got my Readersaurus badge.” He holds up a ribboned badge embellished with a picture of a cartoon dinosaur reading a book. “That means I finished all the reports for the books we were supposed to read.”
“Nice work. Let’s see how it looks on you.” I pin the badge to his jacket. We take a second to admire it before starting toward the car.
“Bye, Henry,” Nicholas calls to his best friend, who is trotting toward a waiting school bus.
“Bye, Nicholas.” Henry stops on the bus steps and waves frantically, as if they’re not going to see each other for a full year rather than one night.
After getting Nicholas buckled into his car seat, I drive to the Wonderland Café. The front porch is decorated with cornstalks, pumpkins, and the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, and the interior is redolent with the scents of chocolate and fragrant tea.
