“My mother had an affair years ago.” The words tumbled out of him in a rush. “My father stayed married to her because he needed her family’s money and couldn’t risk anything hurting his chances for being appointed to the appellate court. My brother is a high-school dropout who can’t hold a job, and my whole family resents me because my grandfather left me most of his money in a trust fund when he died. Because I was so goddamn good at being perfect.”
He stopped and turned to me, his expression so heartbreakingly vulnerable that I wanted nothing more than to make things better for him, to ease what seemed like an age-old pain.
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in… forever, Liv. The only person who doesn’t expect anything from me. Who doesn’t care that I’m not perfect.”
“You’re perfect to me,” I said honestly. “Perfect for me.”
“And that’s why I like what we have,” he said, the tension easing from his posture as he approached to stand in front of me. “Because you’re perfect for me too.”
“So what are we, then?” I asked. “When someone asks who I am, what am I supposed to say?”
“You say, ‘Hi, I’m Liv, Dean’s very hot and sexy lady.’”
I couldn’t smother a giggle. “Seriously.”
“Paramour?”
“No.”
“Cuddle bunny?”
“God, no.”
“Valentine? Sweetheart? Girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend.” I rested my forehead against his chest. “I guess.”
“Not the best word, but it’ll do in public.” He kissed my temple. “In private, you can just be my beauty.”
Oh, he was good. My lingering irritation melted in a surge of warmth.
“Give me a kiss, beauty.”
He whispered the words close to my ear, as he always did. I loved the way he could make that one phrase a command, a request, or a question, with just the subtle modulations of his deep voice. This time, it was a gentle command, one I was only too happy to obey.
I lifted my head and closed the scant distance between us to press my mouth against his. Heat flooded me. He slid his hand to the back of my neck and angled his head so our lips fit together seamlessly. After a long, deep kiss, he eased away and leaned his forehead against mine.
I was crazy about him. I loved the way he invested everything he did with such purpose, the way he focused his attention on me and really listened when I talked. I loved his brilliant mind, loved both the impenetrability and sheer dorkiness of medieval history. I loved the way he looked at me, stroked my hair, kissed me. I loved the million beautiful ways he made me feel.
I was starting to love him. Only I didn’t know it yet.
“Be with me, Liv,” he said. “Just be with me.”
I looked at him and thought that for the first time in my life, there was nowhere else I wanted or needed to be.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dean
January 16
ell, fuck.
My ex-wife is standing in the kitchen. Liv is hovering beside me, gripping my sleeve. Her tense posture tells me she knows exactly who this other woman is.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Helen bluntly.
She blinks and sets down the dish sponge. “Hello to you too, Dean.” She faces us, folding her arms. “I was with Paige when your mother called. I told her I’d stop by and straighten up while they’re at the hospital. The cleaning lady isn’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m here now, so you can go.”
Her eyes harden. “I’m here for Paige and your mother, Dean, not you. They’re still my good friends.”
Her tone implies that I am anything but. We haven’t seen each other for over fifteen years. The only contact we’ve had was one email a few months ago when she told me she’d submitted a proposal for the Words and Images conference I’m organizing.
Helen’s gaze flickers to Liv. “I’m Helen Morgan. Dean and I were once married.”
“I’m Olivia West,” Liv replies. “Dean and I are married.”
The possessive tone in her voice does me some good.
“Liv and I are going to the hospital after we get settled,” I tell Helen.
“Good. I have coffee made if you want some before you leave.” Helen taps her finger on the counter, her gaze faintly triumphant.
She’s staking a claim in the kitchen of my childhood. That’s fine, because I sure as hell don’t want it anymore.
I guide Liv upstairs to my former bedroom, which thankfully bears no trace of the teenager who once lived there. Liv rubs her hand across my lower back.
“Okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. Sorry. Had no idea she’d be here.” I turn to face her. She looks better than she did on the plane, but is still pale. “You should lie down.”
“I’ll take a nap when we get back from the hospital.”
“You’re not feeling well, Liv. You don’t need to see my parents right now.”
“I’m better, really. It was just the motion of the plane.” She gives me a stubborn look and turns to go into the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
I drag my hands over my face and tell myself she doesn’t need the extra stress of an argument. After we’ve both showered and changed, we go back downstairs. Helen gestures to a plate of muffins and hands me a cup of coffee.
“Still take it black?” she asks.
“Yeah, thanks.” I’m mildly surprised she remembers how I like my coffee.
“Don’t be surprised.” Her expression glimmers with amusement. “I had a fifty-fifty shot. Black or white.” She glances at Liv. “You?”