He slips his hands around my waist and we move to the sofa. I push him backward and tumble on top of him, stretching myself over his strong body as our mouths join once again. He rubs his warm hands over my back. I ease my leg between his and fall into a swirl of pleasure.
There are no fireworks, no bells ringing, no collision of stars. The earth doesn’t move. It’s just us, Liv and Dean, kissing long and deep with our bodies pressed together and our hearts beating in unison. My curves yield to the hard planes of his chest, my hair falling on either side of his face to curtain us in our own private world.
Our lips move seamlessly, tongues stroking, breath mingling. I shift to kiss his cheek, his chin, my hands flexing on his arms. He tightens his fingers on the nape of my neck as he trails his lips to the hot hollow of my throat where my pulse flutters.
Everything inside me softens in response to his strength, his absolute, unwavering conviction that our marriage is worth any risk, any battle, any sacrifice. And I now know that all these years, my husband hasn’t only been protecting me. He’s been protecting this intense, precious bond we share that is more than desire, more than tenderness, more than adoration, more than love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Olivia
nce upon a time, I lost sight of what it means to be brave. I forgot that’s what Dean loves and admires about me, that he’d once said I was the one who showed him how to start a new life. I forgot about the thirteen-year-old girl who walked away from her mother. About the nineteen-year-old woman who braced herself against the world yet again after seeking safety at Twelve Oaks.
I had no plans when I dropped out of Fieldbrook College halfway through my first year, broken in the aftermath of a forced sexual encounter and horrible rumors. I’d lost everything I’d worked so hard for—my merit scholarship, my reputation, my future, my sense of self.
I only knew I needed to leave, to get on the road, and for a while I didn’t care that I might end up like my mother.
I packed up my old hatchback and told Aunt Stella I was going to visit some friends. Though I had no destination in mind, I headed west, in the direction of the ocean, mountains, and sunsets. Only as I was driving did I remember there was one safe place in the world, so I kept going for two thousand miles until I reached Northern California.
I didn’t even know who was at Twelve Oaks anymore, or if North was still there. In my effort to put my mother behind me, I’d cut all ties with my past. Yet as I drove through the winding roads of the Santa Cruz mountains, I knew I’d be welcomed by whoever lived at Twelve Oaks now.
The valley looked the same as it had when I was thirteen—low, rolling hills covered with thickets of grass and trees, the sloping cliffs that led to the half-moon curve of the beach. I walked down the drive leading to the big, central farmhouse of the commune.
My stomach knotted. Surrounded by benches, the fire-pit sat near the barn. I wondered if they all still gathered there after supper for conversation and guitar-playing.
“Help you, miss?” An older woman with short gray hair approached me from the garden.
“My name is Liv,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I was… I stayed here once with my mother years ago.”
“Oh.” The wrinkles on her forehead eased a bit. “You need to talk to someone?”
“Yes.” I wiped my palms on my jeans. “There was… when I was here, a man named North used to run the place. Is he still here?”
“Oh, sure. North’s been around forever. Likely he’s in his workshop now. You know where that is?”
“I remember. Thanks.”
My nerves intensified as I walked toward the wooden building. I knocked on the door, then pulled it open when there was no response. The smells of sawdust and burnt wood filled my nose. I blinked to adjust my eyes. A big, male figure sat beside the window, his head bent as he chiseled a plank of wood.
He looked up as the sunlight lanced into the room.
“Hi, North. It’s Liv. Liv Winter. I was—”
“Liv Winter? I’ll be doggone.” A smile split across his bearded face as he got up from the stool and approached me. “How many years has it been?”
“Six or seven,” I said.
“I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
Relief filled me, so swift and sudden that I was caught off guard. I hadn’t realized until that instant how much I hoped he’d remember me. That I hadn’t been forgotten.
He stopped in front of me, studying me in the dim light. “How are you, Liv?”
“I’m… I’m okay.”
“Your mama with you?”
“No.” My voice cracked. A wave of dizziness washed over me.
North’s smile faded. He put a hand on my shoulder and steered me back outside, into the sunlight that smelled like the ocean. We sat on a wooden bench alongside the door of the workshop. I rested my elbows on my knees and breathed the cold, fresh air.