by Lane, Nina
I shake off her grip and take a breath. My heart is racing.
After the Hamiltons leave, Stafford sits back down and pins me with a look.
“How the fuck does Hamilton know about this?” I ask.
“He’s looking into things on his own,” Stafford explains, “which is within his rights as long as he doesn’t impede the OJA investigation. I assure you I have not given him any information. Now when did you start a relationship with Olivia Winter, Professor West?”
I dig my fingers into my palms and try to block an image of Liv. “I’m not talking about this.”
“You’ll be impeding the investigation if you don’t,” Stafford warns me.
I shove away from the table and stalk to the other side of the room. I force the words out of my throat. Try not to think about her. Try not to remember.
“September,” I finally say. “The year I started my visiting professorship.”
“So right about the same time you started the job,” Stafford says.
I sense Frances’s sudden wariness.
“It wasn’t against university policy.” I battle another surge of anger. Sweat erupts on the back of my neck. “I checked, before I even asked Liv out. As long as a student isn’t under a professor’s authority and the relationship is consensual, it’s not against regulations.”
Stafford sighs. “I’m afraid that’s not the point, Professor West.”
“What is the fucking point?”
“The point is that Olivia Winter was a student,” Stafford says. “You were a professor. And when I asked you in January if you’d ever had a sexual relationship with a student, you responded that you had not.”
“The question implied a student of mine, which Liv was not.” I want to throw something against the wall. “I have never had a sexual relationship with a student of mine.”
“Any other students, of yours or otherwise, that I should know about?” Stafford asks.
“No.” Goddammit.
Stafford studies me for a minute before collecting his notes. “Well, this discovery has delayed things further, Professor West, and I’ll have to include it in my report. I’d appreciate your cooperation if anything else relevant to this case comes to mind. I should have things wrapped up soon.”
Provided we don’t end up in front of the university’s board of trustees.
Stafford says goodbye and heads out, closing the door behind him.
I try to breathe, but my chest is so tight it hurts. I can’t stand the idea of Liv getting anywhere near this shitstorm. I’d hoped it would be over by now. Instead it’s like a deadly virus that won’t go away.
Frances is still glaring at me. “This isn’t good, Dean.”
Shut up, Frances.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” I tug at the knot of my necktie. “There was never a goddamned thing inappropriate about my relationship with Liv.”
“As Mr. Stafford said, that is not the point. Words are power, Dean, and the words student and professor and relationship do not go well together.”
I stare at the empty whiteboard on the opposite wall. “I’ll quit, Frances.”
“Dean—”
“If it’ll end this whole thing… I’ll quit right now.”
“That’s as good as admitting guilt.”
“I don’t care.”
“I think you do.”
I turn to look at her. “Then what, Frances? I let that girl destroy my career?”
“You need to let the process play out.”
“Bullshit. Her father will take me down, no matter what. You know it as well as I do. Now that he knows about Liv, for God’s sake… I have no defense.”
Which means all I can hope for is that Maggie will withdraw the accusation. And I have no idea what it would take for her to do that.
“Will the administration make a deal?” I ask Frances.
“No. That would look worse for them than having a professor accused of sexual harassment.”
“Then what needs to happen?”
“When the OJA finishes their investigation, they’ll determine if they have enough evidence to pursue the case. If they don’t, they’ll dismiss the charge.”
“Which will never happen with Edward Hamilton breathing down their necks and considering a goddamned donation to the university. So I’m found guilty of something I didn’t do and am fired from my job. Maggie returns to King’s, gets her degree, then goes off to law school with her father’s money.”
Frances doesn’t respond.
I am so screwed. I can’t see any way out of this, except to quit before things get really bad. I’ll liquidate all my assets and leave the country. Take my wife to live on a remote island with white-sand beaches and sapphire seas.
Right as she’s launching a new business venture. Right when she’s finally found something that she wants to do.
I grab my coat. Fight the rage and fear scorching my insides.
If Edward Hamilton gets anywhere near my wife…
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Frances says.
I can only shake my head. I leave the office, pulling in a few breaths of cold air. The streets are almost dark, puddles of yellowish light pooling from the streetlamps.
I walk through downtown fast, trying to force away the sickening realization that I’m stuck in quicksand with no way out.
And now I’m dragging Liv down with me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Olivia
y mother is making herself comfortable in the apartment. Her lacy bras and panties are hung up in the bathroom to dry, and a beauty case rests on the counter. Long strands of blond hair weave through the bristles of my brush.
I yank them out with a comb and toss them in the trash before dragging the brush through my own hair. I peer at myself in the mirror, pinching my cheeks to add color to them. I put on a green sheath dress and low heels, grab my purse, and go into the living room.
Crystal’s suitcase is open and overflowing with soft, pretty clothes. She’d told me she was going out for dinner—in the parlance of my childhood, that also meant “I’m going to find a club, maybe a man”—and I’m glad I don’t have to explain my own plans for the evening.
I stop at an Italian restaurant and get some takeout before going to the Wildwood Inn. The instant Dean opens the cottage door, my heart plummets. Tension coils through him like wire, and his expression is set with a combination of anger and frustration that sears me through the soul.
I attempt a smile and hold up the paper bag.
“Takeout manicotti and salad. Our second-date dinner.”
Dean takes the bag from me and sets up the containers on the table, though I’m not hungry. He doesn’t move to sit down and eat either. My skin prickles with foreboding. A longing to return to our private weekend hits me in the chest so hard that I almost can’t breathe.
Dean turns to face me. Restrained energy vibrates from him, his innate urge to do something stifled by the dictate that he can’t do anything.
“Is your mother gone?” he asks.
I shake my head. A current ripples between us. Dean narrows his gaze.
“What?” he asks.
“Don’t be mad.”
“Oh, shit, Liv… what?”
I take a breath. “I offered to let her stay with me.”
He stares at me. I approach and put my trembling hand on his chest. His heart is racing.
“Dean, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, that you won’t understand, but—”
“Why, because I’m such a caveman?” He shoves my hand away and stalks to the other side of the room. “What won’t I understand, Liv? That your mother is poison? That she hurt you? That you’ve spent your life struggling with everything you went through?”
“That I asked her to stay with me so that sh
e won’t poison my life any more than she already has.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“If she didn’t stay with me, she’d end up at Max Lyons’s house.”
He blinks in disbelief. “When did Max Lyons become part of this?”
“He was at the café this morning. I know my mother, Dean. I know she’d end up with him.”
“So let her. Why does it matter to you?”
“I don’t want her getting involved with Allie’s father. I know it sounds strange, but I don’t want her insinuating her way into my circle of friends.”
His mouth compresses. “You’re right. I don’t get it.”
“I have a life that’s mine, not hers. I don’t want her to be part of it. And I don’t expect her to stay much longer anyway. She never stays in one place very long.”
Dean exhales a heavy breath. “I hate that she was the cause of everything you went through.”
“But everything I went through led me directly to you.”
And aside from my friends, I really don’t want my mother getting near my husband. I’m suddenly relieved that he’s leaving Mirror Lake again soon.
“Our marriage is what matters to me now, Dean.” I take off my coat and toss it over a chair. “I want this whole mess with the OJA cleared up, and I want you back home where you belong.”
He gazes at me for a moment before turning to pace across the room. Silence, tense with things unspoken, fills the space between us. Anxiety clutches my stomach.
Dean stops by the window and turns again, sliding his hands into his pockets. The sheer masculine beauty of him floods me with awe—the way his shirt stretches across his chest and shoulders, the swathe of hair falling across his forehead, those perceptive, intelligent eyes that conceal so many complex ideas.
“Liv.” He shakes his head. “I…”
His voice fades. I curl my hand around the back of the chair. I sense a sudden tangle of thoughts in him, his struggle to figure out what to say.
Professor Dean West always knows what to say.
A bolt of fear hits me.
“Hey.” I go to him again and put my hands around his waist. “Remember that fantastic make-out session we had a few weeks after we started dating?”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “I remember.”
“We could do that now, given that we’re dating again. Well, dating with benefits, anyway.”
Dean closes his hands on my shoulders, darkness shadowing his expression. I spread my palms over his lower back and tuck my fingers beneath his belt. I step closer, closing the scant distance between us and pressing my body to his. I almost moan at the contact of his chest against my breasts.
“Liv.” Restraint cords his forearms as he tightens his grip on me. “We need to talk.”
I don’t think that in the history of time anything good has followed those four words.
I move my hand to the back of his neck, spearing my fingers into his thick hair as I pull his mouth down to mine.
Our lips collide with sudden force, stopping his protest. Dean mutters something against my lips, his surrender swift as he slides his tongue into my mouth and pulls me even closer.
Longing and lust unfurl between us. I clutch his shirt, sinking into the whirlpool of pleasure evoked by the touch of our mouths. The world seems to right itself, settling into balance again. I skim my tongue against his, over his lower lip, my blood streaming with light.
“Sofa,” I whisper.
I grab his arms and walk backward to the sofa in front of the fireplace, keeping my mouth pressed to his until we sink against the cushions together, the delicious weight of his body over mine. Arousal billows inside me, shocking and delighting me with its intensity.
I grip the back of Dean’s neck and bite down on his lower lip in a way I know makes him hot. A groan rumbles in his chest. His erection presses heavy and thick against my hip. My body throbs in response.
I run my hands over his chest to the knot of his tie. With a few quick tugs, I pull it off and drop it to the floor then urge him back to me.
Our kiss eases into a lovely, teasing rhythm of lips and tongues. Gentle kisses, heated stroking. Dean curls his fingers into the material of my dress, a shudder of urgency vibrating through him. I force my mouth from his, our breathing hard.
“Take off my dress.” I fumble to reach the zipper at the back.
His eyes darken with that lustful anticipation I know so well. I manage to get the zipper down a little, and Dean reaches behind me to yank it the rest of the way. I squirm to get the dress off my shoulders and push it to my waist.
“Oh, fuck…” Dean’s eyes glaze over as he stares at my breasts.
“Nice, huh?” I look down at the emerald-green, push-up bra, which displays my cleavage to great advantage, the satin edge brushing my skin.
“I’m about to come already.” Dean spreads his hands over the bra, rubbing his thumbs across my taut nipples.
A shiver races down my spine. “There’s more.”
I wiggle my hips to indicate he should pull my dress off. His hands tremble as he grabs the material and tugs it down my legs to reveal the matching panties. Then he sits back and stares at me. My heart racing, I push up to my elbows as his gaze strokes the length of my body.
“You are so damn sexy,” he says.
The hoarse note in his voice makes me quiver. I sit up to unbutton his shirt and push it off, revealing the musculature of his shoulders and chest. I skim my hands over all those hard ridges, then move lower to take his erection in my palm.
“I want to make you come,” I whisper.
He groans and sits back against the cushions. I unfasten his belt and trousers, pushing them to the floor as his cock springs hot and heavy into my hand. I kneel beside him on the sofa and bend to swipe my tongue over the head of his erection, pushing my lower body upward.
Less than a second later, Dean strokes his hand over my bottom, which is covered tightly by emerald-green silk and lace. I gasp as the heat of his palm burns through the thin material. He edges his finger into the satin border at my thigh.
Urgency coils inside me, a desperation made all the sharper by the things left unspoken. I grasp the base of his cock and lower my head again to take him into my mouth. His breath escapes on a hiss, his other hand tangling in my hair.
The salty taste of him fills my mouth, his shaft throbbing against my tongue. My breasts press against his thigh, the material of my bra abrading my sensitive nipples. I sink my mouth lower over Dean’s cock, rocking my hips as his finger probes deeper beneath my panties.
I draw him in even farther and press my tongue to the smooth underside. Up, down, lick, stroke, kiss. His thighs tense, his hand tightening in my hair.
“Liv, I’m…”
I slide my mouth upward and to the head of his cock, squeezing his shaft just as an orgasm shudders through him. I take a breath and suck him deep, swallowing the semen pulsing into my mouth. When the vibrations ease from his body, I pull back and start to sit up.
Dean presses his hand to my lower back. “Don’t move.”
My heart jolts with excitement. I brace my hands on the other side of his lap and arch my back, moaning when he eases another finger into my damp cleft. The constriction of the panties heightens my tension.
I dig my hands into the sofa cushion and strain toward the exquisite release of pleasure. Dean touches my folds in the way I love, circling his forefinger around my clit as he reaches beneath me with his other hand to pull down the cups of my bra and fondle my breasts.
I come within seconds, bucking against him as sparks explode through my nerves. He eases every last sensation from me before I sink across his lap and try to catch my breath. He runs his hand over the length of my body, rubbing circles over my ass.
I roll onto my back and look up at him—my beaut
iful husband with his gold-flecked eyes still dark with arousal, his chest glistening with a sheen of sweat. I brush my palm over his torso as the lovely afterglow descends.
“How many of these do you have?” Dean runs his finger along the edge of my bra.
“About half a dozen. Maybe I’ll do a fashion show for you one day.”
“If you do, I’ll give you a really big tip.”
I wiggle against his cock and grin. “Yeah, I’ll bet you will.”
He returns my grin and helps me to a sitting position. Sliding a hand to the back of my neck, he pulls me in for a deep and thorough kiss that makes me tingle all over again.
After we part, I climb off the sofa, aware of his gaze on my rear end as I walk to the bathroom. I grab one of his T-shirts from his open suitcase and use the bathroom, then pull the shirt on over my head.
Pushing my hair away from my face, I return to the main room. Dean is zipping up his trousers, and the instant I look at him, my heart sinks. That air of somberness is back, hovering over him like a cloud.
I stop halfway to the sofa. Dean pulls his shirt over his shoulders. Against reason, my pulse kicks into gear again at the sight of him all disheveled and sweaty, his white shirt open to reveal his gorgeous chest.
I pick up my discarded dress and toss it over a chair. Dean watches me. A shutter descends over his features.
I sit down on the sofa, twisting the little ring Dean sent me from Italy around on my finger. I can’t think of a way to stop whatever it is he’s going to say.
“What?” I whisper.
“I need to talk to you about the meeting.”
“Okay. What… what happened?”
He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “When I started teaching at King’s, Maggie Hamilton told me she wanted to write about Trotula of Salerno and women’s history. Since Trotula was a physician, the research included stuff about women’s sexuality. Now Maggie is saying I was the one who suggested it, that she wasn’t comfortable with the subject… that kind of shit.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah.” His jaw clenches. “And when I was gone, Ben Stafford looked into my past jobs and positions. He found out that you and I started dating when we were at the UW. So now he’s questioning the ethics of our relationship.”