by Nina Lane
Liv is delivering a cup of coffee and a glass of chocolate milk to Archer and Kelsey’s table in the Mad Hatter dining room. Nicholas rushes toward them, colliding with Liv in a bear hug before going to greet Archer and Kelsey.
“Hi, professor.” Liv smiles and approaches me.
Ah, hell, but my wife is beautiful. Just watching her weave around the tables, her purple Wonderland Café apron molded against the curves of her breasts and hips, her long ponytail swinging back and forth like a swath of silk…I could grab her ponytail right now, tilt her head back and—
“…the toilet?”
I blink. “What?”
“The toilet,” Liv repeats, coming to a stop in front of me. “Did you get the leak fixed?”
“Yeah, I took care of it before I went to work.”
Clearly I’ll have to put my other thoughts on hold until tonight.
“Hey, Mom, can I have a cookie?” Nicholas asks.
“Yes, but just one. Ask Allie, and don’t forget to say please.”
Nicholas darts toward the front counter. I follow Liv back to Archer and Kelsey’s table.
“Hey, man, a few grad students and I are getting together for a pick-up football game Saturday morning,” I tell my brother. “You want to join us?”
“Nah, thanks, but I’ve got to work.”
Kelsey frowns at him. “You don’t work on Saturday mornings.”
“I’m covering for someone.” Archer takes a swig of his chocolate milk.
Something faintly irritated radiates from Kelsey, though I can’t figure out the source. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve asked Archer to do something and he has other plans, but I don’t take his rejection personally.
My brother and I are still not entirely at ease with each other—probably never will be—but we worked on the historic railroad project together for a while, we grab a beer occasionally, and we see each other when Liv and Kelsey drag us out to a concert or something. After thirty years of estrangement, Archer and I have come farther than I ever thought we would.
Hell, there was a time when I didn’t know if we’d ever see each other again. Now we’re living in the same town, and he and my best friend are in love.
Life sure changes.
“Hello, my dears,” remarks a familiar voice. “I thought I’d find you here.”
We turn to see elderly-but-spry Florence Wickham approaching, dressed in a pink suit with a pillbox hat perched on her snow-white hair. I half expect her to pat my chest or squeeze my biceps like she usually does in greeting, but instead she turns her twinkling blue gaze on Archer.
“Oh, Archer,” she says with a sigh. “Aren’t you just marvelous?”
He blinks. “Um, thanks.”
“It was heroic, what you did,” Florence continues. “To think of what might have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Archer and Kelsey exchange puzzled glances.
“Hadn’t been where, Florence?” Kelsey asks.
“Why, in the storm, dear.”
I look at Liv, but she seems like she doesn’t know what Florence is talking about either.
“Didn’t you see last night’s special episode of Storm Hunters?” Florence asks.
“It aired last night?” Kelsey says. “They were supposed to air it after Thanksgiving. Ratings are in such a slump that it might be our last chance for Storm Hunters to avoid cancellation.”
“Well, if this doesn’t give you a boost, nothing will.” Florence pulls a phone out of her pink handbag. “I get text alerts whenever there’s a new episode. And though I’ve seen them all, this was the best one yet. Archer, I do believe you’re about to go viral.”
She whisks her fingers over the screen of her phone.
“Did you watch the special episode?” Kelsey asks Liv.
“No, but we usually download them after they air,” Liv says. “I didn’t know there was a new one either.”
For several years now, Kelsey has been the director of the Spiral Project, a mobile storm-chasing unit comprised of meteorologists, photographers, students, and scientists who head out every year for several weeks to collect data on tornados. Kelsey started the project with funding from the Explorer Channel and an agreement for them to film the storm chasing as a documentary reality show.
Storm Hunters has garnered a large and loyal audience over the years, resulting in a great deal of fan mail for Kelsey and several of the other more prominent scientists, but the past year has seen ratings slide to the point that the cable station brass are thinking of cancelling the show.
Archer has always had a less visible role on Storm Hunters, mostly because he sometimes stays in Mirror Lake to run his garage and doesn’t go on the road with the Spiral Project as often as he did at the beginning. But he and Kelsey love working together, so if Archer can fit it into his schedule, he goes along as driver, mechanic, and all-purpose handyman.
“Here it is,” Florence trills, putting her phone on the table.
We all lean in to look at the video that is just starting to play. The noise of a storm and thunder crackles over the small screen, and sheets of rain spill from the sky.
Kelsey is in the driver’s seat of the armored, storm-chasing vehicle, and Archer—soaked to the skin—is standing outside the open window. Both of them are shouting to be heard over the noise.
“We need to leave,” Kelsey snaps.
“Three minutes,” Archer shouts. “I’ll be right back.”
“Dammit, it’s getting closer,” she yells, and the camera pans to the right to show a funnel cloud forming from the low-hanging black sky.
Archer runs off into a field scattered with trees and thick bushes. The camera follows him. He slogs through the wet grass, his boots caking with mud. Rain splashes against the camera lens. He stops beside a row of bushes and bends to peer beneath it.
“It’s starting to hail,” Kelsey calls. “We’re leaving right now!”
He waves, then reaches beneath the bushes with both hands. He drags out a mud-splattered, soaking wet, shivering dog who struggles to escape his grip. From the distance, it looks like a medium-sized dog black dog with white markings. Archer grabs the dog and hauls it up into his arms before striding back to the car.
“There,” Florence sighs, pressing a hand to her chest. “Look at him.”
On the screen, a flash of lightning illuminates Archer like he’s some sort of animal rescue action hero with his shirt plastered to his chest and his hair wet. He holds the dog closer and slogs through the increasing hail toward the car.
“Wow,” Liv remarks with a little too much admiration.
I pinch her ass. She shoots me a secret, apologetic smile.
“Wow is right,” Kelsey murmurs, gazing raptly at the screen.
As Archer gets closer to the camera, the lens zeroes in on his steely expression, his jaw set with determination and his muscles straining with effort as the funnel cloud bears down on him from behind.
Off camera, Kelsey swears. Another guy appears to yank open the back door of the armored car.
“No,” Kelsey snaps, getting out of the driver’s seat in a flash of anger. “We are not putting that mangy creature in this car. Put it in the damned truck.”
Archer climbs the slope to the road. A crack of thunder spooks the dog, and the animal struggles to escape, but Archer holds it tightly and wrestles it into the truck.
“Get in!” a male voice shouts from off camera.
Archer yanks open the driver’s side door of the armored vehicle, ushering Kelsey in before him. She climbs over the console to the passenger seat. He follows, looking behind him as the funnel cloud gets closer and closer.
“Go! Go!”
The orders fly from all directions, the camera tilting dizzily as the cameraman runs to another car and the screen fades out.
“Over a million views as of this afternoon,” Florence remarks, picking up her phone. “It’s definitely poised to go viral, if it hasn’t already.”
&nbs
p; “What do you know?” Kelsey gives Archer a look that is both admiring and teasing. “We have a celebrity in our midst.”
“What happened to the dog?” I ask.
She groans. “Don’t ask.”
“I brought him home,” Archer admits, still looking somewhat baffled at the revelation of his newfound fame. “I contacted the local humane society and put out a few ads, but no one claimed him. No microchip either.”
“So you’re adopting him?” Florence says. “How wonderful!”
“Well, uh…” Archer glances at Kelsey. “I’m keeping him at the garage right now. Kelsey’s not much of a dog person.”
“How did you not know that episode was airing?” Liv asks.
“We just filmed it a couple of weeks ago on a whim,” Kelsey says. “Storm-chasing season ended last spring, so we didn’t even have any real equipment with us. There was some movement on the radar that I wanted to check out, and Peter came along to film it just for the storm footage. I had no idea the Explorer Channel was going to air any of it.”
“Well, I think it’s thrilling,” Florence says. “What would have happened to that poor dog if Archer hadn’t been there? Not to mention what his heroism will do for the show. You need to bring that dog with you next season. Your fans will go nuts when they discover Archer has adopted it.”
“He hasn’t adopted it,” Kelsey mutters.
“Yet.” Florence smiles at Archer and tucks her phone back into her purse. “See you all later.”
She wiggles her fingers at us before heading out the door. Kelsey looks at Archer.
“You’re not keeping the dog.”
“It could be like Popeye and Olive Oyl’s Swee’Pea,” Archer suggests. “The orphan they adopt and raise together. We could start a Facebook page and everything.”
Kelsey shakes her head at him and pushes her chair back. Her phone rings, and she glances at the screen.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” she tells us. “It’s David, the Storm Hunters producer.” She puts the phone to her ear. “David? Yeah, I saw it. Why didn’t you tell me…what? Oh, well, that’s great. Yes. Thanks.”
She ends the call and looks at Archer with amused pride. “They want to figure out a way to give you a bigger role next season. Seems your incredible hotness might save us from cancellation.”
Archer scratches his ear, looking both embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable.
“In that case,” I grab my brother’s empty glass, “you’re going to need a lot more chocolate milk.”
Liv is reading in bed, absently twirling a few strands of her long hair around one finger. She’s wearing a pink nightgown with a scooped neckline that displays an expanse of creamy skin before draping over her full breasts, which move slightly with her breath. The circles of her nipples show through the cotton. Heat stirs in my blood.
I love the sight of my wife in anything, but her nightgowns are a particular favorite. The way the flimsy material clings to her curves and shows off the movement of her gorgeous body beneath…
Liv lifts her gaze to where I’m standing in the open doorway with one shoulder against the doorjamb and my arms crossed over my chest. She raises an eyebrow.
“Are you coming in, professor?” she asks.
“I might stand here and look at you a while longer.”
“Okay.” She shrugs and turns back to her book. “Just let me know if you’d like to fuck me hard and deep.”
Oh, shit.
Lust spears through me like a firebolt, and I cross the room in three strides to get to her. With a laugh, Liv tosses her book aside and holds out her arms to wrap them around my shoulders. In less than a heartbeat, I bring my mouth down on hers, my head filling with the peaches and cream scent of her, the taste of her soft, full lips.
She makes a noise of satisfaction low in her throat, driving her hands into my hair as she moves lower on the pillows and brings me down with her. I urge her mouth open with mine, pushing my tongue into her sweet mouth. My cock stiffens against her hip. I grab a fistful of her nightgown and pull it up over her legs, trailing my fingers over her smooth thighs.
She tightens her grip in my hair, arching her lower body in silent encouragement. I ease away from her only so I can watch as I tug the gown up over her hips.
“Take it off,” Liv whispers, lifting her arms.
I pull the gown off her. Christ in heaven, the sight of my wife’s naked body is a revelation every time—so fucking perfect with her tapered waist and full breasts, her nipples wider and darker from nursing, her creamy thighs like a painting.
I slide my fingers between her legs. She wiggles beneath me, her breath brushing against my jaw. I press one finger into her, the wet warmth of her slit firing me with need.
She pushes her hands under my T-shirt, her touch light and cool against my hot skin. I ease her back against the pillows, locking my mouth to hers again, feeling her body fitting perfectly against mine. Desire pulses through me.
It’s always been so damned good with Liv, but now there’s something even more, the effortlessness that can only come after years of knowing, the miniscule shifts that speak volumes. The fit of my hands into all the right curves of her body, the tightening of her fingers on my shoulders, the way I know what she wants from the subtle change in her breathing.
She stretches her arms above her head, lifting her body toward me in invitation. Urgency brews in her brown eyes, simmering and hot. I press a line of kisses against her smooth shoulder, stroking my hands over her hips, up to her breasts.
I rub her hard nipples, slide my hands into the warm crevices beneath her breasts. She sighs and sinks deeper into the pillows, her eyes drifting closed with pleasure.
I stop. A sudden cold snakes through me.
Liv opens her eyes. I rest my fingers against the side of her left breast. My heart does a slow, strange roll.
“Dean?”
I look up. The sexy heat in her expression fades into confusion.
“What?” She pushes to her elbows, her breathing still fast. “What’s wrong?”
I press my fingers harder against her breast, but now with a clinical, probing touch. Desire evaporates. The cold turns to ice.
“Liv, I think…” I frown, meeting her gaze. “I think there’s a lump in your breast.”
Chapter 5
Olivia
“It’s nothing,” I repeat, slamming refrigerator door and putting the strawberry jam on the counter. “A cyst.”
Dean is standing on the other side of the central island, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet apart in that immovable stance I know so well. The one that indicates he’s not going to back down. Ever.
“If you don’t call Dr. Nolan,” he says, “I will.”
I turn away from him and open a jar of peanut butter. My hand is steady, but I can feel the trembles just below the surface. The start of an earthquake.
“Pen…goo…in.” Nicholas’s voice drifts from the sunroom, where he is eating breakfast and studying the back of the cereal box, which has fun facts about various animals. “Penguin.”
“Good job,” I call, spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. “Penguins are one of my favorite animals.”
“Liv.” Dean’s voice is tense. “Am I calling the doctor, or are you?”
I throw an irritated look at him over my shoulder. “Really? You’re going to threaten me?”
His jaw tightens. “I am not threatening you. I want you to get this checked out.”
“And if I don’t want to because I don’t need to, then what?” I snap. “You’re going to drag me to Dr. Nolan’s office?”
“If I have to,” he replies curtly.
“Nice. I thought your caveman days were long gone. Guess I was mistaken.”
I know I’m picking a fight—for no other reason than to get us both off the subject of me needing the doctor to look at a lump in my breast.
“Liv.” Dean keeps his level tone, not rising to the bait. “You can s
tall all you want, but I’m not letting this go. Either you make the appointment, or I will.”
I slap strawberry jam on another slice of bread. My hands are shaking now.
A lump in my breast?
That can’t possibly be true.
But it’s there. I felt it, too. Last night, Dean guided my hand to the spot, and it was there. A hard, small lump, not much bigger than the size of a marble, just beneath the surface of my skin.
Of course it’s nothing. I’m thirty-six years old. I’ve had two children. Maybe it’s hormonal, or a change in the breast tissue. Or, like I told Dean, a cyst. Cysts are so common. At worst, it might be some sort of infection, though that would certainly require a trip to the doctor…
I feel Dean coming up behind me, the air growing warmer the closer he gets. Though I steel my spine, the weight of his hands on my shoulders is like a key turning in the lock of my defenses.
I swallow hard and concentrate on spreading the jam evenly over the bread.
“Liv, please.” His voice roughens. “Make an appointment. I know it’s probably nothing, but you’ve never had anything like that in your breast before, and you need to have the doctor take a look at it.”
I know he’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but of course he’s right.
I put my hand unconsciously over my left breast. It hasn’t hurt at all…or has it? I’ve been aware of some soreness there, but not once did I think to examine it further.
“Does it hurt?” Dean asks.
I shake my head. “There was…I’ve had some discomfort over the past couple of weeks, but I figured I just needed new bras or something.”
“You noticed something was wrong?”
“No.” I pull away from him and grab a sandwich bag. “Nothing is wrong. I noticed some irritation, that’s all. It’s probably related to my period.”
“And you need to talk to the doctor about it.” He steps closer to me, his mouth tightening. “One of us is making an appointment. Is it going to be you or me?”