wrists as he tugs my hands away from my face. Before I can say anything else, he bends to slide one arm beneath my knees. He lifts me effortlessly and cradles me against his chest.
Though I’m momentarily soothed, the sudden, circular motion of him walking back down the spiral staircase makes my breath catch.
I grip his shirt and say, “Be careful.”
He smiles at me. “Aren’t I always careful with you?”
Always.
I don’t trust myself not to get dizzy again, so I surrender and let him carry me back to the bedroom. Since my whole little plan went awry, I expect him to settle me into bed and return to the tower, but instead he lowers me to my feet, holding my body against his.
“Dean, you…” I swallow hard, keeping my gaze on the column of his throat. “You don’t have to…”
He brings his hands to cup my face, tilting my head so I’m forced to look at him. Beneath the warmth in his brown eyes is the ever-present love that puts my entire world back on its axis.
“Liv,” he says gently. “Nothing is ever have to with us. It’s want to. It’s I would love to.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I let him gather me into his arms. He lifts one hand to the back of my head, the pressure of his palm warming my scalp through the cotton scarf. Though everything inside me yields to him, I don’t experience the slow, uncoiling anticipation and heat that has always been so familiar to me in the prelude to sex with my husband.
I press my face against his chest and breathe the scent of him—the combination of shaving soap and Dean that has always made me feel as if I’ve come home. His heart beats with steady strength beneath his T-shirt, a drumbeat that sounds as if it will last forever.
He slides his hand beneath my chin, lifting my face again as he lowers his mouth to mine. Nervousness flickers inside me. It’s our first long, slow kiss in weeks. He moves his mouth with familiar ease against mine, his tongue probing gently at the seam of my lips, his hands holding the sides of my head.
I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt and part my lips tentatively to let him inside. A deep kiss between us is usually all it takes to spark me with heat, but this time, I feel almost flat inside, numbed to the potent effect of what Dean and I have always been able to create together.
I pull away from him, still gripping his shirt. Dawning lust darkens his eyes, which should make me feel better—even now, he wants me—but all I can think about is how things used to be and how they might never be that way again.
A tremor rocks through me. He brushes his thumb across my lips, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows.
“Okay?” he asks.
How I wish I were okay. I would give anything to just be okay.
“Liv.”
I look at him, my heart suddenly aching at the warmth in his eyes, the evidence of his everlasting love and devotion, the promise that no matter what happens, no matter how bad things might get, he will always be right here.
“Oh god, Dean,” I whisper, bringing my hands to cup his face. “Make me feel normal again.”
A shadow of pain passes across his face. With aching tenderness, he lowers his mouth to mine again, his kiss still gentle, as if he’s afraid of scaring me away.
I step backward, pulling him toward the bed. I lie back on the mattress, waiting for him to fall on top of me, wanting his solid weight covering me, pressing me down.
Instead he lowers himself carefully over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, his mouth still locked to mine. I writhe under him, smothering a surge of frustration. I push my hands underneath his T-shirt and touch the warm, hard ridges of his abdomen. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants, and I feel his cock start to harden against my inner thigh.
A welcome surge of relief floods me—until now, I hadn’t even realized I’d been worried about his sexual response. Of course, I’m not naked, and aside from being thinner, my body still looks normal in the pink nightgown, and I still have the scarf on my—
He reaches up and pulls the scarf off my head. My heart stutters. Cooler air brushes against my scalp. I have a sharp, painful longing to