he says, his mouth tightening with irritation at the thought that anyone would be offended by the way I look. “But Allie’s right that you’ll be at greater risk for infections. It would make me insane with worry to think of you catching even a mild cold.”
“Well, it would make me insane with being sick to spend the next six months just focusing on chemo.”
“You won’t, Liv. Bella and Nicholas will still need you, and there’s plenty of other stuff you can do.”
“What, Dean?” I spread my hands out, a rising anger pressing against my chest. “If I can’t go out and be with people, if I can’t run my business and do my volunteer work, what else can I do except fuss around the house?”
“You can get well.”
“You think I’m not focused on that? You think I can’t do that and work at the same time?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, it sounds like you’re on Allie’s side.”
“I’ve only ever been on your side and want you to do what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me is if everyone would stop treating me like I’m on death’s doorstep.”
A muscle ticks in Dean’s jaw as his teeth clench. “God knows the last thing I want is to hurt you. But I will not let you endanger your health.”
“That is exactly what I’m talking about. You won’t let me. You don’t think I’m capable of making the decision by myself?”
“I know you are.” He approaches and takes hold of my shoulders, lowering his head to look into my eyes. “I also know you have months of treatment to get through. And you’re going to be extra careful because you’re taking care of the woman I love with everything I am. If I have to be a royal pain in the ass to ensure that woman’s well-being, then look out, baby, because PIA is in the house.”
“Has that PIA ever not been in the house?” I ask, wiping at a stray tear.
“With good reason.” Dean settles his hands on my rear and pulls my body against his. “You’re the one with the bootylicious bubblegum ass. I gotta be a pain all up in it.”
“And you might have a new career as a hip-hop artist.”
“I’ll shine your ass like brass, baby.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he presses his lips to mine.
I let myself sink into him, absorbing his body heat that wraps me in a cloak of warmth. The pressure of his mouth increases, urging my lips apart. I tighten my fingers on his shirt.
A sudden longing rises inside me. I relax my grip and spread my hands over his shirt, stroking the hard planes of his chest. His heart beats against my palm, the rhythm increasing as he deepens our kiss. I edge closer, hardly daring to believe that I can still feel desire. That I can still feel desired.
He moves one hand to the back of my head, stroking his tongue across the seam of my lips. The familiar, delicious scent of him fills my head—shaving soap and Dean. Little sparks fire through my blood as the air thickens with tension and growing urgency.
My breasts nudge against his chest. My right nipple hardens, sending a rush of heat through me. My left…I try to ignore the numbness, but then Dean’s grip on me tightens, pressing me closer to him, and never before has this—has he, have we—failed to elicit arousal.
Cold trickles into my veins. My left breast feels deadened. I can’t even tell if my nipple is hard. I don’t know if I’d feel Dean’s touch if he cupped my left breast. I can’t feel anything at all.
He lifts his head, his forehead creasing. “You okay?”
“God, Dean.” The words escape me on a rush of frustrated irritation. I pull away from him, folding my arms over my chest. “Stop asking me that. Of course I’m not okay. I don’t know when I’ll be okay again.”
His eyes darken. Regret and self-directed anger spear through me. I can’t even stop it from invading the first intimate moment I’ve had with my husband since before the surgery.
Unable to look at him, not wanting to see that he is also not okay, I turn and go upstairs to the bedroom.
He won’t follow me. He’ll go to his office and, more than likely, spend the night on the sofa there, if he sleeps at all.
Shit.
I’ve always known what Dean needs. Sometimes it’s sex, which has always been a strong, brilliant part of our relationship. It’s been