"I fell in love with Liv fast," I say. "Hard too, like bam. And I figured that was enough, like I didn't need or want anything else for the rest of my life. I'd won the lottery. All I needed was her.

"Then we had Nicholas, and suddenly there are two people in the world I can't protect from everything bad. I can't fix all their problems, right all the wrongs done to them, always make it better. And no matter how often I tell myself it's not rational to want all that, I still do. I always will. But I have to live with the fact that I can't. And that sucks, man."

I sit back, sweeping the litter of paper on the table into a pile. Then I shake my head, embarra.s.sed by the confession.

"You remember when Liv had the miscarriage?" Archer asks. "And you had it in your head I'd upset her in some way?"

Shame scorches my chest. "I remember. Sorry, man. I was messed up."

"Yeah. But I got it. Why you'd think that, I mean. Why you expected me to screw up or didn't trust me. I worked hard at baiting you my whole life. I wanted you to think the worst of me because it was what I thought of myself. Until I met Kelsey."

I glance at him. He's staring at his bottle, his forehead creased.

"It's the same thing," he says. "I thought she was all I'd need. But I want more. I want to give her everything, you know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"But what do you do when the woman you love doesn't want everything?" Archer asks.

"You wait."

"Wait?"

"Until she's ready."

"Well, how do you know how long that'll be?"

"You don't, man," I say. "But you wait anyway. You wait for as long as it takes because you know there's no other choice."

I get up from the booth and take out my wallet, dropping a few bills onto the table.

"And I promise you, Archer," I say. "The wait will give you the biggest d.a.m.ned prize of your life. And you'll know you'd do it again, a thousand times over. You'd wait longer than an eternity for her. That's how worth it she is."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

OLIVIA.

Yes!

I'm making a comeback, baby. I'm like Cher in the 1990s. I'm Martha Stewart after she got out of prison, and Justin Timberlake after he left NSYNC. I'm the Boston Red Sox in the ninth inning of the 2004 World Series.

I am on top.

Or, in this case, being on the bottom is just fine with me too. Not even work or a fancy job opening can deter Professor and Mrs. West from getting their groove back, good and hard. With apple pie.

I hum a little tune as I get breakfast ready a few days after our hot kitchen encounter and Dean's continued lessons, which have me on edge pretty much all the time now. Between that and remembering how it felt to sit on the counter and let him drive into me, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s jostling, his c.o.c.k slamming into me again and again... I shiver. My heart thumps.

Oh, yeah. I still got it. Hot mama. Yummy mummy. MILF.

"B'nana!" Nicholas calls from the table.

My little fantasy breaks apart. "Just a sec."

I grab a banana and slice it in half, removing the peel as I bring it to the table and set it on Nicholas's plate. Dean left for campus early this morning, which is sort of a b.u.mmer since Nicholas is scheduled for daycare this morning. I could have dropped him off, then come back home and...

"Oat," Nicholas remarks, digging into his cinnamon oatmeal.

A bolt of embarra.s.sment hits me as I gaze at my beautiful, innocent son.

Good heavens, what kind of mother am I for being anxious to drop my kid at daycare so I can get s.e.xy with my husband?

This isn't an issue they've covered in Mommy and Me cla.s.s.

I sit down and help Nicholas sc.r.a.pe up the last of his oatmeal before I get us both ready for the day. After running errands in the morning and working the afternoon shift at the cafe, I grab a takeout salad for dinner and head to City Hall to meet with the festival planning committee.

Things are falling into place, with Edison Power still reviewing my package for a high-level sponsorship, the food vendors secured, and the art booths organized.

I have a short list of things I'm going to ask Dean to help with. I'm happy about the idea that he and I will be doing something together that will benefit the town. We've always worked together for each other, our son, our marriage, and we restored the b.u.t.terfly House together, but we've never worked together for a greater cause, as it were.

It's close to eight by the time the meeting wraps up, and I drive back to the b.u.t.terfly House. The porch lights are on, but the house is dark.

I go inside and turn on the kitchen lights. There's a white covered box on the central island, with a note beside it.

Beauty's Orders Put these on. Come to the bar at the Wildwood Inn and await further instructions.

P.S. Nicholas is with Archer and Kelsey. He has Binky bear, a million building blocks, and a double-chocolate brownie. He might not want to come home.

I smile and pull the lid off the box. Nestled in tissue paper is a black lace baby doll edged with purple ribbon, sheer thigh highs, a black G-string, three-inch black pumps, and... a long beige raincoat.

I stare at the items in confusion for a second before shock hits me.

OmiG.o.d. I'm supposed to put these on and go meet Dean at a hotel bar wearing nothing else.

How wrong.

How wicked.

How scandalous.

Excitement ripples down my spine.

I've never been scandalous before. Heck, I've never even been risque, unless you count the time Dean and I got hot and heavy on the seventeenth-floor balcony of an LA high-rise. Of course, the chances of anyone seeing us at that height were slim, but still, it was definitely a s.e.xual adventure.

And while Dean's and my s.e.x life has always-mostly-been fantastically satisfying and explosive, we've never swung from the chandeliers, experimented with exotic s.e.x toys, played kinky games...

Well, then. Maybe we should start.

My heartbeat kicks up a notch. I can't imagine it.

Olivia West-thirty-three years old, the mother of a toddler, a respectable businesswoman and owner of a birthday party cafe, planner of the Mirror Lake Bicentennial Festival-getting kinky with her husband.

On the other hand... Why not?

Adventure awaits, right? This is certainly an adventure.

I grab the bag and hurry up to the bedroom. I take a quick shower and rub lotion all over my body before slithering into the skimpy panties, black stockings, and baby doll, which pushes my b.r.e.a.s.t.s together into a plump, deep cleavage before draping over my hips to the tops of my thighs.

Nice.

I brush my hair until it shines, leaving it loose around my shoulders because that's the way Dean likes it. I apply more dramatic makeup than usual-smoky eyeshadow, red lipstick, black mascara-and slip into the black heels.

I go back downstairs to put on the raincoat. As I belt it around my waist, a wave of anxiety crashes over me.

No way. I can't do this. What if I get a flat tire or a speeding ticket and have to deal with a police officer? Even if I do make it to the bar safely, I can't sit there in a raincoat, knowing I'm half-naked underneath.

Or can I?

I take a deep breath and check my phone. No message from Dean, but a text from Kelsey appears. N's playing drums w/Archer. Movie later. He's having a ball. Enjoy your night w/o worry.

I send her a quick thanks and tuck the phone into my purse. I give myself a firm nod in the mirror. Sure, I'm a mother, a businesswoman, festival coordinator, member of a mom's group, et cetera... but I'm also a wife.

More specifically, Dean West's wife.

As I drive downtown to the Wildwood Inn, I remember the storm of emotions rolling through me when Dean and I got married. Excitement, overwhelming love, joy, pride, astonishment-and a deep, abiding certainty that every part of my life had been leading me right to the moment when Dean closed his hand around mine and told me he would never let go.

But I'd already known that. I'd known since the instant his fingers brushed the sleeve of my ratty gray sweatshirt the day we met. Once Professor Dean West takes hold of you, he doesn't let go.

I pull into the hotel parking lot and spend about five minutes gathering my courage before I get out of the car. It's a little chilly out, so at least the coat isn't completely out of place.

I walk to the hotel entrance, making sure my belt is double-knotted and the coat is b.u.t.toned up to my neck. The doorman smiles at me and opens the door.

My stomach tightens with nerves. The lobby is hushed and quiet, a few guests sitting in the carpeted area near the oak staircase. Across from the reception desk, voices rise from the bar-an elegant, Old World-style room with stained-gla.s.s windows, plush chairs and couches, and glittering lamps.

I am not accustomed to frequenting such stylish places alone-much less wearing nothing but s.e.xy lingerie under my coat-but I straighten my shoulders and enter the bar like I know exactly what I'm doing.

I look around quickly, hoping to spot Dean seated in one of the intimate, shadowed booths or at least waiting for me at the bar. He's nowhere to be seen.

I glance at my watch. It's nine-fifteen. Dean didn't give me a specific time to be here, though I can't imagine he'd expect it to be much later than this. In our normal routine, we do tend to be in bed by ten... sleeping.

But this is hardly our normal routine.

I walk to the bar, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Well-dressed patrons sit at the tables, sipping fancy c.o.c.ktails, their conversations punctuated by low laughter. I maneuver onto a barstool as the surfer-boy handsome, blond bartender glides over to place a napkin in front of me. He smiles, his teeth as white as peppermints.

"Good evening, miss," he remarks. "You can leave your coat at the front rack, if you'd like."

A blush scorches my face.

"That's okay." I give him a bright smile. "I'm a bit chilly."

"A drink to warm you up, then?" he asks, letting his gaze slip over me.

I figure I'd better limit my alcohol intake. Even though I'm not sure what Dean has planned, I do know I want to be entirely lucid for it.

"Club soda with lime," I say. "Or can you make me something without too much alcohol?"

"I can make you anything you want," the bartender replies with a wink.

I wonder if he's flirting with me. Wouldn't that be something?

"Should I surprise you?" he asks.

"Okay. Just not too much alcohol."

"Are you under twenty-one?"

I laugh. "You're closer to twenty-one than I am."

"I don't know about that." He leans his elbows on the counter. "I'm going to have to see your ID."

I shake my head in amus.e.m.e.nt, thinking he's joking, but he doesn't move, his gaze holding mine. With a shrug, I dig into my purse for my wallet and show him my driver's license.

"Olivia," he says, studying my license. "Pretty name."

"And plenty old," I add.

"Not so much." He hands my license back. "You're five years older than me. That doesn't make you a cougar."

A bubble of laughter rises into my throat.

"My drink?" I ask.

"Yeah, sorry." He pushes away from the counter. "One low-alcohol surprise c.o.c.ktail coming up."

Still smiling, I turn to scan the bar again. The clientele is mostly men, though several women in shiny, sheath dresses and elegant gold jewelry sip martinis and cosmopolitans.

No sign of Dean yet. An older gentleman at a corner table catches my eye and raises his gla.s.s.

It takes me a second to realize that-aside from being conspicuous as the only woman in the bar wearing a raincoat-the coat has parted at the fold, exposing a significant length of my stocking-clad leg.

The man's attention makes me wonder what would have happened if Dean and I had met like this-in a hotel bar with me showing off my a.s.sets, rather than outside a university registrar's office with me picking myself up off the sidewalk.