When he’d controlled it (slightly) he focused on me.

“Right, babe, what do you watch?”

“Documentaries.”

His brows shot up.

Then he again burst out laughing.

Vociferously.

That time, I stiffened.

“It isn’t that funny,” I declared into his laughter, and even if he kept doing it, I didn’t stop talking. “In fact, it isn’t funny at all. Documentaries are interesting. There are even ones they dramatize, where actors play characters in history. There was a really good one about the men who made America. It was fascinating.”

Still chuckling, Nick dipped his face to me. “Olivia, I can guaran-damn-tee it was not as fascinating as an ex-special forces, ex-CIA badass and his gay, deaf hacker sidekick chasing after a lunatic with five nuclear warheads.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid to argue,” I retorted but didn’t let it go. “I still could argue it.”

He nabbed the remote on the table beside him, hit pause on the program and looked back at me.

“Right, I got this whole season taped. We watch a couple more episodes tonight. You find something you like that I can DVR, I’ll set it and we’ll watch it tomorrow. Then we’ll compare.”

From what I’d heard (since obviously I had no real experience), this was a surprising offer from a man, especially a man in your life (as it were).

“You’ll try something I like?” I asked to be certain I’d heard him correctly.

He was holding me so I felt as well as saw his shrug.

“Sure.”

I liked that.

I liked it so much and I was so comfortable in Nick’s hold in Nick’s place after eating Nick’s pork chops, I smiled at him. It was small but it came right out.

And his eyes dropped right to it.

As did his touch, like it was a gift but he feared it was a mirage that if he didn’t touch it, it’d fade away.

So he touched it, his hand to my face, his thumb sweeping over my lips while his eyes watched.

Of course, with his intensity, the smile withered to nothing.

He lifted his gaze to mine.

And my heart squeezed at the look in his eyes and the quiet, sad tone of his voice when he whispered, “Sometimes you kill me, baby.”

To get away from his sudden sadness, something I hated that I’d forced on him after he’d been laughing, which was something I loved giving him, I allowed my eyes to drift away.

He wasn’t done.

“No. A lot of the time.”

I drew in an unsteady breath and leaned forward. “I’ll take the plates to the sink.”

He didn’t let me go.

In fact, his hold tightened.

“Olivia,” he called.

I braced before I looked back to him.

“Leave it,” he ordered. “Relax,” he kept ordering.