“I got some things to do at the office. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Also still got my man on you, he’s watchin’ your watcher. That situation changes, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, Nick.”

“Later, Liv.”

“’Bye, sweetheart.”

They hung up. He did the things he had to do, texted her, left the office and parked on the street three blocks from her place. He approached from the alley, went in through her back gate (doing it making a mental note to buy a lock for it) and entered the house through a side French door by her pool.

She was standing at the end of the hall, watching him approach.

He saw her standing there but mostly he was taking in her place as he approached.

He got within four feet—and it took him a while to do that—when he said, “Tell Jeeves I’ll take my whisky now.”

He watched her body twitch.

And he stopped dead when she busted out laughing.

Fucking hell.

Fucking.

Hell.

He’d never seen her laugh.

It changed her. Entirely.

Gone was his cool, poised, exquisite princess.

Her laughter was soft, even delicate, like her voice, but it transformed her face, the line of her body.

She no longer was the cool-as-shit, hot-as-fuck piece of ass only a half percent of the male population would have the balls to approach because, even if the promise of her screamed it was worth the risk, every vibe she gave said you’d crash and burn.

In her place was the sweet-as-hell, hot-as-fuck piece of ass it wouldn’t matter if you crashed and burned because she’d lay that hurt on you like velvet and you’d end up with her number anyway because you were invited to hang with her posse to watch the game.

He still had that Livvie when he made it to her.

He pulled that Livvie into his arms.

She lifted her hands to either side of his neck, curled her fingers to hold on lightly, and still quietly laughing, she tipped her head back and caught his gaze.

“Hey,” she greeted, green eyes light and dancing.

Fuck, he was so fucking falling in love with her.

“Hey,” he grunted, feeling warmth and contentment, unease, frustration and impatience.

And he was feeling these last because he was pissed he had to sneak into her house from the alley. Pissed he had to have a man on her. Pissed he had to worry if she didn’t text back right away. And pissed he couldn’t put her ass in his car and take her out to dinner so he could show the whole fucking world the beauty he’d earned.

Her laughter faded, but this time he had himself to blame for the brevity of her happiness.

“Sebring, what is it?” she asked, studying him closely.

“We’re goin’ to Vegas.”

She blinked at him.

“Sorry?”