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.

f.u.c.king h.e.l.l.

f.u.c.king.

h.e.l.l.

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-s.h.i.+t, hot-as-f.u.c.k piece of a.s.s only a half percent of the male population would have the b.a.l.l.s 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-h.e.l.l, hot-as-f.u.c.k piece of a.s.s 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.

f.u.c.k, he was so f.u.c.king 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 p.i.s.sed he had to sneak into her house from the alley. p.i.s.sed he had to have a man on her. p.i.s.sed he had to worry if she didn't text back right away. And p.i.s.sed he couldn't put her a.s.s in his car and take her out to dinner so he could show the whole f.u.c.king 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?"

"Next weekend," he stated. "Do what you gotta do. Sort that s.h.i.+t. But we're flying to Vegas Friday night, stayin' until Sunday. You and me somewhere we can f.u.c.k like we f.u.c.k but do it bein' able to leave our bed, go out and eat and gamble and drink and whatever the f.u.c.k we wanna do and it doesn't matter who sees 'cause no one is watching."

She melted into him, not hiding even a little bit she liked that idea.

"Next weekend. Vegas," she agreed.

"Next weekend. Vegas," he confirmed.

Her happiness came back, not through laughter, through a sweet smile.

"I'll sort my s.h.i.+t," she promised.

"I'll sort mine," he did the same.

"Okay, that's a plan. Now, I haven't been home in a while so we have a choice for dinner. Heated up canned clam chowder or Chinese delivery."

"Is that a choice?" he asked.

"Right," she murmured. "Chinese delivery."

He let her go with one arm, pulling her around to his side and walking her into the gigantic s.p.a.ce that was the front of her house. "You got menus?"

"Yes," she answered, moving from his hold to head to a drawer.

He stopped at her bar. "I get it if you feel like Chinese. But don't you have a personal hibachi chef, you know, after he slides one of these motherf.u.c.king huge marble slabs off to get to his grill?"

She threw him a look, her eyes still light, her lips tipped up.

"Or maybe you can call your pizza maker to duty. Your wood fired oven outside or what?" he pushed.

She turned away from her drawer and came to him, tossing a menu across the vast expanse of thick, gorgeous, expensive-as-all-h.e.l.l countertop.

"You should count yourself lucky you're handsome, tall, built and a very good s.e.x partner or your smarta.s.sedness would be problematically aggravating."

"s.e.x partner?" he teased.

"Look at the menu, Sebring."

"Smarta.s.sedness?" he kept teasing.

"Menu," she ordered.

"Problematically?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

He started grinning.

"Baby, get over here," he ordered through his grin. "Haven't kissed you yet. I'll look at the menu after I do that."

She rolled her eyes back to him. "And again with the lucky when you're equally problematically domineering."

"You're not getting over here," he noted.

"I'm engaged in trying to figure out why I have to get over there when you're perfectly capable of coming to me."

"Because you're used to rambling around this palace and I'm not. I need to conserve my energy for the tour you're gonna give me after we order Chinese."

That got him another upward curl of her lips.

He'd take it. Gladly.

She also got her a.s.s to him, came close, pressing her front to his side as she rolled up on her toes, tipping her head back, and he rounded her with his arm.

She offered her mouth. He took it.

And when they broke, she stayed close and advised quietly, "The ginger chicken and Mongolian beef are superb. And the Peking pork isn't bad either."

"I'll order it all. Chinese leftovers never suck. You want egg rolls?"

"Yes."

"Soup?"

"Hot and sour."

She was an egg roll and hot and sour girl.

f.u.c.k, woman of his dreams.

Definitely falling in love.

"You got beer?" he went on.

"Yes."

"Whisky?"

Her face fell. "Just Glenlivet but I also have bourbon, Maker's Mark."

"Neither suck, baby," he a.s.sured.

Her eyes brightened again.

"Just so you don't forget," he began. "You mean more to me today than you did yesterday."

Her lips parted and her eyes got bright a different way.

"And yesterday you meant a f.u.c.kuva lot to me," he finished.

"Nicky," she whispered, the bright at the bottoms of her eyes trembling.

He gave her a squeeze. "Get used to that, Liv. I intend to say s.h.i.+t like that a lot and I don't want you bawlin' every time I do it."

Her mouth turned down and the bright in her eyes changed again.

"I'm not bawling."

"You were close."

"You were being sweet."

"Like I said, get used to that."

"Then you were an a.s.s."

"You should probably get used to that too."

She glared Nick grinned.

She jerked her head to the counter, snapping, "Order, Sebring. I'm hungry."

"As you wish, baby," he muttered, reaching into his inside jacket pocket to pull out his phone.

He ordered, not letting her go.

After he was done, he stripped off his jacket and she took him for a tour of her house, which was even more ma.s.sive than he thought. It was also on the market, something he already knew, with barely any nibbles, something that wasn't a surprise considering the fact it was listed for over five million dollars.

The place was worth it, but considering a very small percent of the population could afford it, a buyer would take some time.

And by that time, he knew right then, she'd be selling and moving in with him.

They ate in the family room in front of the TV.

They f.u.c.ked in her bed.

And Nick didn't get a text from Jed until they were f.u.c.king to tell him her watcher had taken off (a text he obviously didn't take until after they finished).

He did not like that.

Then again, he didn't like any of the s.h.i.+t they had to wade through.

It was time he quit f.u.c.king around. It was time to form the intricate plan he had to form to get them through the s.h.i.+t and fulfill the promise he made a dead Hettie.

It was time to get done, move on and guide them both to their happy.

But first, because it was his job as her man that he give her more reasons life was worth living, he was going to take his woman to Vegas.

7:48 Sat.u.r.day Morning Nick woke feeling Livvie trailing a finger along his chest. The touch was light, sweet, and it stayed that way as she traced it down to his ribs.