Sebring
“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 ass 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.
Fuck, 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 assured.
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 fuckuva 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 shit 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 ass.”
“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 massive 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 fucked in her bed.
And Nick didn’t get a text from Jed until they were fucking 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 shit they had to wade through.
It was time he quit fucking around. It was time to form the intricate plan he had to form to get them through the shit 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 – Saturday 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.
She added her mouth at the base of his throat, it tracked his collarbone.
When he felt her hair gliding along his shoulder, he turned into her, gathering her in both arms, holding her on their sides.
She hitched her leg on his hip, her fingers now trailing his back, her face in his throat.
“Like your place,” she muttered, sounding sleepy.
“Good,’ he muttered back, not sure why she said that since “good morning” was more appropriate, not to mention, they were waking in her bed for the first time.
Maybe she preferred his.
“It’s you,” she went on.
“Yeah,” he replied unnecessarily, because it was. He spoke at all because she’d stopped but she seemed to be feeling chatty because she continued.
“I feel safe there.”
Fuck, he liked that.
He closed his eyes and pulled her closer.
“Good,” he whispered.
She pressed even closer, her fingers no longer sketching mindlessly on his back but instead, her hand was pressed tight to his lat.
“But I like you here,” she said, her voice softer, huskier, both of these with feeling.
He rolled her to her back, rolling on top, lifting his head, catching her eyes.
Yeah, she was feeling.
A lot.
Nick said nothing.
“I like you in my house,” she continued. With her leg hitched on his hip, Nick had fallen through both when he rolled her. Now, she wrapped her calf around the back of his thigh. “I like you here because, if this fucks up, if I lose it, if I lose you, I’ll have that.”