Sebring

The laugh he tried unsuccessfully to bite back scraped up his throat over the roof of his mouth to make an amused scratching noise coming out of his nose.

  “Brother,” Knight admonished when he heard it.

  Nick held on to his woman and she held on to him as they both looked to Knight.

  “I…um…hi, hey…um, hello,” she stammered.

  And no stone-cold princess there.

  Nick’s body started shaking.

  She turned and glared at him, unlatching the arm she had wrapped around his back so she could smack his shoulder blade.

  His amusement came low but audible.

  “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath.

  “She can be cute,” he told Knight.

  Knight was staring at Nick’s woman, his lips quirked up, and Nick reckoned his brother already got that.

  “And a fuckin’ nut,” Nick went on.

  “Nicky, shut up,” she hissed.

  Knight’s brows rose and his gaze cut to Nick.

  “Nicky?”

  “Now you shut it,” Nick replied, still laughing low.

  Knight smiled at him then turned that to Olivia.

  “Nice to meet you, Olivia. And sorry I’m doing it when I gotta go.”

  “I…me too, nice to meet you that is. As well as sorry you have to go,” she said swiftly and with obvious nerves.

  “We’ll get together soon, you meet my Anya and my girls, yeah?” Knight suggested.

  Olivia tensed against him but nodded and said, “Yes. That’d be nice.”

  “Right, gotta go,” Knight murmured and looked to Nick. “Got the door, brother. Stay warm. Thanks for the news and later.”

  “Later, Knight.”

  Knight nodded to him, gave another smile to Olivia then turned and walked out.

  “Oh my God, I tripped in front of your brother and said fuck,” Olivia whispered in horror the minute the door slid closed.

  He pulled her to his front and shared the obvious, “It was cute.”

  “I said fuck,” she repeated.

  “Baby, he’s heard the word before.”

  “Undoubtedly,” she returned. “And undoubtedly it’s not a surprise coming from me considering the fact his brother’s girlfriend is a gangster’s daughter.”

  Fuck.

  He finally got it.

  He pulled her closer.

  “He doesn’t think dick that’s bad about you.”

  “You sure, you know, considering you called him earlier to ask him over in order to report his nemesis is dead at my father’s hand?” she asked sarcastically.

  “He was born in your world. There’s shit he gets about you that I’ll never get about you. I don’t give a fuck about it. He sure as fuck doesn’t give a fuck about it. And he is who he is and you know who he is. So bein’ who he is, he doesn’t judge,” Nick returned resolutely.

  That shut her up.

  “Unless you’re an asshole or a twat, then he judges,” he continued. “And you aren’t either.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “You were cute,” he repeated.

  She looked to his shoulder.

  He gave her a shake.

  She looked to his eyes.

  “So shake it off,” he ordered.

  “Okay, Nick,” she said softly.

  “Now, I think the challenge you issued my digestive system has been bested so I can fuck you without passing out or throwing up.”

  She frowned.

  He ignored that and decreed, “Time to do that.”

  “Just to share an important tidbit as we figure our stuff out, your ridicule of my cooking is not amusing to me, Nick Sebring.”

  “Babe, you emptied a bottle of French dressing into ground beef seasoned with taco seasoning, fried flour tortillas, dumped mac ‘n’ chees on that, the beef on that, sour cream, cheese and guac on that and set that shit in front of me. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted. And if a nutritionist saw it, they’d be apoplectic.”

  “Life is short and it mostly sucks so who cares what a nutritionist thinks?” she shot back. “You have to have some things you enjoy. I eat fruit. I eat veggies. I do Pilates two times a week. I walk on a treadmill for an hour four times a week. Every once in a while you have to treat yourself to such as taco extravaganza. It makes life worth living.”

  “How about we find other ways to make life worth living, like orgasms and mindless TV?” he returned.

  “Is there a limit to things that you can have that make life worth living? Because if there is, I’ve got you, that’s a huge boost, but I still don’t think I’m even close.”

  I’ve got you, that’s a huge boost.

  Fuck, that felt good.

  Really good.

  “Totally fucking you now,” he declared, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the bedroom.

  “Sebring, the dishes aren’t done.”

  He pulled her up the steps, “Shade, don’t care.”

  “Sebring—”

  He stopped and yanked her around.

  “Get naked,” he growled.

  She glared at him stubbornly.

  He knew how to break through that so he did it, taking off his shirt.

  Her glare wavered as her eyes dropped to his chest.

  His hands went to his belt.

  Her hands went to her tank.

  He beat her to naked.

  In the race to orgasm, she beat him.

  But with that, Nick never minded finishing second.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wade Through Shit

  Nick

  6:13 – The Next Morning

  Just after coming, instead of collapsing on Livvie, he rolled, bringing her with him.

  She gave him her weight, her thighs gripping his hips, her face in his neck, her breathing heavy, her soft body fluid in his arms, still coming down from her orgasm.

  Christ, weeks he’d had her and every fuck was better than the last.

  One of many indications, if they could wade through the shit, their future was bright.

  But first, they had to wade through the shit.

  To that end, he tightened his hold on her before either of their breathing had evened and told her quietly, “Starting today, gonna put a man on you, baby. Everywhere you go.”

  He felt her tense against him, he fucking hated it, but he kept going.

  “He’ll be unobtrusive. But even with him on you, when I text or phone, want you to answer. If you can’t right away, do it as soon as you can. Yesterday you didn’t and it made me uneasy.”

  “Okay, Nick,” she agreed.

  He let out a breath.

  Then he hit the next possible pile of shit.

  “You sleep okay?”

  She lifted her head and looked at him through the dark before dawn.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  He slid a hand up her back.

  “Baby,” he started gently, “every night I’ve had you, you been restless.”

  “I’m not a good sleeper.”

  “Shit in your head?” he asked.

  “I…” She stopped whatever she was going to say and answered simply, “Yes.”

  “Can I help with that?”

  She laid still on him for a beat before she dropped her forehead to his.

  He slid his hand all the way up her back to tangle it in her hair.

  “Livvie?” he called.

  “I think you just did,” she said, sliding her head down so she had her nose pressed against the hinge of his jaw.

  “Sorry?”

  “Helped with that. I think you just did, Nicky,” she told him, words in her soft voice he felt hit him hard in the gut.

  So his “Good,” was gruff.

  They fell silent and held on.

  Unfortunately, he had to roll her to the side and pull out of her.

  “Shower time, Liv,” he muttered.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” she muttered back.

  He pulled them out of bed.


  Having waded through that shit, he took them to the second best part of the morning.

  Their shower.

  * * * * *

  5:22 – That Evening

  Nick’s phone ringing, he took the call and put it to his ear.

  “Sebring.”

  “She’s got a tail on her,” Jed, the man he set on Liv that day, said. “Dude followed her from office to home. He’s hangin’ around, watchin’ her house.”

  “He make you?” Nick asked.

  “No,” he answered. “But he doesn’t look like he’s leaving.”

  “Fuck,” Nick muttered, that itch creeping up his neck again, his mind hoping that this was what Liv told him it was, standard procedure. His bugs being pulled, his gut was telling him something else. Then to Jed, louder, “Thanks, man. Stick around, yeah?”

  “You got it.”

  Nick hung up then reengaged, calling Olivia.

  “Hey, honey,” she answered.

  “You had a tail. He’s watching your house.”

  She didn’t reply for several moments before he heard a low, “Damn,” and he knew she’d gone to a window and tagged her watcher.

  “I’m comin’ to you,” he said.

  Her tone was sharp when she started, “Sebring—”

  “He won’t see me,” he assured.

  “Are you positive you can pull that off?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Again, she didn’t reply for another several moments before, “I’ll unlock the doors to the pool. Do you think they know I’m not around and that’s why I have someone on me?”

  “No clue, babe. But we’ll keep better track of shit from here on out.”

  And they sure as fuck would.

  “Right,” she replied.

  “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?”

  “Next weekend,” he stated. “Do what you gotta do. Sort that shit. But we’re flying to Vegas Friday night, stayin’ until Sunday. You and me somewhere we can fuck like we fuck but do it bein’ able to leave our bed, go out and eat and gamble and drink and whatever the fuck 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 shit,” 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 space 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 motherfucking 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-hell countertop.

  “You should count yourself lucky you’re handsome, tall, built and a very good sex partner or your smartassedness would be problematically aggravating.”

  “Sex partner?” he teased.

  “Look at the menu, Sebring.”

  “Smartassedness?” 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 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.