She placed her finger on the drawing, exactly where his had been, and adjusted it so it was crooked again. Clear eyes locked on his, daring and tough, not a single vulnerability visible. “Right, Nick?”
He was Nicholas to everyone. She was the only one who’d shortened his name, but not to Nick. She’d always called him something else.
He made sure his tone was well modulated and even. She was correct. The only relationship they had was one based on lust. “Right, Olivia.”
Her frown was barely there, but he knew he’d scored a hit with her full name. He knew, and he hated himself for it.
She lifted her bare wrist and studied it. “My, look at the time. As much as I have loved this awkward visit, I really do have so much to do. So if you only came here to offer your belated condolences...”
“I didn’t.” He might have gotten sidetracked, but his initial objective seemed more imperative now. How long would he have to deal with this interruption in his perfectly ordered life? “I came to talk to you.”
Her sardonic smile called attention to the tinyscar next to her lips. A souvenir from her adventurous childhood. “To talk to me?”
He edged closer because he couldn’t not take advantage of this opportunity to inhale the scent of vanilla and sugar. “Yes.”
“Talking’s not usually what we do when we’re together. And last time I checked, my birthday isn’t for another eight months, so...”
He flinched, unprepared for her to speak so bluntly about their odd arrangement, though he should have been—she was a blunt woman.
“I know exactly when your birthday is,” he said, sharper than he intended. “I suppose I ought to give you belated felicitations as well. I missed your thirtieth.”
Her stubborn chin lifted. “Oh, were you expecting to see me?”
Of course he’d been expecting to see her. That was how they worked. For the past ten years.
For the past nine years, he corrected himself. The last year had come and gone without their annual sexual marathon. “I assumed. We’d established a pattern.” Another small step and he could get a tiny bit closer to her. How did she smell so good? Like every delicious thing he craved and couldn’t have.
Livvy had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. If he moved his hand, he could touch her. Lord, how he wanted to touch her.
“We both know I hate being predictable,” she breathed. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
Her apology rang hollow. A ripple of repressedanger swirled under his careful icy calm, and he squelched it. If it were anyone else, he’d assume Livvy was playing a game, but she was far too straightforward to bother with games. Or at least she had been. “No apologies necessary,” he said. “I moved on.”
“Did you?”
“I had to.” He’d told himself her absence had been understandable, only a few months following the death of her brother. The eagerness with which he’d waited for her text... when he realized he’d blocked that day off on his calendar... that hadn’t been acceptable.
Darkness touched her expression, and she glanced away. “Right. Great. Well, I’m honored Rockville’s golden prince spared me a fleeting thought.”
He wanted to laugh, but there was no humor in his body. A fleeting thought? She honestly believed that was all she’d been worth over the years?
“I’m not a prince,” he reminded her. Both of them.
She turned and walked away, and his gaze dropped to her bottom. She’d gained weight since he’d seen her last, and it looked good on her, making her ass even more clutchable. He curled his fingers, remembering how those round globes felt when she was riding him.
“Whatever you say. If you want to talk to me, text me,” she said over her shoulder, breezy and careless once again. “You have my number now.”
“Or we can talk here.” There was no guarantee that number wouldn’t change tomorrow. The first few years, he’d saved the phone numbers that popped up on his screen with her message. In moments of weakness, more times than he’d like to admit, he’d call them. Thank God, they were always disconnected. She changed phone numbers like she changed cities.
“No, thanks.”
“I insist.”
“Just like a Chandler,” she said coldly, not looking at him. His last name dropped into the conversation with the weight of a thousand pounds of baggage. “Selfishly taking whatever you want.”
There it was. Only a few feet separated them, but the battle lines had been drawn, creating a gulf the size of an ocean.
Her harsh words stabbed straight into his heart. Electricity zipped through him, the rush of fierce blood pumping in his veins a foreign and heady sensation. Sugar rushes had nothing on this. She always made him feel alive in a way no one else did. Like he was a wind-up man resting in a case, waiting for her to apply the key.
