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After dinner, she sees me out.
I don’t want to leave, but I have to.
“Do you feel safe?” I hold her eyes as I palm her neck, my thumb rubbing over her jaw.
“I have Kyle and a knife. I barely slept last night, was up early, and have had so many orgasms I can’t stand. I’ll sleep so soundly, I won’t even worry if I’m safe.”
“Not the answer I was looking for.”
“Me either, but I’m not complaining about the orgasm part.”
I lean for her mouth. “Neither can I. Except you make me hard just thinking about you, and I’ll probably end up spanking off in the shower just thinking about your face when I enter your body.”
She lifts on her toes, her lips meeting mine as her fingers play at the nape of my neck.
I pull back and look down at her. Who is this woman and what is she doing to me?
Her golden eyes are bright, and her smile is sated.
“Call 911 and then me if you feel unsafe. Anything at all, understand? I’m too far away to help but will get here as soon as I can. Don’t hesitate if you’re scared.”
Her face goes serious, but she agrees.
“Today was…” She starts but takes a large step back instead of finishing. “Be safe going home, Layton. I’ll see you around.”
“Livy?”
“Good night.” I swear her petite frame grows an inch or two when she steels her spine and crosses her arms.
I step out onto the porch of Doc’s beach house, hearing the click of the door latch behind me. I wait but don’t hear the second lock.
Grabbing my phone, I message her.
Me:Deadbolt.
Click.It snaps into place, and I walk the few stairs down to the sidewalk and into the breezy night.
Me:Today was what, Pix?
Bubbles rise and fall, but eventually disappear. There’s no message by the time I get to my truck several blocks away.
I fucking hate leaving. It’s a catch-22. If I stay, I get what I want but ruin her career in the process. If I go, I sacrifice what I want but protect her while doing so. It always comes back to what is right versus what I want.
I slam my palms into the steering wheel as I pull onto the highway.
Dammit.
I dial George. He may be my agent, but he’s a trusted friend.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Did you get the docs back from my attorneys?” I ask.
“Yup. Reviewed and ready. You’re the face of Excel. How soon can I makeZoolanderreferences?”
“Never.”
