“Sorry about my father,” Vic said. “He has no boundaries. Especially when he likes someone.”

“I find his directness refreshing. Like Kyle, without the personality disorder.”

“Kyle doesn’t have a personality disorder.”

“No. He just makes other people have them.”

Vic studied the cover of his book and asked, “My father didn’t . . .”

“Scare me off?”

“You like your space.”

“I like tight spaces, but I don’t like to be crowded and I don’t like to be backed into corners. I don’t feel that way with you. Never have. That’s why I was always in your cabinets. Tight space but no crowding. Which, considering the height and width of your immediate family, is extremely amazing. More importantly, there’s something you keep forgetting.”

“And what’s that?”

Livy placed Vic’s book aside and crawled into his lap, her thighs on either side of his, her arms resting casually around his neck. “I don’t scare. Kyle told me my lack of fear was a sign of my sociopathic nature. I told him that should make him very worried that I would kill him in his sleep. So he stopped saying it.”

Vic laughed and stroked Livy’s naked back. His fingers traced the healed wounds—now scars, he guessed. Some were indented, reminding him of the holes they’d made. Others were raised, keloids. It reminded Vic how close he’d been to losing Livy.

“You make me want to burrow,” Livy told him, her arms moving down to his waist as she snuggled into his chest. “Usually I want to burrow away from people,” she murmured. “You’re the first I’ve ever burrowed toward.”

Vic wound his arms around Livy, making sure to keep her close so that she couldn’t see his smile. So that she wouldn’t know, not yet.

Because her words meant everything to him. More than he’d ever thought they would.

CHAPTER 33

Livy woke up swinging, her fist ramming into Vic’s palm, which he was quick enough to raise so that she didn’t hit his face.

“Good morning.”

Livy cleared her throat. “Sorry about that. I dreamed I was fighting rampaging squirrels . . . and Blayne.”

“Were you winning?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sat up. “You going out?”

“Back to the City.” Vic lowered his head. “I’ve got important work to do.”

“You look adorable when you’re trying to be terrifying.”

“Are you saying I’m not terrifying-looking?”

“No. I’m saying that I find your terrifying look . . . extremely attractive. Should I be worried about where you’re going?”

“No. Justorganizing a few things. But there is something you should know.”

“What?”

Vic gave a weird, almost guilty smile, which made her nervous. “Well . . .”

“What?”

“It’s funny you mentioned Blayne.”

Livy scrambled to her knees. “She’s here . . . isn’t she?”

“She wanted to talk to you about the wedding. Since apparently she still plans for you to be the photographer. But, if it helps, Gwen, Lock, and Novikov are with her.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you? She is here. Just to torment me.”

Vic kissed her on the cheek. “I may avoid telling you things because I don’t want you to snap, get your hands on a death ray, and start wiping out whole countries . . . but I would never lie to you.”

“How do you know I’d get my hands on a death ray?”

“Kyle said he was designing one, because it needed to be aesthetically attractive, and was going to have Freddy and Troy build it.”

“Then I can get my hands on a death ray . . . that’s good to know.”

“And that’s what has me worried.”

“Are you going into the City alone?”

“Bringing Shen.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I will. You promise not to throw another locker at Blayne?”

“No.”

“Livy, remember? Novikov and Lock saved your life. And Novikov loves Blayne.”

“Why?”

“Livy.”

“I’ll be nice.” She tried to smile to show her sincerity, but Vic leaned away from her.

“Don’t . . .” He shook his head. “Don’t force it.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah. It’s that bad.”

Gwen sat down on the couch next to Lock. He’d been quiet since they’d pulled into the driveway, and although he wasn’t a chatty bear in general, it wasn’t like him to say nothing.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, not bothering to lower her voice since she couldn’t be heard over Blayne’s excited squealing as she ran out the French doors that led to an enormous backyard.

“Nothing.”

“Hate when you lie to me.”

Lock shrugged those massive shoulders she sometimes hung off just because she could. “He bought her a house.” He glanced over at Novikov, who didn’t seem impressed by his own purchase. Then again, Novikov rarely seemed impressed by anything. “Actually, he bought her a mansion. I made you a table.”

“The mahogany one you had in the back room of your workshop?”

“You saw it?”