“Not from some cat.”

“Lift your right leg,” he ordered, easing the leggings down as she lifted her right leg, then the left.

“So what are we doing?” she asked.

“Crashing here for the night. After what you put me through, I’m not in the mood to drive.”

“Put you through? What are you . . . my mother?” She held up her hand. “Check that. What are you . . . Toni?”

“I now understand that poor jackal a little better. You must have put her through hell all these years.”

“She might have implied that . . . more than once.” Livy drummed the fingers of one hand against her knee. “I’m hungry.”

Vic tossed aside the leggings. “We can order food. Bears love free delivery. Why hunt when it can be delivered right to your door?”

He examined her legs. “At least these look pretty good.”

“Why thank you.”

Vic blinked. “I mean they look relatively undamaged.”

“So you don’t like my legs?”

Frowning, he looked at her. “I never said I don’t like your legs. Why wouldn’t I like your legs?”

“I see the She-bears around here. They have long legs.”

“Because most of them are over six feet tall. Some are over seven and play on the WNBA. Of course they have long legs.”

“You’re very logical, aren’t you?”

Vic had no idea where this conversation was going. Did she have a head injury? Well . . . more than just the obvious ones he could see?

“I guess.” He shrugged. “Being logical is part of what I do.”

Livy nodded. “It’s very sexy.”

Vic quickly stood and began to feel around Livy’s head.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to see if you have any skull damage. Did you black out at any point today?”

She slapped his hands off her head. “No.”

Vic stood back. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “All right. But we should watch for signs of concussion.” He looked around until he found the doorway leading to the kitchen. “I bet that’s where Rita keeps the delivery menus.”

Vic turned to walk to the kitchen.

“You’ve got a nice ass, too.”

Vic froze mid-step. “Livy—”

“Don’t ask me again if I have a concussion. I don’t.”

He faced her. “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Which was why I was going to get the menus . . .”

“And a little horny.”

Vic took a step back. “What?”

“I can’t help it. I think it was the jousting. Beating the crap out of those cats has got me kind of . . . worked up.” She gazed at him, then raised an eyebrow.

Vic pointed at himself. “And you want me to do something about that?”

“Well, you’re here.”

“Gee. Thanks. That’s so romantic.”

“I’m not talking romance. In fact . . . I’d like to avoid romance as much as possible. My parents had romance . . . that didn’t end well for them.”

“Because your dad passed away?”

“No.”

Vic sighed, rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I am unsure where this is going, Livy.”

“Bedroom?”

Vic quickly dropped his hands. “Livy.”

“What? I’m young and healthy—”

“And battered!”

“—you’re young-ish and healthy—”

“I’m only thirty-three,” he snapped, insulted.

“—so why can’t we work off some of my untapped energy?”

“Because you may be operating under some kind of temporary brain damage. You’ll hate yourself in the morning . . . and I’ll be forced to hate myself for taking advantage of you.”

Livy snorted.

“What?”

“I like that you think you can take advantage of me.” She stared at him a moment, snorted again. “You.”

“And I’m out,” Vic snarled before turning away.

Giggling, in a tremendously good mood after going toe-to-toe with those cats, Livy reached out and grabbed Vic’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m being a douche.”

“You are!”

“And I’m sorry. Really.” Livy realized that she was making the bear in him panic. Vic, at least while human—she had yet to see his shifted form—was so very much bear. And grizzlies were easy to startle, quick to enrage, and not at all hard to panic. Livy was managing to do all three without much effort.

Then again, Vic had never seen her after she’d worked off her rage. She was probably completely freaking him out right now. And she really needed her friends.

She’d thought about telling Vic what she’d found in Allison Whitlan’s apartment. That she’d found her father. But she wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t ready to think about it. She definitely wasn’t ready to get Vic’s pity over it. And although he knew something was wrong, he was still giving her space. As much as she liked tucking herself into cabinets and under beds, Livy still needed space when it came to everything else. She hated being crowded.