“Need help?” she called out, her voice drifting over the glass block walls separating the living/bedroom area from the kitchen in the loft space.

“The kind of help you can give me doesn’t require you moving. Take it easy, reflect on the state of the world-or not, considering the current chaos. Better yet, count the condoms we have left. I was thinking we should try to use them up.”

Liv smiled. “You do know how to sweet-talk a lady.”

“How about some tapas? Does that put you in the mood, too?”

How did he know? she thought, jumping out of bed. Standing in the open doorway to the kitchen two seconds later, she decided not only was her personal chef more gorgeous than one could ever imagine-his awesome cock alone capable of making one starry-eyed-but here he was making her tapas, her all-time favorite food. “When I heard the word tapas, I thought I must have been dreaming. You’re going to feed me tapas?”

He shot her a grin. “That’s what I do, babe. Feed people. Besides, I’m hungry. I forgot to eat today.”

“Just for the record, I hate people who say they forgot to eat. I would never forget to eat.”

He wasn’t about to argue with her. “Whatever you’re doing seems to be working.” His gaze raked her from head to toe in a quick appraisal. “You’re every man’s fantasy.”

“Back at you. You’re definitely centerfold material.” She smiled. “As is your spectacular friend,” she added with a tip of her head to the pertinent object.

“As long as you’re happy, we’re happy. Do you want a robe? There might be one around here, although I thought we’d eat in bed.”

Jeez, he was a humble man, even with his looks and celebrity. How unusual was that? She knew men who looked like him who had egos from hell. “Bed sounds good. For whatever,” she murmured teasingly.