He looked up, a forkful of chorizo poised halfway to his mouth. “Really?”

“I was being polite.”

He grinned. “Gotcha. Four minutes and counting then,” he said, all chivalrous gallantry.

A short time later, after consuming a good portion of chorizo and shrimp, he set about clearing the dishes from the bed. Clearly experienced at stacking dishes, he picked up the perfectly balanced pile of plates and, twisting around, set them on the floor in the most gorgeous display of sinuous, tawny-colored muscle she’d ever had the good fortune to see. “You must work out,” she murmured, as he pulled himself back up in a supple surge of rock-hard abs.

“I do a little kendo.” He tossed the napkins and empty champagne bottle on the floor. “Fourteen hours a day throwing pots and pans around the kitchen also helps keep you in shape. Are we done talking?”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

His brows flickered. “You mean I didn’t have to eat that fast?”

She smiled. “I appreciate it, of course.”

“I thought you might. And with dessert waiting, I had plenty of incentive to hurry.” Seizing her ankles, he flipped her onto her back and in answer to her wide-eyed look, said with a lazy smile, “Any special instructions?” Without waiting for an answer, he ran his palms up her legs, eased her thighs apart and, silently thanking Chaz for his oversized bed, adjusted himself comfortably between Liv’s legs. Glancing up to meet her heated gaze, he quirked one brow. “No orders? Last chance.”

“Just a minute,” Liv murmured on a suffocated breath, her vagina pulsing so hard the desperate ache slid all the way up her spine and spiked into her brain, his idea of dessert, his outrageous desirability and magnetic appeal making her unstrung and ravenous when she was never ravenous. “I’m not sure I like… being… out of control,” she gasped.

“Sure you do.”