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19 TRU W hen the elevator doors open on the penthouse level, Liam’s standing there waiting for me, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. His body is beautiful. Masculine architecture at its finest, sleek and strong. His shoulders are wide and his waist is tapered, and he’s got a set of abs that could make angels weep. Add in all the tattoos, and he’s magnificent. The bastard. “I want you to take me home now.” “So you’ve said.” He closes the few steps between us with his long stride and picks me up. As he’s turning around to head out, I snap, “I’m perfectly able to walk.” “Aye, but it’s my privilege to carry you.” I glare at his profile, furious that he could be so calm and courtly at a time like this. “Go ahead and pick a fight,” he says. “I like
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