“Hello, princess.”
He felt her stiffen before she was whirling around to regard him in shocked horror.
“Liam.”
His lips twisted with rueful amusement. If his ego wasn’t rock-solid, this woman would have ground his pride to dust over the past twelve months.
The thought had barely passed through his mind when he was distracted by the sight of her slender body barely covered by a tiny sheath of silver lamé.
That had to be Sasha’s doing, he wryly concluded.
His sweet Holly was more of a buttoned-up, straitlaced kind of woman.
“Are you having fun?” he drawled, making no effort to disguise his interest in the amount of flesh she was flashing.
Predictably, her chin jutted to a militant angle. So stubborn.
“I was. What are you doing here?”
Liam flicked a glance toward the male behemoth who moved to stand at Holly’s side.
“Go away.”
The male scowled. “What the hell?”
Liam allowed the stranger to glimpse the savage predator just below his polished surface.
“Now.”
Instinctively the man backed away, swiftly swallowed up by the females who surrounded him like a school of piranhas.
Christ.
“Hey, we were dancing,” Holly protested, her hands on her hips.
Liam’s gaze lingered on the plunging neckline of the barely-there dress.
He’d always suspected she was hiding something wonderful beneath her starchy suits.
Now he knew…
Perfection.
“How much have you had to drink?” he abruptly demanded.
“What business is it of yours?” she countered, her eyes flashing with golden fire. Shit, she was beautiful. “I’m not on the clock.”
He stepped closer, his hand cupping her face. He had to touch her.
To feel the satin heat of her skin beneath his fingers.
“Tell me.”
Her lips flattened, as if debating whether to refuse to answer. Then, when his expression assured her he wasn’t going to back down, she gave an impatient shrug.
“I’ve had one margarita. Satisfied?” she ground out.
A smile curved his lips. He’d had to make sure she was capable of thinking clearly.