Nate cringed inwardly.

All the hero-worshipping from Liv should have had his chest puffing out, the way it did Tristan’s.

Stunning, sensational Liv Tyner.

She wore a string bikini as vibrant as the sun and the wisps of material set off her golden skin—and likely did the same for her amber eyes, though they were currently concealed behind dark glasses.

There was no mistaking that she was thrilled to see him and Tristan. Her enticing chest rose and fell quickly. She bounced on the balls of her bare feet, drawing his attention to her mile-long legs and all that smooth, satiny skin on display. His gaze eased upward to her sculpted face and luxurious hair. More alluring attributes. Everything about the woman teased his senses, but her thick locks had always captivated him with their shimmery bronze color accented with caramel strands. She’d pulled the full mass up into a high ponytail this afternoon, the ends brushing her slender shoulders.

She exuded a natural effervescence that was enthralling and addictive. She was sexy and sensual and deeply intoxicating. Nate rode a high like he’d never known when he was in her hypnotic presence, and he knew the same held true for Tristan.

Unfortunately, neither man had ever really been her savior. It’d always been the other way around—Liv coming to their rescue with her innate ability to deflect any sort of ridicule or bullying thrown their way because he and his stepbrother hadn’t fit the ideal perpetuated by the rich and the elite, the bold and the beautiful of Bayfront.

She’d managed to befriend every potential castaway, including Fallon. Although Fallon had always been under the wings of Devon and Morgan, because she’d grown up on the Presley estate, she’d still been an outsider looking in, as much as Nate and Tristan. The children of the hired help. The insignificants who were only at the private institution in town because of academic excellence and full-ride scholarships.

They’d never truly belonged. And yet Liv had not acknowledged that. Had never caught on that the geeks or the dweebs or whatever you wanted to call them were the ones to leave standing in the shadows, not kindheartedly coax into the light to bask in her radiance.

But Liv couldn’t seem to help herself. Couldn’t keep from bestowing upon the commoners of the community her easy exuberance and contagious laughter.

Even now—after all this time, water under the bridge, intimacy explored—Nate was helpless against the magnetic force that she was, the larger-than-life character who could so effortlessly suck him into the telling of one of her crazy adventures and make him damn near forget everything around him . . . make him forget his own name.

Nate had loved her from the moment he’d locked eyes with her. They’d been nine years old when they’d met. Had been tragically introduced to each other during a classic dodge ball mishap. He’d been dodging, as he’d had to do every fucking time the PE teacher, who got a kick out of watching the nerds get tagged by a ball, teed up a game.

On this particularly painful day, new student Liv had entered the gym, all long, shiny hair and spellbinding tawny irises, and Nate had been instantly awestruck. A total deer caught in the headlights. Then—

Bam!

He’d been knocked on his ass by a blow to the head. His glasses had flown from his face and blood had exploded from his nose.

A deafening silence had instantly filled the gym—which only served to amplify the roar of Coach Bradley’s laughter as he’d doubled over in malevolent amusement. Until Nate’s wails and the other kids’ sudden horrified gasps had penetrated the prick’s boisterous howls and he’d opened his eyes to find Nate sprawled on the floor with blood splattered everywhere.

Liv had been the first to rush to his side. She was still in her tailored uniform, rather than her gym clothes, since she’d come in mid-class. She’d whipped off her navy-colored blazer and had gently pressed the material to his nose, then slipped a hand under his head to cradle the back of it and reassured him over and over that it was all going to be okay.

Quite the angel of mercy, she’d been.

And Nate had soaked up every angelic vibe emitted from her.

Of course, by lunchtime, she was hanging with the cool kids. Easily the prettiest girl in school, and that was saying something in Bayfront.

Naturally, Nate had never made the slightest move on Liv—not even asking for a dance when they rolled into junior high years. Well, that was mostly due to the fact that he and Tristan never went to any dances. Little could tear them away from a rousing Friday night of stargazing through the high-powered telescope at the observatory as they searched for comets and yet-to-be-discovered planets.

Although he and his stepbrother had each had a soft spot for Liv from the onset, science had held a higher priority—a more sensible aspiration because, in all honestly, in what universe did the geek get the beauty?

Nate and Tristan had both needed to go through massive transformations in order to be worthy of Liv in their own minds as much as in reality. And while the tables had turned for them over the course of the last several years—and Liv had been attracted to them when they’d all gotten together in France—Nate still had yet to fully release the stigma that tainted the fringes of this particular homecoming.

Liv appeared to believe he and Tristan really were her knights in shining armor—and Nate desperately wanted it to be true.

As she chatted amiably with Tristan, Nate propped a hip against the vacant chair alongside hers and casually crossed his booted ankles. She hadn’t changed a bit. Was still breathtaking and so full of life and animated spirit that he didn’t mind having to discreetly bend from this side to that one as her manicured hands flailed about while she went into a humorous dissertation on the hoops she, Fallon, and Sylvia Carter—whom Nate and Tristan had yet to meet—had jumped through for their friend John’s perfect wedding.

As Liv was in the middle of regaling them with a tale of the ten different shades of lavender Chloe had deliberated over before settling on the precise one for the bridesmaids dresses, she suddenly flattened her palms to her chest and blurted, “Oh, shit, that reminds me!”

Fallon let out a small shriek as she consulted the time on her phone. “The fitting! We’re supposed to meet Chloe and Sylvia at the boutique at two.”

“Gotta rush,” Liv told Nate with another peck on the cheek. “Sorry to bail, but we have to shower and pray to the bridal gods neither one of us has gained a pound in the past week or we’ll be subjected to Ruby Jenkins’ scathing tsks and head shakes as she lets out our seams.”

“And here I completely overindulged on that chocolate mousse last night at dinner,” Fallon lamented.

“You both look fantastic,” Tristan assured them.

“Thank you,” the ladies chimed in unison.

Liv gave him a friendly kiss, then snatched her beach bag and asked, “When will I see you guys again?”

“We’re hosting a party on the yacht Friday night,” Nate said.

She blanched. “You really do own that monstrosity?”

His brow shot up. “Monstrosity?”

“She’s spectacular, but surreally ostentatious, Nathaniel.”

“Why, yes she is,” he conceded, since there was no denying it. “The Ariana is five hundred feet of pure luxury from bow to stern. A world’s top-ten megayacht I picked up a few months ago.”

“Thank you, Robin Leach, for your ‘champagne wishes and caviar dreams.’”

Nate fought the smirk. Of the impending party, he told Liv, “The festivities are mostly for business networking purposes, but you’ll know a lot of the people there.” To Fallon, he explained, “I’d already invited Dev and Morgan. I’m assuming you’ll be their plus-one.”

“They hadn’t told me whose party it was,” she said. “Guess they were also in on the surprise.”

Nate grinned. “Don’t be mad they kept it from you. Tristan and I asked them to be secretive. It’s kind of fun throwing this one for a loop.” He winked again at Liv.

She jestingly taunted, “You just might pay for that.”

“Gladly.”

She gave both men a departing hug, as did Fallon. Then Liv said, “We really have to scoot. What time on Friday?”

“Seven o’clock,” Nate told her. “Cocktail attire. We’ll send a limo for you.”

“Which I never turn down.” She blew him a kiss, then flounced off with Fallon in tow.

Nate watched Liv go, the adrenaline pumping steadily through him. Though he called after her, “And it’s just ‘Nate’ now.”

Liv gave a flamboyant wave. “Love it!”

Nate could no longer contain the smirk. She really was too damn much.

* * *

Tristan’s gaze lingered on Liv until she disappeared into a cabana. Then he asked Nate, “Is it my imagination, or is she even more dynamic than usual?”

“The woman lives out loud,” his stepbrother said. “That’s why we’re so nuts about her.”

They headed in the opposite direction from the cabanas, up to the patio and through the formal dining room, since the lounge and casual restaurant were reportedly closed for an overhaul. But the dining room offered cocktails, so they bellied up to the ornate polished wood bar and ordered Glenlivet.

Apparently they could both use a stiff drink after seeing Liv in person for the first time since Paris.

Tristan said, “It won’t be easy concentrating on business when Liv’s on the boat for the party.” Not that he’d have it any other way, but still . . .

Nate sipped, then told him, “We’re here for two weeks. More than that, if everything works out the way we want it to, with the new headquarters in San Francisco. We’ve got some time to build upon our foundation.”

“We still talking about business?”

Nate chuckled. “Yes. Though . . . damn, she was really excited to see us. I wonder exactly how much of that evening with us she remembers. She’s never brought it up.”

“Well, today she did . . . in passing.” Tristan took a long drink, then added, “We’ve never broached the subject either when we’re talking with her.”

Nate swirled the expensive whisky in his glass and mused, “We’d all had a lot of champagne. Foie gras, oysters, and every other aphrodisiac under the sun. The next day she went off to Australia—hungover—to start filming a new movie, and our London operations were just getting underway and we settled in the UK.”

Because of their extreme dedication to an industry they were enthralled with, they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do within a timeframe that had recently brought them full circle for an expansion of their enterprise.

As they’d plotted their newest strategy—establishing a presence in the Bay Area—Tristan had come to realize that he and Nate hadn’t necessarily been climbing a professional mountain to reach the sort of pinnacle that obliterated memories of their nerdy appearances, brainiac tendencies, and awkward phases. Rather, it was as though they’d been moving toward something all this time—beyond the satisfaction of mastering their technological field . . . or being able to flaunt their evolution—physical, fiscal, or otherwise.

The latter was just surface vindication, after all. Not something that really satisfied the soul.

Not the way Liv Tyner did. Which had propelled both men to agree upon making a grand move in that area as well, perhaps parlaying their unexpected threesome into something more significant with Liv. Something more permanent.

But they still had a ways to go.

After polishing off his scotch, Tristan left Nate and walked to the famed town square with its grassy courtyard, featuring a massive, crisp-white gazebo, fancy topiary sculptures, and a babbling brook with decorative waterfalls. Freshly shellacked wooden-slat benches and glossy receptacle cans were sprinkled along the perimeter of the vast lawn. There were plenty of tall palm and shade trees, along with vibrantly colored bougainvillea and flowerbeds to enhance the scenery.

Most importantly, adjacent to the cobblestone walkways edging the square were high-end eateries and expensive boutiques to rival Rodeo Drive.

Tristan didn’t debate his options when it came to the shops. Liv loved Prada. So that was his first stop. The manager was Milla Keto, whom he recognized from high school. Though Milla didn’t have a clue as to who Tristan was when he walked through the door. Not even a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. He wasn’t surprised.

“Tristan Reeves,” he introduced himself. “We had Earth Science together sophomore year. We were lab partners—I dissected the frog.”

“Oh, good Lord.” She pressed two fingers to her lips for a brief moment, then said, “I threw up on your loafers.”

Tristan laughed. “You did give fair warning it might happen.”

She gasped. “How absolutely mortifying! And you wouldn’t even let my parents buy you a new pair.”

“I had a spare.”

Milla gave him a friendly hug and said, “God, you were so nice about the whole thing. If it had been someone like Toby Anderson I’d vomited on, he would have completely bitten my head off.”

“Yeah . . . hated that guy.”

“He was an asshole to everyone, so don’t feel bad,” Milla said. “And P.S., he got what he had coming to him in the long run—he blew through his trust fund by the time he turned twenty-three and his father made him work in the mailroom of Anderson-Hoff Enterprises for two years before he’d let Toby apply for any other position within the company. Very humiliating for someone who considers himself the be-all, end-all of everything.”

“I hadn’t heard, but then . . . I’m not really in the loop. I mostly glean tidbits here and there from John McDermott and Liv Tyner.”

“John is doing extremely well, and I’m so happy that he’s getting married. Chloe is a breath of fresh air. Very sweet and down-to-earth, despite this production of a wedding she’s putting on—though she is one woman who deserves the bells and whistles. As for Liv . . .” Milla leaned in close and held a palm alongside her mouth as she conspiratorially relayed, “She’s one of my very best customers.”

“I figured as much. Is there anything in this store she doesn’t already own?” Tristan asked.

“Well, sure,” Milla told him with a flirty smile. “She sometimes cheats on us with Louis Vuitton and Dolce & Gabbana.” The pretty blonde batted her long lashes and added, “We always forgive her, though.”

Tristan grinned and congenially said, “Very understanding of you.”

“So, what are you looking for in particular?”

“A dress for a cocktail reception. Something in her fav—”

“Say no more!” Milla clasped her hands together, excitedly. “I know exactly what you want. In fact, I’ve been saving it for Liv when she comes in next. Just arrived two days ago. It’s a one-off sample and happens to be her size and her favorite color—blue. The regional buyer sent it here specifically so I could get it in front of Liv.”

Milla rushed off to the backroom. Tristan surveyed the selection of shoes, but he wasn’t well-versed in pairings for women. When he dated, he sent flowers, not Prada. But he wanted something special for Liv. Since he’d committed to being in John’s wedding with her, she was pretty much all he could think about—that, and what had happened five years ago when she’d phoned to say she was in Paris for one night only.

How difficult would it be for you guys to break free and hop the train to join me for brunch? she’d asked.

Brunch with bottomless mimosas had turned into a scenic trek along the artistic Rive Gauche, the Left Bank of the Seine, stopping at cafés for more champagne and charcuterie. Which then led to the prospect of touring the Louvre with VIP passes Liv had been given, but when they’d made a detour at her hotel for her to change from high heels to more sensible walking shoes, they’d uncorked another bottle and from there . . . things had gotten out of hand in the hottest damn way.

But, as Tristan was normally required to do in order to keep his life on track, he pushed the past aside when Milla returned with a striking strapless minidress in a shimmering hue that wasn’t quite sapphire or royal and not quite navy. A unique jewel tone that would complement Liv’s tan, her dark hair, and her bright amber eyes.

Tristan had a winner.