"Shit..." I cursed, rushing forward to grab hold of a thoroughly wasted Sullivan, who seemed to be having a incoherent conversation with the empty air.

"Oh!" A sharp gasp tore from my throat as his full weight collapsed onto my shoulder. Through the fabric of his shirt, I could feel him grinning like an idiot against my neck.

"Damn you, Don Sullivan," I spat, slapping his back, but he just kept grinning into my skin. The crystal bottle he was clutching slipped from his fingers, clattering against the Persian rug and rolling away, thankfully intact.

Now, how the hell was I supposed to haul six feet of muscle up to...