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He wanted to go kill someone. Preferably whoever had started this smear campaign. No one messed with the woman he loved and got away with it.

All the air left his lungs in a painful jolt.

Loved?

He liked Celia. Liked her a damn lot. She was beautiful, vibrant, sexy as hell. She was a great lover and partner. He had fun with her. He loved her company. But did he love her?

The knot in his stomach grew. How could he be so stupid about his own personal life? Surely it would have occurred to him before now if he was in love with someone.

He stopped and let his thoughts catch up with the breathless, panicky feeling in his chest.

How had he gone thirty-eight years with never having fallen in love? He’d never

even contemplated the idea until now. He wasn’t at all sure he liked it, either.

Love was such a messy emotion. It was bound to be inconvenient. You sure couldn’t put it on a schedule and love never played by the rules. He liked rules. And schedules.

Ah, hell, he was absolutely in love