Page 103 of The Savior

“Very romantic,” she whispered defensively.

His mindset leaned more toward mission objectives than romance. But he wouldn’t back from a test. “You want romantic?”

“No,” she quickly corrected. “I didn’t say that—”

“Didn’t you?” He scoped out their surroundings. “I don’t do romance, but if that’s what you want.”

“You don’tdoromance?”

He grinned then broke away. “Excuse me.”

No one stood close to them on the sidewalk, but a group of people stepped out of a restaurant across the street. He called to them, “Hey.”

A few in the group stopped, uncertain if the crazy asshole intended for them to pay attention.

“This woman…” Liam pointed at Chelsea, who watched, mouth agape. “Is scared—”

“I’m not scared of anything,” she hissed. “And this isn’t romantic.”

“To hold my hand,” he continued, now having the full attention of the group. “And I have no idea how to romance the pants off of her—”

Her face now registered a not-so-subtle shade of fuchsia. “My pants have never been more secure around my waist than they are now.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked with a sideways glance.

“Shakespeare,” a woman across the street shouted.

Liam turned directly to Chelsea. “Shakespeare, it is.”

“You don’t know Shakespeare.”

“I know that I want you to hold my damn hand.”

Chelsea shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what he was doing.

Hell, he couldn’t either. Especially since he didn’t know shit about Shakespeare, other than two punk teenagers killing themselves instead of telling their families to fuck off. There was no need for anyone to be told to screw off, but he could stretch the moral of the story and make a connection to their circumstances.

Liam noticed two women whom he’d spotted at the bagel shop book club, and they were angling to hear Liam’s every word. “Got anything to help me out?”

“Kill me now,” Chelsea muttered.

He winked at her. “Pretty sure that’s not Shakespeare.”

“Probably could’ve been,” one book clubber said.

“How about, ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’” the other woman volunteered.

That was the kind of Shakespeare he was talking about. Liam pictured the acting chops he’d seen at his high school’s rendition of the play and belted, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet—”

But that was all he had. Except for that “Romeo, oh, Romeo” line. That didn’t seem to fit the moment. He raised an eyebrow, and at least Chelsea laughed.

“Enough! Enough!” She rushed over, failing in spectacular fashion to cover his mouth as he decided the best course of action was to repeat the same line. “Liam!”

“What?” He dropped his chin, still holding himself up with a puffed chest and testing his acting chops. “Not romantic enough?”

Her fists knotted in his shirt, and she tugged. “I’m going to kill you when we don’t have witnesses.”

“At least I’ll die with your hands on me.”

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