Page 47 of The Savior

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chelsea’s fruit-and-yogurt smoothie would have to wait.Or does it?She paced the kitchen, itching to flip the switch on her blender. But waking a sometimes-snoring Liam up with the high-pitched whirl of her smoothie maker wouldn’t be the nicest move.

Then again, she wasn’t sure how long he planned to sprawl on her couch. Maybe a guy like him needed an alarm clock like a blender because trouncing around her condo hadn’t made him stir.

She leaned against the fridge. Pacing a small circle hadn’t done wonders for the slight hangover she’d woken up to, and honestly, she dreaded flipping the switch, as it would make her temples pulse.

But a smoothie addiction was a smoothie addiction, so she called out, “Liam? Wake up!”

The guy didn’t even stir.

She peeked around the corner then yanked back to the safe confines of her kitchen. He was still in the same state that she’d seen him in on the couch—sans shirt, with one bare leg dangling free from the protection of a blanket.

His long legs had muscles that still seemed thick with strength even while he slept. Jeez Louise, a quick look at her couch was more of a jolt than she could’ve manufactured with a protein-packed, vitamin-C-boosted smoothie.

“Wake up,” she called again.

He snored.

Maybe she needed to abandon him there, get a smoothie across the street, and hope to the heavens that, when he woke, he said something likePass the Peptoand notPlease don’t use me like a jungle gym again.

If he were wearing a shirt, it would be easier to wake him, and she became aware that if the previous day hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t have cared if he were shirtless. A little bit of clothing, or total lack thereof, wouldn’t have stopped her. Nothing ever did—except, apparently, a shirtless Liam who showed a little bit of leg.

A warm flush curled up her back.

Her phone rang, and since she didn’t recognize the number, she let it ring without sending it to her full voicemail box on the minuscule chance he’d react to the phone call.

Which he didn’t.

Chelsea pushed from the wall, annoyed in a hundred ways, and made the noisiest steps she could muster. He snored and turned over.

She cleared her throat.

Another snore.

Gritting her teeth, Chelsea changed her stomps to tiptoe steps, acutely aware that there were only six feet between her and his naked chest. If he didn’t wake up soon, she’d have to chuck kitchen goods at him. No one wanted to wake up with a whisk smacking their face.

“Liam!”

He shot up. “What—?” Then he scowled. “Damn, Sunshine.”

“I thought I’d have to throw something at you.”

“Huh?” Confusion creased his forehead. “Why are you yelling?”

What was she supposed to do? Shake his broad, bare shoulder? “You don’t have a shirt on.” Or pants. But that seemed incredibly awkward to point out.

The blanket covered his mid-section as Liam swung his legs off the couch and buried his head in his hands. “You didn’t yell last year when I passed out on the beach.”

“Two years ago.” And that didn’t matter after the previous night with its semi-flirting and weird connection.Or has he forgotten?Hope surged. “Not the same. Never mind.”

His grouchy expression broke, and he dropped his head back against the cushion, seemingly amused as she gawked. “Do you have coffee?”

“I wanted to make a smoothie.”

“There’s a rule against both?”

She turned and headed for the kitchen, refusing to react when she heard the quiet pad of his footsteps behind her. She reached into the freezer for the waiting scoop of ice cubes. After she’d dumped the ice cubes in the blender and turned it on, she stared at the wall, scared to find out if he’d put a shirt and pants on.

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