Page 40 of The Savior

This is going to be so ugly.After another ridiculous hair toss to set his expectations, she aimed and pegged the dart toward her goal.

Crash and burn.The little thing didn’t even hit the board.

“Would you like some help?”

Of courseshe would. But instead, she pointed the next dart at him. “I already watchedthe master.” Then with more flourish than she meant, Chelsea turned toward the dartboard, ignoring how the bar room tilted, and made a plan.Focus on more oomph and forward trajectory.That had to be the meal ticket. She threw the dart.

Again, crash and burn. Chelsea blew out a strong breath, exasperated. Liam howled.

She wagged the hand that held the remaining darts, stepping closer. “Who knew you were such a bully?”

“Who knew”—he disarmed her and held the darts away from her—“you didn’t do everything perfect the first time.”

Perfect? Ha!“You don’t know me.”

“I’m learning.” His fingers drifted along her lower back, then he gripped her side and redirected her back to the line.

Her stilted steps suddenly seemed sober and robotic. She wasn’t used to his touch—not that there was anything inappropriate about Liam’s friendliness.

Shewas what was wrong.

Or the bourbon could be blamed.

Something, somehow, made his fingertips mark the very spots that he’d touched, and she hated how wonderful it had felt.

As directed, she stood on the line, stiff and certain that the ability to hear her own heart palpitations meant that she needed to go home. But she didn’t want to.

“First…” Liam stepped behind her, placing his hands on her hips. “Loosen up. You’re snapping like a trap.”

Her mouth dried. An overwhelming urge to flee gripped her thoughts, but her feet cemented themselves on the line.

“Take this foot.” He moved to her side and tapped her right thigh. “And put it forward and turn a little.”

An ocean of awareness crashed through her, and she blindly tried to follow directions and breathe simultaneously.

“Good, good. But lean your weight onto it.” Liam pressed on the small of her back. “Perfect. Just like that.”

“Okay,” she said so quietly he couldn’t have heard. Blood rushed in her ears, and confusion stole her focus.

“Your left leg will keep you balanced.” He moved in front of her, and his piercing green eyes made her heart leap. “Make sense?”

Chelsea needed to leave. He remained in place far too long then gave an uneasy nod and moved behind the line—behindher—close enough that she smelled the scent of soap she’d noticed earlier.

Liam slipped a dart into her hand and lifted her arm. As he drew back, his fingers breezed along her exposed skin until her shirtsleeve offered protection. Then he corrected her grip. His torso pressed against her back. “Real loose. Like that. Keep the dart’s nose up, and… aim.”

“Aiming.” Her voice sounded distant and scratchy, and cold electricity shivered down her back when he stepped away, leaving her cocked and ready.

“Fire at will.”

She threw the dart, and after it launched, squeezed her eyes shut more for the need to compose herself than to worry about the shot.

“Beautiful.”

Chelsea opened her eyes. The dart hung on the lower left outer ring of the board. Her jaw fell, and shock cleared every other worry away. Throwing her arms out, she gave a celebratory cheer. “Yes!”

He clapped slowly, boasting a proud smile. “You did it.”

“I did!” She twirled, spinning too close to his chest, and his arm caught her side.

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