Page 60 of The Savior

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Liam waited for the daytime bartender to find his credit card and close him out, but the minutes ticked by. He wanted to hurry. A strange sensation pressed on his chest when they split outside the gym.

Nerves would’ve been the easiest description. Telling Chelsea that he was to blame for Julia’s death would be a harsh blow. His fingers drummed on the bar top. He was drawn to the electric hum that flowed with Chelsea. But would that change when he confirmed what had always been his worst fear?

Finally, his card appeared, and he quickly added a generous tip as an offer of apology for not cashing out the evening before, then he hustled to his Explorer.

As he fumbled the keys into the ignition, he noticed his hurry, and he dropped his head against the seat. “What are you doing?”

Nothing.They’d done absolutely nothing because he wasn’t jackass enough to rebound into the world of women by wanting to fuck Julia’s best friend.

If more than a year had gone by, did that make Chelsea a rebound?

He turned the key, wanting regret to wreck him, but it never came.

Liam blew out his cheeks then secured his seatbelt and ignored his newfound attraction. He needed her help and had to concentrate if he wanted to tiptoe around a conversation with her that Sorenson said he wasn’t allowed to have.

The drive to the condominium parking lot was short. He skipped stairs as he summited the second floor and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, and after a short wait, heard her call through the door, “One second.”

Finally, the knob twisted, and Chelsea threw the door open. “Hey. Give me a second to finish changing.”

Wet hair draped over her shoulders. She’d changed into jeans and an extra-large T-shirt. Her breasts swayed under the soft fabric, and all he could think wasbraless.

“Sure thing.” He signaled that he’d be on the couch because if he said anything else, who knew how it would sound.

Liam settled in the living room but couldn’t ignore a mental replay of her nipples pressing into the shirt. She could hide behind baggy clothing, but nothing she did could stop his imagination.

Would her breasts feel firm? Do her nipples match the deep pink of her lips?He repositioned on the couch, giving in to one last wonder of how Chelsea might sound.What makes her hum? How would she sigh?

“If you need anything from the kitchen,” she called, “just grab it.”

He exhaled, feeling the tightness course his body, and pushed a hand across his face. “Yeah, will do.”

But he wasn’t about to stand and put his arousal on display. Again, Liam repositioned, grabbing the closest magazine from the coffee table, and tried to kick back as though he gave a damn what the page he turned to said.

Chelsea returned. She wore a new shirt, bra clearly in place, and a flowing sweater that dangled to her thighs. He noted, without meaning to, how it failed to hide her curves.

“You need help.” She sat on a chair adjacent to the couch and perched her bare feet on the edge.

Yeah, he sure as hell did, but he stared blankly.

Her arms wrapped around her shins, and she hugged her legs. “At work?”

At work…“Right.” Damn, he needed to focus. But there she was, shower fresh, and he probably stank like the gym and had an erection to hide.

She bounced up and angled her chair, then wrapped herself into a ball again.

“Do I smell bad or something?” He turned his head from side to side, smelling his armpits and nervously laughing.

“No!”

“You backed away,” he pointed out.

“No,” she insisted. “I thought… maybe you wanted space.”

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