Page 57 of The Savior

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Chelsea did a double take, in absolute agreement. She could have sworn Liam’s green eyes darkened. But she played it safe, as though she hadn’t heard what he said.

Because he was right. Nothing made sense any more, and if they weren’t careful, they’d misstep.

Faux naivete was pointless. His jaw flexed, and time passed slowly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

What a question…She gulped. “Nothing. I just thought a workout would help with my frustration.”

“Did it?”

She didn’t want to answer because she didn’t know.

“Chelsea.” His tone gave no indication what would come after the lingering, lazy way he said her name. “There are more constructive ways to let go of frustration.”

Heaven help her. A thousand unacceptable ways came to mind. Sparks and shivers exploded across her skin. But, she couldn’t look away.

“Now are you done?” The woman from before broke their trance.

Relieved and annoyed, Chelsea shook free from the daze. “One more set.”

Because, if she didn’t burn off herfrustration, she’d combust.

Chelsea jumped for the bar, finding the right position for her hands. It wasn’t easy, and, shifting weight from one hand to the other, her sore fingers lamented that her grip was as good as it would get. Then she pulled herself up.

“One.” She could feel his stare as surely as she felt the skin burning on her palms.

“Well, hell.” Liam jumped for the bar next to her. “If this is how it’s going to go…”

He pulled up, and she eased down, repositioning her hands again. Her arms ached. Her shoulders hurt, too, and tomorrow she’d feel it, but right now, she refused to drop and continue their conversation, which teetered on the edge of admitting interest.

Liam lowered. “I could think of better ways than this.”

What the double marshmallows does he mean by that?She growled and pulled herself up, gritting her teeth over the bar. “Then go hit the heavy bag.”

He pulled up, and she trembled, holding the position. Then with ease, he lowered again. She did so without the fluid dynamic.

Again, Chelsea had to readjust her grip. Her arms and hands were tiring exponentially faster than her last sets. She wouldn’t be able to continue at this pace.

He moved up and down again, and his casualness suddenly struck a competitive nerve in her. She hated to lose—not that they were in a competition. But maybe they were. She pulled upagain.

Their pull-up seesaw moved in tandem until she stopped, unable to lift herself one more time. Sweat tickled her upper lip and slid between her breasts. Then she dropped, pins and needles pricking her fingers. Too tired to shake out her arms, she muttered, “I hate to lose.”

His shoes slapped on the mat when he came down. “I didn’t realize this was a competition.”

The pins in her palms transitioned into a burning sensation, but she was finally able to feel blood coursing in her arms. Chelsea shook them out then stretched.

“Are you ready to talk?” He stretched as she did.

Oh, heck no! About this? Us? Last night? Or does he have some magical way of reading my mind, where he saw his naked butt all but dancing on display?“Nope.”

“Should’ve guessed.”

Without a strong rebuttal, Chelsea spun away, retrieved the sanitizing spray bottle, and wiped down the bar. He didn’t say a word when she decided a second cleaning might be in order, and Liam took the bottle and towel from her hands and cleaned his bar with far less diligence, then returned the bottle and tossed the towel.

Running away was the only possible answer for their situation, but she had nowhere to go.

---