“Dr. Jacobs! What are you doing here?”
He winced at the formality, just as he did every time she addressed him that way. Would he ever get used to being Dr. Jacobs to her? He arched an eyebrow as he closed the distance between them, until he was standing only a foot or so in front of her.
“I could ask you the same.”
She smiled, all plush lips and sparkling eyes.Fuck.She was so unfairly beautiful. She held up the book in her hand, her finger marking her place. “Just reading while I wait.”
“Macbeth,” he read from the upheld cover. “Is there anywhere you don’t bring a book?” he teased. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Min laughed and the sound sent goosebumps over his skin. “What can I say? I’m a nerd.”
He lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned just a little too close to her to be entirely professional. “All the best people are,” he said with a wink.
Min met his eyes and smiled shyly and – God help him – his entire body responded. He shifted on his feet in the hopes that she wouldn’t notice the way the front of his pants was stretching too tightly all of a sudden.
“Heavy reading for a Friday night. What part are you on?”
“Is this a dagger which I see before me,” she recited.
“Great scene,” he said as he sank down onto the wall beside her. “I saw Patrick Stewart in the title role in London. He –“
“I heard that was an incredible production!” she interjected, turning so she was facing him, one leg tucked up underneath her. “Set in the Soviet era, right?”
“Yes.” He was smiling again. After weeks of avoiding being alone with her, he’d almost forgotten how easy she was to talk to, how much they had in common. “That scene in particular was just masterful. He really made you believe he saw that dagger.”
“I didn’t know you were a Shakespeare fan,” she said, playfully nudging his thigh with her knee.
He let his legs spread, pressing his thigh back against her knee, unwilling to lose the contact now that he’d had it.Careful…
“I must admit,Macbethis not my favorite.”
“Oh? No light regicide for you?” she teased through her smile.
He chuckled. “No, I’m a much bigger fan ofOthello.”
She frowned. “Really? The one where a man is driven mad by unfounded jealousy and murders his wife?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” he laughed. “It’s not about theviolence, Ms. Taylor.”
“Please stop with theMs. Taylorthing,” she groaned.
Liam ran his fingers through his hair. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it felt dangerous to drop the formality, even though he longed for her to do the same. He searched her eyes, knowing he should look away. Knowing he shouldn’t be learning the streaks of cobalt and navy that painted her irises. He most definitely should not be thinking of the way her pupils dilated when he brushed the back of his hand against her knee.
“Okay, Min,” he conceded.
“Thank you.”
She smiled. He would do damn near anything to make her smile. A completely inappropriate satisfaction bloomed in his chest, as if by calling her the name he had given her, the one only he used, he had somehow claimed her, made her a little more his. Even though she shouldn’t be – couldn’t be – his at all.
The silence stretched on, both of them grinning like idiots and neither one willing to look away. Liam could swear that while he was memorizing her eyes, she was memorizing his.
Finally, Min lowered her gaze. “So, what is it aboutOthellothen?” she asked, returning them to safer territory.
“It’s less about the play and more about the opera. It’s one of Verdi’s best.”
“I don’t know it.”
“We’ll have to fix that,” he tsked. “Here.” He picked up the pen Min had been using to inscribe notes in the margins of her book and took her hand in his, turning her palm up and writing across her skin in neat letters.
