Liam looked down at the way Reagan was touching his hand. He knew it was just being raised with American culture that that finger felt so electric when Reagan touched it. It was just his imagination that it felt as if sparks were flying in his chest at the very suggestion of a ring, even a painted one (especially a painted one in Reagan's case), on that finger. It was like the perfect little game of house, but not a game at all.
Taking Reagan's hand, he splayed out the fingers and kissed his palm. "Where are your paintbrushes when you need them?" he laughed a little.
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