She touched the seat-adjuster button and reclined all the way back again. She felt very vulnerable, but also . . . excited for some damn reason.
Seth unbuckled his seat belt. Her breath caught when he reached over and did the same to hers, his actions brisk and matter-of-fact.
“I’m just going to retouch your face first,” he explained, reaching into the backseat and extracting a small black bag. He must have packed it for roadside purposes with supplies specifically for her disguise. The first thing he did was exchange his sunglasses for the blue-tinted ones. When he’d done her makeup earlier in the back of the salon, it had come back to her in a rush that she’d seen them resting on his head that night two years ago. He seemed to only wear the unusual—not to mention very sexy glasses—for makeup applications.
He brushed her cheek with a soft brush, his expression intent and focused. It felt different in this position than it had while she’d been sitting in the swivel chair in the back of Karen’s salon. This time was far more intimate, inside the confines of an automobile and lying back. Seth peered down at her as he worked, his mouth set in a hard, stern line, although his lips were as shapely and sensual looking as always. She recalled vividly how he’d consumed her with utter confidence and skill.
He’d done everything with a bone-deep sense of mastery. He’d been completely in control during lovemaking, but his dominance hadn’t offended her, only excited.
A moment later, he leaned closer and dragged a cool, damp brush against her sensitive lower lip, back and forth, back and forth. Her clit tickled in awareness. Against her will, she had a graphic image pop into her head of him using the brushes, which he wielded so deftly, on her sex.
She focused on his face, startled at the uncalled for, potently erotic fantasy. His dark brows slanted. He lowered the brush. Her muscles tensed in anticipation, suspecting what was coming next because he’d done it during her original application, much to her unsettlement.
He gently cupped her jaw with his big hand, loosely covering her lower face. There was a smooth onyx stone on that silver ring, not on the top, as most decorative stones would be worn, but beneath the band on the palm side. He used it now with mind-blowing, subtle precision to smooth the makeup on her lips. She held her breath, the ache at her core mounting. He met her stare.
She only took a ragged lungful of air when he leaned back, wiped off the stone and his hands with a moist towelette, and put away his brushes. Then he was turning back to her.
“We have to get you back in now,” he said gruffly. She was barely able to nod. Had she done something terrible in another lifetime that she was being forced to endure such torture now?
He lifted her T-shirt several inches and slid a hand beneath it, then paused, the slight pressure of his touch on her belly making her muscles go tighter in amplified awareness.
“Relax,” he said quietly, leaning closer across the console. “I’ve seen breasts before.”
I’ve seen yours, many times.
Her gaze zoomed to meet his stare. He hadn’t said it out loud, but it’d felt like he did. She saw the slight tilt of his mouth. His fingers found the zipper. Gia stared down at his large, dark hands moving on the white fabric of the binder, speechless.
“I think I can do the whole procedure under your T-shirt, if that’ll make you feel better.”
“What a skill to possess,” she managed dubiously.
He chuckled. “Every high school boy learns how to maneuver under the clothes. We haven’t talked about who you are yet,” he said, pulling on the zipper. It inched up above her belly button.
“Who I am?” she squeaked, surprised by his turn of the topic during such a delicate maneuver. Had he said it to distract her from what he was doing under her shirt? He paused and stared into her face. She’d absorbed his scent repeatedly when he’d applied her makeup this morning and done her hair application: clean, spicy, male. It had alarmed her, her body’s reaction to that scent. He leaned closer, and she had no choice but to inhale him even more deeply.
“Yeah. Your character. Makeup artists come up with characters and backstories to flesh out a makeup, just like an actress might do for a role in a script. We have to come up with a story for why we’re together and traveling across the country. Here’s what I have so far. You’re from San Diego. You’re my nephew, my brother Jake’s son. Jake is the manager of the European Formula One racing team. He’s a wanderer who has about as much conscience—and control—as a jackrabbit hepped up on testosterone. I always wondered over the fact that he didn’t have at least a half dozen children popping out of the woodwork. You were supposed to start at UCLA this fall, but instead you decided to postpone college for a semester while you discover yourself. You badgered your mother until she finally told you Jake’s name. In a fit of teenage rebellion against your mom—you have those a lot—you traced Jake to the reservation in New Mexico. My relations told you his whereabouts, in addition to mine. Since Jake is in Europe, and almost impossible to track down, you came and found me for the time being. We decided to take a little vacation together to get to know each other. You haven’t traveled much, and you always wanted to see the country, so we decided on a road trip.”
“Do I love Jack Kerouac?” she asked in an amused, choked voice.
He pulled up on the zipper and frowned. “Sure. And surfing. Adjust your breasts.” She was so caught up in his little story, she didn’t register his meaning at first.
Coming to herself, she shoved both her hands beneath the T-shirt, Seth’s buried forearm between them. She grunted softly, struggling to cram her breasts more securely into the shaper while Seth hovered over her. How ludicrous could this situation be? “We are maligning Joy’s father with this story, right? That’s who you mean?” she asked in a stifled voice, wanting to keep things straight in her mind. “You want me to be Joy’s sister?”
“Her brother,” he said succinctly. She looked into his face, startled. He grinned, white teeth flashing against swarthy skin, at the same moment she laughed.
“Don’t laugh. It’s no joke,” he instructed with amused exacerbation, forcing the zipper up beneath her breasts with brute strength. “I’m proud of your makeup. You’re a damn good-looking boy.”
&
nbsp; That definitely didn’t help quiet her giggles. Her jags of laughter certainly weren’t helping Seth bind her breasts.
“It’s no good, I have to lift the shirt. I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. He flipped the edge of the T-shirt up beneath her chin. Cool air-conditioned air flickered across the exposed skin in the V of the binder. Seth’s stare landed on her chest and stuck. Her mirth evaporated as quick as it had come. It took her a moment to realize his had as well.
“Exhale all the breath from your lungs,” he said unsmilingly. His knuckles brushed against the exposed swells of her breasts as he firmed his hold on the zipper. The unintentional caress made her lungs collapse as surely as anything else could. Seth jerked the zipper up to just beneath her collarbone. Any remaining air was expelled from her lungs.
“Mission accomplished,” she gasped.
“That’s one way of putting it,” he replied grimly before he turned toward his door and popped it open.