I could see what he was thinking. That it was cheap. Worthless. And still, he’d brought it back as if he’d somehow known it mattered.
I wrapped my free hand around it and hugged it against my chest. I gave him the most honest answer I could find. “It broke my heart that I might have lost it.”
It was like a palpable, living piece of me.
Something I never should have risked taking off in the first place.
“I’m glad, then.” For the first time, there was something gentle in his eyes.
“I don’t know how to repay you.”
Then that gaze flashed, that cocky, confident arrogance surging to the surface. I was all of a sudden realizing what I’d said, what it almost sounded like I’d implied. I started to stammer, “I-I . . .”
He laughed, letting me off the hook. “That haircut would be nice.”
“Wow, you really can be a jerk, can’t you?” Somehow a tease managed to weave its way into my tone.
My guard wavering.
Not sure if it should stand.
He cocked a brow. “You have no idea.”
“I bet you’re not so bad.” Softness lined the words.
“I’m not a good guy. Don’t make the mistake of believing that.”
There he went again.
Attracting and repelling.
Pushing and pulling.
Warning me at the same second as he was reeling me in.
Hooking me. No hope of release.
I shook it off and gestured toward the sinks on the other side of the pony wall. “Come on over, we’ll get your hair washed.”
He pushed from the chair, so damned tall, so imposing as he followed.
My breaths came shorter and shorter with each step that we took.
The man all around me.
He sat down and leaned his head back against the headrest on the basin.
His striking face too close.
So close.
Carved, chiseled stone.
Jaw sharp.
Eyes deep.
I turned on the faucet and ran my wrist under the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. I took the nozzle and wet his hair, words leaving me on a whisper, “Is the temperature okay?”
“Yes,” he murmured back, watching me. My movements were somehow prolonged as I pumped shampoo onto my hand and began to lather it into his hair.
As if time had been set to slow. As if the world raced around us, whirs and streaks of color and light, while we were there.
Stilled.
My fingers weaving into his soft locks of light-brown hair as if I’d gladly do it all day.
He moaned this low, sexy sound.
While my heart sped and awareness spun.
His nearness overpowering.
A vibration in the air.
A low hum running a circuit through my body.
He watched me with that fierce, unrelenting gaze.
His lips full.
So full.
I gulped and tried to look away, but I felt trapped. Completely consumed by a man whose name I didn’t even know.
I gently rinsed his hair, lathered in conditioner.
His chest rose and fell in measured heaves as he sat completely still and let me touch him.
I’d never, ever had this reaction to a client before.
Never had my job felt erotic.
Never had my mind raced with the idea of letting my hands wander. What it might feel like. Wanting to experience it.
Experience him.
Oh boy, was I letting my thoughts run out ahead of me.
I needed to rein them in. Get it together.
Anything I was feeling was just plain reckless.
I rinsed out the conditioner and wrapped a towel around his head. Trying to get some space between us, I led him back to my station and watched him fold that big body into the chair.
I rubbed the towel against his head, watching him over his shoulder. Those eyes were on me. Tracking every movement.
God, what was happening to me?
But I couldn’t help it, the way my hands shook as I took the scissors and began to snip away at his hair, as my fingers danced through the locks, as I breathed in his breaths as I leaned in close and used the razor to trim around his ears and neck, then used the dryer to blow out his hair.
“There, how’s that?” I asked quietly. They were the first words I’d spoken in all that time.
He ran a big hand over the top of his head, fluffing the pieces and then fingering them back into place. “It’s perfect.”
Redness threatened to bloom. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t exactly shy. But there was something about him that made me feel both timid and bold.
Modest and sexy.
Different.
I dusted off the fine pieces of hair that I’d cut and removed the robe. “There we go. All done.”
He didn’t get up. Instead he was still watching me through that mirror. “I have one more favor to ask.”
I felt the weight of the bracelet on my wrist. “What’s that?”
“Have a drink with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.”
And he could barely see what was visible on the surface.
Unaware of the iceberg hidden in the depths of the murky waters. Lying in wait to drag everything I loved into the deepest abyss, forever lost in the cold, cold vacancy.