“Okay,” he murmured. “After dinner. You can give me a makeover. But go easy on me.”
A tremor went through my hands. Hell. So we were doing this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Keira
After dinnerand cleaning up the kitchen, Dean went upstairs for another shower. I tried really hard not to imagine him naked under the spray of the water. But it was way too easy to picture, since I already knew what he looked like naked and all.
I’d taken a shower right after we came in from training, so I paced around in my bedroom, waiting for him. Maybe he’d change his mind and decide we shouldn’t do this after all.
But no. Dean appeared a few minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and no shirt, a towel draped over his shoulders collecting the water droplets from his damp hair. My heart stuttered.
My gaze was desperate to drop to that hollow between his pecs, like it always did when I was watching him run the obstacle course. But I managed to refrain.
“Brought these.” He sheepishly held up some scissors, a cordless clipper, and a comb. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“We’ll work it out,” I said, portraying a confidence I definitely didn’t feel. “Come into my studio.”
I’d set up a dining chair in front of the dresser, which had a mirror. I’d also laid out a painting drop cloth underneath.
Dean sat down, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. The rifle round on his necklace sat between his collarbones. He never took that thing off.
I adjusted the towel, spreading his hair out. Then carefully combed through, pulling it back from his face. The strands were slippery.
Dean made this low sound in his chest, almost a grunt, but it didn’t sound like he was in pain. His eyelids had gone half-mast.
This was the best excuse I’d had in a while to touch him. Dean and I had spent just about every day together since I’d moved in, but it wasn’t likethis. My hands on him and his heavy eyes on me in the mirror.
Focus, I told myself. This isn’t a thing. Just cut the man’s hair. The silky, damp hair that was now tangled in my fingers and leaving my skin wet…
Ungh.
Grabbing the scissors, I gathered the length of Dean’s hair into a ponytail and cut it. “There goes a bunch of it. No going back.”
He smiled in the mirror. “I don’t want to.”
The strands were above his chin now. “How short do you want it? A fade on the sides, longer on top?”
“That works. But I think it should be drier before we use the clippers, right?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I thought you didn’t know how to do this.”
“I’ve given myself trims. I like having your help though. If you still want to do it.”
“I do.” I shrugged. “You do a lot for me, after all. Letting me live here. Spending months on this mission with me.”
“I like doing things for you, Keira.”
Why was it suddenly so warm in this room?
My chest was tight as I dried his hair with the towel.
I grabbed the clipper next and switched it on. Moving the clipper upward, following the contours of his head, I managed to get lost in what I was doing.
Finally, after trimming the longer layers on top, I said, “What do you think?”
He was looking at me instead of his hair. “Best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”
