He coughed, choking on his own drink.“Jesus.Natalie.”
“What?”she asked, all innocence, trying to ignore how much she liked his reaction.
That earned her an eye roll and a little head shake, and her mood picked up.Four years ago, he’d been—or tried to be—a walking statue, giving away nothing.Now, his responses were as conspicuous as a neon sign.
To her right, Henri hid a tiny smile behind his mug of tea.
Ford sighed, but it smacked of exaggeration rather than exasperation.Was she growing on him?
A girl could dream.
“Yes.If you let me have my way with you,” he said, holding eye contact, “I’ll help you get in touch with your friend.”
Oh, my.She knew he was only playing her game, but her body shivered in anticipation all the same.She beamed at him.“Do your worst.”
He gave her a stern look that made her belly flutter.How did men just get hotter as they got older?“If at any time, I judge that we can’t make a secure connection—or that it’s unsafe in any way—you will cease your efforts without argument.Clear?”
Cease your efforts?Who talked like that?“You sound like a stuffy old lawyer.”Half of her wanted to glare at him for being so pedantic, and the other half wanted to slide into his lap and kiss the words right out of his mouth.Instead, she huffed.“Yes,Dad.All clear.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if summoning patience, and she rolled her lips between her teeth to keep her smile at bay.
Deep down, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she knew he was just being careful.Watching out for her and Henri.It wasn’t that she didn’t plan to be cautious, she just chafed at being told things she already knew.But it was entirely her fault that he didn’t realize how accustomed she was to communicating securely online and watching her own back.And she couldn’t tell him.Not unless he had a need to know.Right now, he didn’t.
“So, what’d you have in mind?”she asked, finishing the last bite of her baguette with jam.
Which was how she found herself in the bathroom at nine a.m.with a towel around her neck, as Ford snipped and trimmed her wet curls.She closed her eyes and tried not to moan at the feel of his fingers combing across her scalp.He could give her a buzz cut, for all she cared, as long as he didn’t stop touching her.
“Where did you learn to cut hair?”she asked, trying to stay grounded.
His low chuckle hit her right in the chest.“Nowhere.The only other time I’ve done this is when I was five and gave Amber—my sister—bangs.Very uneven ones.”
Nat’s eyes snapped open, partly out of horror that he’d never done this before, but also shocked that he was sharing.“Oh, no.I’ll bet your parents were pissed.”She watched him in the mirror, greedy for every expression, every word.
“Mom was livid,” he said, smiling to himself.“Mainly because it was Amber’s first haircut, and she considered that a milestone.She’d had the event all planned out in her mind, and the hipster short bangs my sister ended up with were definitely not what she wanted for her baby’s first hair style.”
Natalie laughed, devouring every morsel of his life he deigned to share.“That’s practically a rite of passage for a kid.I did the same thing to my brother when I was seven.Had to miss my best friend’s birthday party.”At the time it had felt like a fate worse than death.“Did you get in trouble?”
His smile faded, and his hands stopped moving, resting lightly at the base of her neck.“Yeah.I confessed, and Connor did too, even though he only watched me do it.We both lost TV and Game Boy privileges for a week.”
She wanted to smile at the image of him as a little boy, happily—maybe even proudly—clipping his sister’s hair, but his mood had shifted.“Connor’s your brother?”
Ford glanced at her then, seeming to shake himself out of his reverie as he straightened and refocused on her hair.The Stolid Ford mask slipped back into place as he said, “He was my twin.He died when we were twenty-six.”
“Oh.”Oh, God.“I’m so sorry.”Words were inadequate, but what else could she offer?
Ford’s jaw tightened, and he tugged gently on her tresses, clipping crisply at her neckline.“Me too.”
Shit.He hadn’t just lost a brother, but atwin.And only a couple years before he started working as her bodyguard.No wonder he’d been so serious.She’d been desperate to make him smile—or show any kind of emotion—and had only succeeded in making his life worse.
Her throat tightened.
But it wasn’t good to wallow in grief.Or to wall off your emotions, even though she was an expert at it.And when it came to the people she loved who’d died, shewantedto talk about them, even if it made her sad.Not talking about them—forgetting about them—would be worse.“What was he like?”
Ford’s lips pressed flat, but he answered.“We were identical twins.”Snip.Snip.
“Wow.”Two of him in the same room would be overwhelming.“But that’s just your genes.You didn’t have the same brain.”
“Sometimes it felt like we did.”He scowled and gave a particularly vicioussnip.Her hair might not survive this conversation, but it would be worth it.“Like we shared a brain, but I got the more introspective half, while Con got the action half.My parents called him ‘Bulldozer’ because he ran headfirst into every situation, went after whatever he wanted, and he was very physical.He knocked things off tables and climbed the furniture.We were both athletic, but he was more…aggressive, more inclined to jump without looking.”
