“Too long to remember. Never a woman, though.”
I stop, hands dropping back to his shoulders. “Wait, what? You’ve never had your hair cut by a woman before?”
“No, ma’am… I mean, Eliza.” The carefully spoken name wrecks me all over again.
“Well, I hope I do okay in that case. Represent the fairer sex well.”
“You’re already doing too good,” he admits, voice softer than I’ve heard since his arrival.
The fan whirs from the window, the screens straining and curtains swooshing. I work in silence, the only sound the metallic snip-snip of the scissors and his soft groans.
They make my knees weak, like two columns of jelly. “Next, the beard. I’ll try not to… uh, touch you.”
He nods softly as my fingers thread into his facial hair. I lean forward, biting my lip in concentration. Inches fall until the growth is tight and trim. It takes a good two decades off his look.
He could pass for late twenties if I didn’t know better. Though what I know is up for debate.
I step back, eyeing the finished product. Stunning. Masculine. Still rugged but cared for.
Our eyes lock, and I can’t think. Can’t breathe.
My hands tremble as his gaze digs into me. Penetrating.
I set the scissors on the table, sliding behind him once more. My hands grip his shoulders, squeezing one more time.
He melts against my touch.
“You’re a new man.” I’m surprised my voice even works.
My nerves spike, pulse climbing. My fingers slip, grazing his neck.
Heat and need surge. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
And then I feel it. A pulse rocks through him. Dark and dangerous.
He jumps to his feet so fast that he jerks my arms with him. “Don’t.” He eyes me wildly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
He paces away, then turns, scowling. “No more…touching.” Barely contained anger simmers beneath his voice.
My stomach drops, absorbing his rejection. He must hate me. Find me disgusting.
He rubs a hand over his beard absentmindedly. “Done show ponying me, Wakefield?”
He says the last part with extra emphasis. But there’s a heat behind his eyes that looks like regret.
Chapter
Nine
KAEL
“One week in, and the woman’s already got me figured out,” I complain into the cell phone.
Mags laughs in that way that says she’s already planning. Seeing into futures that aren’t there. That will never be.
“Bacon and eggs over easy for breakfast. Coffee, black—strong enough to polish shoes. Chili, ribs, cornbread fresh from the oven.”
