For a moment, there was silence. I looked up to find his gaze on me. Steady, intense blue fire studying me.
“I want to see.”
“Pardon?” I whispered, my throat suddenly dry.
His voice was no more than a murmur on the breeze. “Let your hair down. I want to see how it looks.”
I swallowed. “I’ll show you if you let me cut your hair.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Cut my hair?”
He kept fidgeting with his hair, brushing it off his face and lifting it off the back of his neck. A few snips of the scissors would erase that uncomfortable feeling. And if I was honest, I was dying to feel the silky strands under my fingers again.
“I know how. It would save you a trip into Grimsby to find a decent barber. Do you have scissors?”
He drained his glass, pursing his lips in thought. “Fine.” He went over to his truck, digging in the large tool chest. He held up a pair of sharp-looking scissors, still in their case. “Will these do?”
I examined them. “Yep.”
“You’re going to cut my hair, not my neck, right?”
“Unless you’re overly critical.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “I can be pleasant.”
I snorted. “We’ll see. Go wet your hair and bring a chair.”
He hesitated, then nodded, disappearing into the house.
I clasped my hands on my chest. After the argument we had yesterday, I shouldn’t even be here. I should have returned his dog to him and left. But there was a draw between us I was unable to ignore, no matter what I tried. I shook my head in frustration. I wasn’t acting like myself.
What the hell was I doing?
* * *
He reappeared, carrying a yellow-vinyl-covered kitchen chair. His hair was wet, and he had a towel draped over his shoulders and chest.
His bare chest. His sweats hung low on his hips, offering me a tantalizing glimpse of his vee.
I swallowed the last of my lemonade, choking and sputtering. He frowned and came over, awkwardly patting me on the back.
“You okay?”
I nodded, unable to speak. Finally, I managed to clear my throat. “Need a comb.”
He dug into his back pocket and held one out. “Got it.”
He lowered himself into the chair, and I blew out a long breath. His chest and abdomen were a road map of muscles leading down to a trim waist and lean hips. Tight ridges and thick cords rippled under his skin. His biceps flexed as he rubbed his hair.
I circled the chair slowly, pretending to look at his hair but drinking in the sight of him instead. His shoulders were broad, his back muscular. His chest and arms were dusted with hair, but it was light in color. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent outdoors.
He was gorgeous, and my fingers itched to touch him.
I plucked the towel from his hands and rubbed it over his head, then draped it over his shoulders.
“A trim,” he stated firmly. “I don’t want to resemble that description of your brother.”
I ran the comb through his hair, and he grasped my wrist, lifting his head and meeting my eyes.
“I’m trusting you, Little Dragon.”
I could only nod.
For a moment, there was silence. I combed and snipped, being careful to only take a little. Slowly Hunter relaxed, his shoulders losing their stiffness. I hummed as I worked, enjoying the chance to touch him freely, tilting his head to the side, laying a hand on his shoulder as I studied the result, lifting up his chin to make sure the length was equal. He watched me with his intense gaze as I edged closer to work on the top. I nudged his legs, and he opened his knees widely, letting me step between them. I stilled briefly as he rested his hands on my hips. I felt the heat of his touch through the loose linen drape of my pants, but when I glanced down, his eyes were closed.
“Not too short,” he murmured.
“Nope,” was my breathless retort. I cleared my throat. “What did you mean yesterday when you said ‘You’re her’?”
There was a pause before he spoke. “I had heard your name.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
I could tell he wasn’t going to say any more, so I shut up. I really didn’t want to argue with him again. I’d find out eventually.
I concentrated on the task at hand, finally ending up at the crown. “How short do you want the front?”
“Short enough I can look at you clearly,” he rasped. He opened his eyes, his focus powerful. Icy fire burned me. My breath caught in my throat. My hands froze. In one swift move, he wrapped his arm around me, shifted his legs, and lifted me to his lap.
He plucked the scissors from my hand, tossing them to the ground. He spread his hand wide across my back, pulling me close. “Do you have any idea how good you smell?” He groaned. “How I can feel your body move, sense your heat?”