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Chapter Eighteen
Takingthescissorsto Bron’s face would have been much more satisfying if I wasn’t just cutting off his beard. As a punishment for teasing them both about needing to shave for the first time in years, they’d ganged up on me and teased me back, but with their hands in their mouths. I was sulking, and Bron’s silent amusement was making me feel stabby. It didn’t help that I wanted to hump his leg.
“You already did this for the boy?” he asked as I worked at hacking off his beard so he could shave.
“I did.”
“What does he look like?” His gaze on me was too intense.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I haven’t seen him without a beard since he was about twenty. He must look like such a puppy.” He chuckled, but there was no cruelty in it.
“He shooed me out before he shaved, so your guess is as good as mine. He still had a lot of stubble when I left.”
“You don’t approve?”
Had he really picked that up from my nonverbals? “I don’t know yet.”
“But you have your doubts.”
“I have no doubt the two of you will be attractive without the beards, but I’m used to them, so you’re going to feel like strangers. Besides, your beards are sexy.”
“You could go fetch a bag to keep mine as a trophy.”
“I’ll pass, but thanks for your generous offer.” I fought down a giggle at the idea of keeping his beard in a Tupperware container like a little coffin. Maybe I could superglue his beard back on when he was sleeping.
“So, you say you have feelings for me—for us—but they don’t extend as far as you keeping mementos or thinking romantic thoughts?” His lips flattened in a disapproving line, and he shook his head. “If you really cared about us and wanted to prove how Russian you were becoming, you would need to write our beards some sad poetry.”
“When it comes to you and Ilya, I’m pretty sure I’m the beard.” I smirked and snipped off more hair. His brows rose in question. Of course, he didn’t get the reference. I considered explaining it to him but thought better of it. If he still considered himself straight, he wouldn’t welcome jokes about them using me as a disguise for their relationship.
He waited patiently for me to be done. There was something satisfying about taking care of them this way.
“What about your hair?”
He ran his fingers through it, pushing it out of his face. “Should we cut our hair, too?” He shrugged. “We won’t have time to go to a barber, but we could cut it ourselves.”
“Do you have a pair of clippers here?”
“Of course. How do you think we shear the sheep?”
I choked out a laugh. “I don’t know how to use those kinds of shears. I used to cut my brothers’ hair back home, so I can do a decent job of it if you want me to try. I just can’t do anything fancy.”
“You know everything about cooking and getting out stains. You don’t complain about crawling around in the dirt planting seeds or helping with the animals. Now you tell me you know how to cut hair? Is there anything you can’t do, woman?”
“I haven’t learned how to use an axe.”
“We can show you that if you really want to learn, but with two strong men here, why would you ever need to?”
“Maybe to fight off the wolves?”
“The only wolves here walk around on two legs.”
“That was you and Ilya making those sounds when you were chasing me through the woods?”
“Most men have a beast lurking not far underneath the skin. You, of all women, should know that by now.”
I shuddered, trying not to think of all the men who’d chosen to give in to their inner beasts rather than being civil to me. For some reason, it wasn’t the same with Bron and Ilya. They were honest about what they wanted and what they planned to do to me. There was no trickery. No subterfuge. If they hid anything from me, it was usually because they were hiding it from themselves first.
When I’d finished and put down the scissors, he handed them back to me and pulled the leather thong from his hair, letting it fall free.
“Are you sure?”
“You’re right. I don’t think men wear their hair long anymore, considering what I saw in Saint Petersburg. I need to blend in with the other men who work for Ilya’s father.”
“You don’t want it cut down to almost nothing?” I said, aghast.
“I do.”
I grimaced, wishing I had clippers but not willing to ask them to bring the ones for sheep shearing up to the house.
I ran my hand through his long, silky mane. Why did men always have the best hair?
“It feels like a crime to cut it.”
“Maybe I will grow it back.”
“But I won’t be around to see it.”
