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“It doesn't look like you need a cut yet,” I grumble.
His smile only widens as he agrees with me. “I cut isn't what I'm after.”
I hear the innuendo dripping in his words, and I pause in my shuffle through my combs. When I get my flaming cheeks under control, I finally pull one out and run it through his perfect locks, trying to keep my voice as professional as possible. He closes his eyes as if he's reveling in my touch, and it makes me pause.
“So, just what are you doing here, Jesse?”
His eyes snap open when I say his name, instantly capturing mine in the mirror. We stare at one another, and I try my best not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.
“A shampoo.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You came in just for a shampoo? What, you can’t wash your own hair?”
“I came in to see you,” he says bluntly, “and I'll do whatever it takes to get your hands on me.”
My cheeks flame at his shamelessness. I can’t speak, so I just snap the cloak around him and then lower his head into the sink where I start to run warm water over his head. I'm tempted to turn the water all the way to cold at the twinkling mirth in his eyes, but that would just be mean.
Plus, something tells me he'd probably laugh in my face.
He closes his eyes and moans when my fingers run through his hair. It's a sound that sends wetness pooling between my legs, and I can't help it. I bite my lip as I peek a glance at his face while his eyes are closed. God, the man really is a work of art. It's like when the universe made him, it wanted to make sure he would drive every female on the planet insane.
He's perfectly sculpted, every inch of him. My cheeks flame when his eyes flutter open. He smirks when he catches me looking at him, a smug look on his face that my fingers itch to slap off.
I squirt some shampoo on my hands and then lather up his head. He doesn't close his eyes again. I glance back down at him and see his eyes pinned on my face, causing my cheeks to heat again, especially when his gaze roves leisurely over the column of my throat and down to my slightly plunging neckline.
I angle my torso back to keep from flashing him my cleavage and bra. He smirks at me knowingly.
“You're incorrigible,” I can't help grinding out.
He laughs. “And you're irresistible.”
My lips twitch, but I press them together to keep from smiling. I don’t want to encourage him.
Dammit, why is he doing this? Why is he pushing this when I already told him no? Why is he making me feel all these things I don’t want to feel?
I finish washing and rinsing his hair and then lightly dry it with a towel. I pick up a hairdryer to dry it and style it for him, but he stays my wrist by capturing it gently in his large hand.
“Let me take you to lunch.” His voice is imploring, and when I look into his eyes, they're looking at me so softly and tenderly, it causes my breath to catch.
“I have lunch in the back,” I tell him weakly.
His eyes ignite with something I can't identify before he suggests huskily, “Well then, let me have lunch here with you. Hell, I don't even care about eating, Cindy. I just want to talk to you. Is that so much to ask?”
I hesitate, and he takes full advantage of it, hopping up out of the chair and taking my hand. He pulls me to the back of the salon like he already knows where everything's at.
I'm so stunned I let him pull me along until we're in the little kitchenette. He walks over to the fridge and pulls out my salad. How does he already know which one is mine?
Before I get a chance to ask him, he pops the top off of it and pours the little cup of dressing on it.
He forks a bite out and holds it up to me.
I stare at him incredulously. “You're not serious.”
He is.
“You need to eat. I'm just helping you out.”
I try to take the fork from him. “I can feed myself, Jesse.”
