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“Sit down and I’ll do it for you. At the rate you’re going, you’ll pull out every last strand,” I rasp, barely able to recognize the sound of my own voice.
And that would be a damn shame, because Juliette has gorgeous hair. It’s long and thick.
Have I imagined it wrapped around my hand a time or two?
Guilty.
She turns to meet my eyes. There’s a flicker of surprise in them as I nudge her toward the chair. “Oh. I forgot you were here.”
I shake my head. Typical Juliette response. Any other girl would be falling to her knees and opening her mouth wide.
But not this one.
“I get that a lot.”
With a snort, she meets my gaze in the mirror before settling at the vanity that doubles as a desk. “We both know that’s a lie.”
I arch a brow and gently run the brush from the top of her head to the tips of her dark, silky strands.
After a few strokes, her eyelids feather shut and a soft sigh escapes from her parted lips. “That feels really nice.”
I don’t understand how it’s possible, but I’m more turned on now than before. All I’m doing is brushing this girl’s hair. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, but then again, nothing with Juliette has ever made sense. I came to a place of acceptance regarding that fact a long time ago.
After a couple of silent minutes, she tips her head back, leaning further into my touch.
“This reminds me of when Mom would brush my hair when I was a kid.” Her voice turns wistful. “I miss that.”
“I remember.”
Surprise fills her coffee-colored eyes. “You do?”
“Yeah. Sometimes she’d do it in the kitchen before braiding your hair.”
The way her lips lift into a smile is like a junk punch. I’d do just about anything to have her look at me like that all the damn time.
Silence settles over us again as those disturbing thoughts circle through my head.
When she stifles a yawn, I drag the brush through her thick strands one final time before reluctantly setting it on the vanity.
She blinks back to awareness. “I’m tired.”
“It’s pretty late. You should hit the sack.”
Her hair floats around her shoulders as she beelines to the bed and tosses back the covers before slipping beneath them.
This girl is going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow morning.
I clear my throat. “Do you have some painkillers around here?”
“On the counter in the bathroom,” she says around another yawn.
“All right. I’ll be right back.”
I swing away, disappearing into the small room off the hallway before tapping out two pills and then heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Once I return to the bedroom, I give her the medication and she guzzles down half of the chilled liquid.
After resettling beneath the covers, her gaze locks on mine as her brow furrows. “You’re being weirdly nice.”
It’s like there’s an invisible string stretched taut between us that continues to draw me closer against my will. In a matter of seconds, I find myself at the edge of the mattress, staring down at the pretty picture she makes.
