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Where the fuck are they?
“Jaime.” Her hand landed in the middle of his back, and when he looked up at her, her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God. What have you done?” She laughed. “I almost didn’t recognize you. I mean, you were hot with all that facial hair, but without it?” She made a gimme motion. “Come to Mama.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He moved to the next drawer. No luck. He slammed it shut.
“What’re you looking for?”
“Scissors.”
“Over here.” She gestured to the knife block. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her scent triggered his libido, her voice catapulted him back to her bed—their bodies grinding, hands caressing—and her nearness cranked his need for her. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”
She’d decided she was a one-woman show in the kitchen, leaving the boys to load her van and work long hours in the truck. She didn’t have time to be involved in his grooming issues.
He crossed the kitchen and pulled them out. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She went back to piping cream. “Well, if you need help cutting the tag off your jammies, let me know.”
It made him aware of his pajama bottoms and T-shirt. “What do you mean?”
“I can only assume you’re having a sewing emergency.” She glanced at the clock. “At four-thirty in the morning.”
“No. I need a trim.”
“Okay, so, there’s a predawnhairemergency?”
Lowering his head, he cursed himself for being such an asshole. He chuckled. “Yeah. That’s it.”
She plucked the scissors out of his hands. “Unless you’re cutting the fat off raw chicken, you might want to use the ones actually designed for hair. Come here.” She led him into the laundry room.
It was a huge space. In addition to the industrial-sized washer and dryer, he’d asked the contractor for a large folding table, built-in hampers for colors, whites, and delicates, and closet space. Everything his mom might like.
Grace handed him a black case. “Here.”
He unzipped it to find a clipper, comb attachments, and scissors. “I didn’t even know this was here.” He took what he needed, stepped around her, and put the bag back on the shelf.
“I only know because when your mom and sister glammed me up, Abby trimmed my hair. She wanted to give me ‘soft layers around my face.’”
“I hope you stopped her there. You should see the cuts she gave her dolls.” He lifted the scissors and comb. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”
She followed him into the kitchen, but before he could leave, she said, “You need me to do it? Kinda hard to do it yourself.”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Mm-hm.” She stepped in front of him, sifting her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Just that simple touch had his blood churning. “Nothing.” His gaze fell to her lush mouth. Only hours ago, it had been fastened around his very hard cock.
“You’re being weird.”
“Yeah, I guess I am. But...” He pulled at the ends of his hair. “It’s a mess.”
“A sexy mess. But again, where’s the fire? Why now?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Put it this way. When you can keep your hands off me, I know something’s off.”
He grinned. She always disarmed him. “Trust me. If I didn’t know how much work you have to do by yourself right now, you’d be bent over, holding on to the counter to keep from being fucked into the cupboard.”
When she laughed, her eyes sparkled, and her whole face lit up. “You’re right. I do have a lot. Still, you’re going to do a lousy job if you cut your own hair.” She grabbed a chair and brought it to the sink. “Sit.”
