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No one’s going to suspect a thing.
Fuck.
I can see it’s costing her big not to bat my hand away, and I laugh. Seriously, what else am I going to do?
How is this girl so easy to talk to while physically being wound so tight?
“What’s wrong with my hair? I was going for something softer, but—”
“It’s perfect, Harlow.” And it is. As long as it is dark, that thick spill over her shoulder was one of the first things to catch my eye. “I’m using it as an excuse to get closer. Sure, I could tell you that there’s a pretty bit of hair that’s fallen free of that barrette you’ve got the rest clipped into, and then let you excuse yourself to fix something I like better the way it is.”
She pulls back an inch. “You do?”
A lot, actually. “Sure. Which is why I’ll take the opportunity to play with said pretty bit of hair myself. I get to move a little nearer”—I demonstrate, bringing my mouth close enough to her ear she’ll feel the warmth of my breath, and after waiting a beat longer than strictly necessary to ensure she actuallydoes,I go on—“while I tuck those rogue strands away.”
And that’s what I do. “Pretty.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and then seeming to shake off whatever uncertainty she was feeling, she says it again, louder, with more confidence. Like she’s got a point to make and she wants every last guy in the conference room to get it.
“In this case, Harlow,” I murmur quietly, “version one of that thank-you works the best.”
“Okay. I’ve got this. Do it again.”
I blink at the no-nonsense dictate. I clear my throat. Mentally promise my ego it’s only ten days and it’s going to be okay. Then I’ll find some girl who thinks I’m exactly her type with this whole “body business” and let her stroke it—my ego, I mean. Totally.
We go again. “…and I tuck it behind your ear because I’m an affectionate guy and it gives me a chance to stay close to you for just a few seconds longer.”
Which I do.
She’s beautiful. And the longer I stare into the deep brown of her eyes, the more I feel that power shift tipping back in my favor. Because now she’s peering up at me through her thick, dark lashes, only to look away with a catch of her breath that iswaymore like it.
Ego saved!
Or so I think.
Harlow leans in just a bit too eagerly, that sort of sexy, shy thing of two-point-five seconds ago nowhere to be found.
“That was better?” She nods without waiting for me to agree, a squint of satisfaction in her eyes. “That breathy business nailed it,right?”
I let out a laugh and kiss my ego goodbye. “Yeah, you nailed it.”
* * *
Harlow
Wade was rightabout the test run. I’m out of my element with him, but I’m a quick study. Was it strange having him touch my face and hair? Yes, it was. But was it something I could handle for a ten-day stretch? Absolutely.
Even knowing his attention is all for show, it’s no hardship having a man give me his best flirt. It’s the sort of thing I’ve never encouraged, the sort of thing I’ve spent more of my life shutting down than letting get in the way of my goals.
But for this week… itismy goal.
And I don’t want anyone wondering why a man like Wade would want a woman like me.
A few miles pass with Wade drumming his thumbs over the steering wheel in time with the radio. He’s relaxed, at ease. Like he figures that one practice run was plenty.
It might be. But I like to be sure.
Also, I can’t stop thinking about the woman in the vanity mirror. She’s not invited on this trip, and I’m going to make sure she’s gone before we get to Enderson.
