by Elle Thorne
She turned, looked at her backside in the mirror. Jeez, what she wouldn’t give to have a smaller ass. She shot an envious glance toward the hairdresser in the next station over.
Probably a size 2.
Then Chelsea looked back at her own ample derriere. He’d never give her a second glance.
Yet, he was kind of flirty... so maybe?
Or maybe he’s just being nice to his hairdresser. She promptly put herself back in place. Don’t go getting your hopes up.
“Your regular should be here in a few, right?” said Lana, the size 2 next to Chelsea.
Chelsea’s cheeks grew warm. She chanced a peek in the mirror. Yep, that embarrassing red color was creeping its way up her chest to her face.
All six foot-four inches, wide shoulders, and piercing blue eyes of him. “I’m not sure.”
Sure you aren’t.
Okay, hopeless. Of course she looked forward to seeing him. She had ever since the first haircut she’d given him, one week after she took this job, which seemed like ages ago.
The sound of the door opening and closing brought her back to the present.
She busied herself with the scissors, dryers, and brushes at her station, pretending she wasn’t expecting or anxious to see him.
Chapter Three
Grant set the box down on the reception desk and closed the door behind him, trying not to be too loud and bring attention to himself.
“See you later, Miss Mae.” He gave his good friend a smile and headed toward Chelsea’s station.
Mae gave him a coquettish smile. She seemed to enjoy that he called her Miss Mae, though she didn’t look a day over thirty-something. He was hoping to escape from Lana’s blatant flirting before he was situated in Chelsea’s care.
Whoa! Holy mother of fine asses.
The first thing he saw was Chelsea’s ass as she bent over and arranged things at her station. He paused, taking his time to enjoy the sight. By the heavens above, that was one tantalizing view. A jerk in his pants concurred with that assessment.
Chelsea whirled around. “Grant.” Her voice was breathless and low.
He wished that it was because he’d entered. He wished that it was because of him. Probably only because she’d been leaning over and had stood up too quickly.
Her smile showed off perfect white teeth. He imagined those teeth grazing his skin, teasing him.
Still smiling, she said, “Today’s your day. Seems like just yesterday you were here.”
He hoped that didn’t mean she was disappointed to see him. He enjoyed the time they spent together while she washed his hair, massaging his scalp, and talking about different stuff. Thankfully the robe-thing she would place over him hid the effect she had on him.
More or less.
Probably less.
But between that robe and his pants, he always managed to hide the tent he pitched for her while her hands worked through his hair, and her soft voice with that sexy tone pulled on him.
“Grant!” Lana’s screech disrupted the salon’s serenity. She lunged his way, locking him into a hug, her body pushing against him.
He noticed Chelsea’s crestfallen expression and quickly pulled himself from Lana’s grasp. “Hi, Lana. Sorry, I think I’m late for my appointment with Chelsea.”
“When are you going to let me tend to your hair... and your other needs?” Lana’s hand drifted over his crotch as he drew away.
He threw a glance at Chelsea, hoping she hadn’t seen that, and even more, hoping that she knew he was disinterested in Lana. He had to make it clearer to Lana to back off, it seemed.
“I’m good. Thanks.” He kept his voice cool, but had to pry her other hand off his bicep.
He walked up to Chelsea. “No hug for me?”
“I wondered if you’d already gotten your daily allotment.” A smart-ass smile crossed her face just before she turned around and reached for the robe.
That’s what he loved about her—her sense of humor. And her awesome personality. Well, there were a couple more things. Her nice full ass, her hips, a set of tits that would fill his hands and overflow, nipples that he couldn’t help but notice.
“Not when it comes to yours.” He gave her a wink and took a seat since her turning for the robe negated a hug.
She laid it over him, wrapping it around his neck. “I need to get one that’s larger, so I can actually close it around your neck.”
“You’ve been saying that for a couple of months now. I’m beginning to think you’re all talk.”
She laughed and put her hands on his neck, her thumbs and fingertips rising up to his scalp, her nails raking his skin, her thumb pads massaging.
“You know you don’t really need a haircut just yet. I don’t know why you get your hair cut so often.” Her eyes twinkled, dark chocolate against her fair skin.
“Really? No clue?”
It was past time for him to quit beating around the bush, as Mae had pointed out.
The blush that colored Chelsea’s cheeks made her eyes sparkle and fueled his desire to see how far down her body that blush would extend. It also affirmed that she was at least a little interested—maybe.
He breathed in deep.
His bear’s senses took in her scent, her arousal and desire. His eyes closed, partially in response to the fierce need to mate with her that effused his body. His bear sought to take control of the situation and claim her, make her his, mark her for life.
“So what do you say?” He struggled to keep the desire from showing in his voice.
“To what?” She ran her fingers through his hair again. “Let’s go to the chairs, wash this hair, then we’ll see if I can give you a trim.”
He followed her to the back, fighting to keep his bear from staring at her luscious ass as it swayed, imagining what it would be like to smack her with his palm while driving deep into her.
For fuck’s sake, he had it bad. This time was worse than any other.
He bit back a roar of desire at the image of taking her from behind, those luscious creamy globes pressing against his flesh as he pumped her and slapped that ass.
“Grant?” She turned around to face him.
He’d missed something she said. Dammit. “Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
“No, what?” He took hold of her hand, stopping her from turning around and leading him to the back.
“Oh, I was just asking you to finish your thought from earlier.”
If she only knew how many thoughts he’d had... And how lascivious... He knew what she meant.
“I was asking what you’d say to the idea of maybe dinner. We could head into the city, not this town—” He laughed because the town they were in could hardly be called one. “—and we could do something?”
She tilted her head. “Something?” Her voice had a little teasing in it. She indicated the chair.
He sprawled into it, the contraption barely containing his large frame.
Behind his head, she turned the water on and sprayed his hair with the warmth. She leaned over him, reaching for the shampoo. Her luscious breasts were a tongue’s length away from his mouth.
If she didn’t have clothing on—
If they were alone—
He could claim the nipples that were poking against her top, their hardness barely concealed by the fabric, their outline and shape tempting his senses, bringing the bear in him to a fury for a taste.
A hundred years ago, two hundred years ago, things would have been different. That was before he’d found a mate he wanted—Chelsea. That was when he would have found a willing, wet, and warm place to drive his thickness into.
Chapter Four
Chelsea leaned over and tried to get a squirt of the shampoo into her palm without rubbing her breasts on his face. There were times she hated having boobs so big. She wasn’t sure if this was one of those times.
She held her breath. This man’s sex appeal was too much.
“Chelz?”
She
loved when he’d given her that nickname. Remembered the day clearly. She’d never been called that before.
She exhaled slowly and looked into his deep blue eyes, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss him. Knowing that she’d never give in to that urge. “Yes, Grant?”
“Um, you have a... you missed... it kind of...” He lifted his hand, almost touching her breast.
Mortification settled in.
The shampoo had squirted right onto her breast. Exactly over her nipple. And she’d been so into him she hadn’t even noticed.
Chelsea ran her thumb over it, embarrassed that her nipple perked and pebbled under her touch and his penetrating gaze. She gave him a sheepish grin.
“Thanks.” For noticing. For the daydream. “For telling me.”
Amusement—and something else—flickered in his eyes. “You didn’t say yes.” He reminded her that she hadn’t answered his question about going out.
Was he taking pity on her because she didn’t have a life? Because all she did was sit at home after work, night in, night out and read those stories about hot highlanders claiming their willing women? About werewolves taking a bride and making her one of their own?
She lathered him up and a blush rose to her cheeks at the thought of the story she was currently reading. A book about a girl like her who fell in love with a sexy alien who was on Earth to abduct her. Except the alien fell in love with her, and instead of stealing her for his people’s evil intentions, he ran away with her and started a new life.
She sighed without realizing it at first, and rinsed the shampoo suds out. Of course she wouldn’t say no to Grant. Even if his reasons for asking weren’t necessarily the same as hers for accepting. She could use a friend in town, other than her boss Mae.
Mae kept telling her if she had a better car, she could go into the city. It was only an hour away, and she could make friends her own age, and date, and stuff like that. Mae didn’t know that Chelsea used her car as an excuse because Chelsea didn’t really want any of those things.
Chelsea avoided high-population areas. And she didn’t want any other man than Grant. The only man she’d wanted since she’d first laid eyes on him. Talk about setting your sights too high.
Oh well.
“I’ll go with you.” Chelsea reached for the conditioner, careful not to get any on herself, careful not to rub her breasts in his face.
His expression lit up with a smile that showed off perfect white teeth, and made her think about what he could do with those teeth—and that mouth.
Her face warmed once more. She really was in a sexual drought. If she hadn’t been head over heels for him, she’d have found a way to alleviate the drought.
She raised the stream of water, rinsing out the conditioner, patted his head with a towel. Because he kept his hair short, towel-drying was an easy feat.
She led the way to her chair. Having small talk was limited because of Lana’s proximity. That and Lana’s constant leaning toward Chelsea’s station meant there was no privacy.
Chelsea wrapped up his haircut, a five-minute job that she stretched into fifteen just so she could keep her hands on him, even if it was only his head.
“Let me blow it dry? It’s chilly outside. You don’t want to go out and catch a cold.”
Chapter Five
Grant laughed. “I didn’t take you for the superstitious type. Colds are caused by viruses, not by temperature.”
“That’s not superstition.” Chelsea smiled back.
“So you believe in things you can’t see?”
Mae glanced up from the desk in the reception area.
He knew she could hear him.
She gave him a look, as if to question what his reason was for asking that, as if to question his wisdom.
He shook his head, one shake, almost imperceptible, and turned back to the luscious, curvy, light-brown-haired woman next to him. “Well, Chelz?”
“I believe in a lot of things.” Her smile held a secret.
He hoped he’d get a chance to learn it.
“How about Friday at seven? I’ll pick you up at your place.” He didn’t need to ask her where her place was. She rented a room from Mae.
The salon fell silent.
Everyone turned toward the door.
Grant looked to see what had garnered their attention.
Jeff Landers.
Grant bristled. The instinct to resort to violence rose in his bear. He picked up a scent of fear that carried over from Chelsea. Clearly she didn’t care for the land developer. He could understand dislike, but why was she transmitting fear? Why was she afraid of him?
Jeff let the door close with a slam, ignored Mae’s greeting and strode straight for Chelsea’s station. “I hope I’m not late.” His voice had an arrogant twist to it.
He glanced at Grant, locked eyes with him. “Have you given my offer any consideration? You have far more land than you need. The community would benefit from an amusement park in Bear Canyon Valley. You’re the only one keeping this community from its prosperous dream.”
Grant fought back the derisive laughter that rose in his throat. The only one who thought that this community needed an amusement park to kill its tranquility and run its residents off was Jeff Landers.
“I think I’ll keep my land.” Grant walked by the man, noting that he stood in such a way that Grant had to make a concerted attempt to walk around him, or he’d run into him.
Grant opted for the latter and bumped shoulders with Jeff.
Jeff was no slouch, probably reaching six foot, but he winced when Grant shoulder-bumped him. He turned to Chelsea. “I’m hoping you have an opening. I didn’t make an appointment.”
Behind them, Mae cleared her throat. “You really should have made an appointment.”
“Since when do I need one?” Jeff looked over Mae’s head at Grant, his eyes glinting his defiance and insolence. “So do I get my haircut, or not?” He glared at them, then softened his gaze as his eyes landed on Chelsea.
Grant gave Mae a pointed look.
She shook her head slightly.
Too bad, because he would have liked to have permission to take Jeff’s impertinence and petulance outside for a lesson.
“I’ll take care of this.” Mae took Grant’s bicep and guided him toward the door.
Behind them, Chelsea was saying, “Sure, I can help you out, Jeff.” Her voice was stilted and forced, much like her smile.
Grant waved to her. “See you Friday.”
Chapter Six
Chelsea cringed.
Grant saying that out loud made Jeff’s eyes narrow.
She hadn’t wanted to help the rich developer. She could tell he had a cruel streak, and he had his sights on her. Why that was, she had no idea. Maybe it was to make Lana jealous. They used to date. That was probably it.
Either way, he tipped a hundred dollars every time he visited, and she wanted to get him in the chair before Mae’s temper flared. Mae made it no secret that she didn’t care for Jeff. You’d think he’d learn his lesson and go to the city for his haircuts. He worked in the city, so why he came here... Yeah, probably to make Lana jealous. Chelsea bet she’d been right to begin with.
She wondered why Jeff’s appointments always managed to coincide with Grant’s. Even Jeff’s walk-ins coincided with Grant’s.
Jeff’s predatory glances and his way-too-familiar touches on her arms, neck, and shoulders made her cringe inwardly. She fought to keep Mae from seeing how revolting she found his advances. He reminded her of a man she’d like to leave in the past forever. A man with a truly horrible cruel streak.
His expression stern, Jeff sat in the seat. “What’s this about Friday?”
“Nothing,” Chelsea mumbled. Telling him anything about it would serve no purpose. She wasn’t into playing head games and pitting men against each other. And she wasn’t even remotely interested in Jeff.
She made quick work of washing, rinsing, and cutting his hair. She didn’t offer to d
ry it, but he asked for a dry.
She looked at Mae.
Mae nodded.
So she complied, and did it cheerfully, although half-heartedly. Admittedly, the cheerful part was faked.
Today was Wednesday. Tomorrow was her early day. She could go into the city for a new outfit for her date with Grant on Friday. That would be nice. She wondered if she could find something slimming that would accentuate the right curves, and hide the wrong ones. She glanced up at Lana as she took the smock off of Jeff. Lana’s slim figure was a mirror that reflected Chelsea’s indulgences in guilty pleasures, particularly dark chocolate.
She glanced away from Lana and looked at Jeff. “Thank you, Jeff. See you next time.”
“Say, Chelsea?” His voice was loud. Too loud. It made her uncomfortable. “What would you say to going out with me?”
Chelsea glanced at Mae. Mae’s eyes narrowed at his words.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Jeff.” Chelsea rubbed her palms on her too-tight jeans, unaware she was transmitting her nervousness. “I thank you, though. I’m flattered.” Not exactly, since she didn’t trust him, and something about him made her very nervous. Plus it was clear that he and Grant did not get along. Was Jeff doing this to get to Grant?
Jeff’s jaw clenched, and his knuckles gripped the banister on the way toward the reception desk. “I wish you’d reconsider,” he said through clenched jaws.
“Can I think about it?” She hoped that would appease him, get him to stop, maybe even go away.
“What’s to think about? A down-and-out, broke hairdresser would turn down a successful man like me? Do you know who I am?”
Chelsea didn’t want to look at Mae, fearful that Mae was upset by the drama. She’d been so kind to give Chelsea a job here. Chelsea didn’t want to be responsible for a scene in her friend’s place of business. “Please, Jeff, lower your voice. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course. Saturday?”